The Chains Beneath the Mirror

Elira hadn't slept.

Not really.

She had closed her eyes, sure—but her mind had refused to let go. Every time her breathing slowed, she'd jolt awake, heart pounding, convinced someone was watching her from the shadows.

The memory of that white flower on her pillow lingered like a curse.

They were here.

She didn't know who. She didn't want to know how.

But either Celestienne or Isolde—or both—had breached the last space she considered hers.

There was no safe place now. Not even within the four walls of her own bedroom.

She dragged herself to class with dark circles under her eyes and a mechanical gait. The halls of the Academy buzzed with morning chatter, but it all sounded distant, muffled behind the veil of her exhaustion.

The classroom for Magical Theory was already half-full. She slipped into her seat near the window and rested her forehead on her palm.

"Did you sleep at all?"

She flinched.

Isolde.

The red-haired enchantress leaned casually over her desk, her lips curled into an infuriatingly knowing smirk.

Elira straightened. "None of your business."

Isolde reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Elira's cheek, far too familiar. "That flower suited you. I'm glad you didn't throw it away."

So it was her.

Elira's stomach twisted.

"You were in my room," she said flatly.

Isolde tilted her head. "Don't be so dramatic. I left you a gift, not poison."

"That's not the point!"

Isolde's expression didn't change. "Then what is the point, darling?"

Elira didn't answer. Because she didn't know. Because her voice might shake.

Thankfully, the professor arrived, saving her from further confrontation. But the damage was done—Isolde leaned back in her seat, entirely satisfied, while Elira sat frozen with her fists clenched under the desk.

Class passed in a blur.

During the lunch hour, she tried to sneak away early—no grand dining hall, no confrontations. Just bread and peace.

But of course, fate—or something darker—had other plans.

"Skipping lunch?"

The voice came from behind her, soft and sharp as a knife's whisper.

Celestienne.

Elira stopped mid-step.

"Just… wanted to get some fresh air."

Celestienne didn't answer immediately. She circled around Elira, eyes narrowing in silent calculation.

"You didn't sleep," she said.

"Observation or accusation?" Elira muttered.

Celestienne didn't smile. She merely gestured to a narrow hallway. "Come."

"I'm not a dog."

Celestienne paused. Then, almost gently, "No. But you're lost. And I have the leash."

Elira wanted to walk away.

She didn't.

The hallway led to a secluded chamber she hadn't seen before—tall arched windows, silver drapes, and a full-length mirror that shimmered unnaturally in the dim light.

"What is this place?" she asked.

"Detention," Celestienne said, as if amused. "For special cases. Not listed on the map."

Elira stared at the mirror. There was something wrong with it. Her reflection moved just half a second too late. And the edges… shimmered, like water.

Celestienne stepped closer behind her.

"This mirror shows the truth," she murmured. "What others refuse to see. What even you can't admit."

"I didn't come here to play riddles."

"No," Celestienne said softly, "you came because you're terrified, and you hate not knowing who to trust."

Elira's hands balled into fists. "What do you want from me?"

Celestienne looked into the mirror. Her reflection didn't match her expression—while the real Celestienne remained cold, the one in the mirror smiled. Gently. Almost lovingly.

"I want what's mine," she whispered. "And I've decided it's you."

Before Elira could respond, chains burst from the base of the mirror—spectral, transparent, clinking softly as they coiled around her wrists.

She cried out, jerking away, but the chains didn't bind—they simply passed through her, chilling her bones.

"See?" Celestienne said. "They don't hold you yet. But they will."

The chains sank into the floor.

Elira's legs gave out, and she fell to her knees.

"You're insane," she breathed.

"Possibly."

Celestienne crouched before her, tilting her chin up.

"But so are you. For thinking you could stay untouched in a place like this."

Later that night, Elira stood in front of her bedroom mirror.

Her reflection looked back with hollow eyes.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, she swore she could still feel the weight of phantom chains.