THE MIND'S PYRE

Ezra fell.

Not physically.

But deeper—into her world.

The mirrors around him pulsed. Breathed. Whispered lies in silver tongues.

In one reflection, he was smiling. In another, he was bleeding. In the third—

She was holding his heart.

"Which one is you, Ezra?"

Livia's voice curled through the air like a lullaby from hell.

He shut his eyes. Didn't answer.

Because deep down… he wasn't sure anymore.

The stage beneath his feet rippled like liquid thought. The air thickened, saturated with hollow applause—claps from mouths that didn't exist.

He was losing it.

But—

He still had one thing she didn't.

His totem.

A silver coin.

It spun in his palm, steady. Familiar. Honest.

It never lied.

"You're clever," Livia's voice cooed from nowhere. Or everywhere. Ceiling. Floor. His skull.

"You had to be," Ezra muttered, tightening his grip, "to survive this long."

He focused on the coin.

Flip.Catch.Look.

Heads.

Gravity still existed. Sound still existed. Touch still grounded him.

And that was enough.

Ezra breathed. His heartbeat steadied. He walked—one step at a time—toward her.

And now, for the first time, she faltered.

"You're still standing," Livia whispered, velvet and sharp.

"I'm not here to stand," he said. "I'm here to see through you."

The lights snapped into white. The mirrors around them shattered—soundless and clean.

And suddenly, the world narrowed to just them.

Only them.

Ezra's voice dropped into a whisper. "Checkmate. But whose king just fell?"

He flipped the coin again—not in desperation, but in confidence.

Let's end this.

He took another step. Eye to eye with the Queen of Horror.

And then—

Her gaze opened.

Not her eyes.

Her gaze.

Like something ancient remembering itself. Something vast. Cold. Intimate.

Ezra saw—

A throne of flesh and bone.A sea of hands reaching upward.A theater where the actors screamed between the acts.And Livia—poised, composed, sipping ink and teeth from a porcelain cup.

"You wanted to see me," she murmured. "You wanted to know what lies beneath."

Ezra couldn't breathe.

So look, mentalist.Look.

He didn't want to. But it was too late.

He plunged.

His totem fell from his fingers. Hit the floor—spinning violently.

Not smooth. Not silent.

It screamed.

Like steel ripping through bone.

A memory that wasn't his. A pain that didn't belong to him.

But he felt it.

Every buried thought. Every silent scream she'd locked away—now in his veins.

Ezra dropped to his knees, clutching his skull.

"Stop—! STOP!"

Livia tilted her head, watching. Not with pity. Not with cruelty.

But with something worse—

Stillness.

"You were never meant to observe, Ezra," she said.

"You were meant to perform."

And so he did.

Ezra screamed.

"This isn't your act," she whispered. "It's your unmasking."

"You wished to see behind the veil."

She stepped closer. The spotlight narrowed, carving the space between them like a guillotine's blade.

Now choke on what lies beneath.

Ezra stood at the center of the stage, drowning in silence.

The audience leaned forward, hypnotized. Laughing. Clapping. Watching.

They didn't see the truth unraveling.

But he did.

His hand shook. He grasped the coin again—desperate. Sweating.

Flip.Catch.Look.

Heads.

Real.

But then—The lights flickered.

Livia leaned in, her voice a ghost against his ear.

"Still clinging to that coin like it's the last thread of your soul."

A pause. Her breath tasted like ink.

"But tell me, Ezra… what happens when even your truth becomes a lie?"

He blinked.

Suddenly, the stage was gone.

He was standing in a bedroom—but not his.

The walls whispered. A voice that sounded like his father muttered:

"You don't exist."

The mirror held no reflection.

Livia's laughter rang—cracked porcelain on stone.

"You asked to see my soul."

She smiled.

"I don't have one."

Ezra screamed—but only inside. Outside, he was still on stage. Still clutching the coin.

Pupils dilated. Sweat pouring. Mouth frozen mid-syllable.

Flip.Catch.Look.

Tails.

Wrong side.

The coin never landed on tails before.

He tried again. Faster now.

Flip.Catch.Look.

Blank.

His breath hitched.

Again—

Flip.Catch.Look.

Blank.

Both sides were blank.

There was no more reality to hold onto.

Only her.

And the curtain was still rising.