Between Breaths And Mirrors
I didn't sleep.
I lay in bed, eyes open, watching the crack in the ceiling like it might blink back. My pulse was too loud, my thoughts too tangled, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw both their faces—
Theo's, shadowed and steady. Julian's, fragile and burning.
And beneath them, hers.
Anastasia.
---
Morning came cold and gold, sunlight bleeding through frost-laced windows. My body moved on instinct—uniform, books, brush, laces tied. But my head remained behind, tangled in everything I'd learned.
Anastasia had loved them both. She'd fallen. Or disappeared.
And now I stood in her place.
Marked. Watched. Wanted.
---
Breakfast was a blur. Petra wasn't there. Theo wasn't either. Julian sat two tables over, arms folded, jaw tight. He hadn't looked at me once. But his coin sat on the table, spinning slowly—his tell.
Nerves. Guilt. Or something worse.
As I rose to leave, the intercom clicked.
> "All initiates of the Velvet Order, report to the Mirror Hall for assessment."
A chill moved through the dining room. Chairs scraped. Students murmured. I felt eyes on me even before I turned.
Julian was watching now.
And he wasn't smiling.
---
The Mirror Hall sat beneath the West Tower, past three locked doors and a velvet-draped corridor lined with portraits of former Headmasters who all looked slightly… wrong.
The air down here always felt too still, like it had been bottled decades ago and forgotten.
When we stepped inside, the door locked behind us.
Twelve of us stood in silence. Three initiates to be assessed. Nine to observe.
Petra stood across from me, pale and unreadable.
Julian was beside her. Theo wasn't here.
At the far end of the chamber stood a mirror. But not a normal one.
It didn't reflect light. It absorbed it.
A tall, oval pane of obsidian, rimmed in silver, with soft velvet ropes separating it from us.
Mist curled across its surface.
The Headmistress appeared.
Alvara.
In a long midnight-blue robe with silver embroidery like constellations. Her voice echoed without a mic.
> "The Mirror Trial begins. Step forward when your name is called. Let it see you. Let it know."
Petra was first.
She walked to the mirror with steady feet, but her hands were trembling. She stopped inches before the glass. Said nothing.
The mirror darkened.
Then flashed.
Petra gasped and stumbled back.
Alvara didn't move.
> "She passes."
---
Two more went. One was rejected. Carried out pale and shaking.
Then my name.
"Elena Harrow."
The air changed.
Even Petra turned.
Julian's knuckles whitened where he held the rope.
I walked slowly. Every step echoed. The mirror seemed to pulse as I approached, a low hum in the bones of my teeth.
Closer.
Closer.
Then—
It saw me.
And I saw it.
But not my face. Not exactly.
A girl stood in the reflection. My height. My mouth. But older.
And crying.
Anastasia.
Behind her: a pair of hands reaching. One pale. One ink-stained.
Julian. Theo.
Then—
The hands pulled her back.
And the glass exploded in light.
I screamed.
Darkness.
---
When I woke, I was in the infirmary.
My palms were cut. My nose bled. A nurse dabbed gently at my forehead with something cool.
But I didn't care.
Because I remembered.
I remembered the hands.
And more than that—
I remembered the voice.
> "Don't let them forget me."
It had been her.
Anastasia Vale.
And she had used the mirror to speak.
---
Theo was waiting when I was released. He didn't speak.
He just handed me a folded page.
A sketch.
Of me.
Standing before the mirror. Eyes closed. Hair tangled. Hands glowing.
"Julian knows," he said quietly. "He's trying to protect you. But they'll make him choose."
I didn't ask between what.
Because I already knew.
Me. Or the Order.
---
That night, I lit the matchbook.
Not all of it. Just one match.
And as it burned down, I whispered her name aloud.
Anastasia.
Then I made a vow.
I wouldn't fall.
Not like she did.
I'd walk through the mirror. And I'd come back.
With every memory. With every truth. With or without them.
But preferably…
With both.
---
The vow didn't sit quietly inside me. It rooted. Changed the way I walked, the way I watched. Everything had weight now. Every glance. Every silence.
When Julian finally approached me again, it was three days later. Early morning. The hallway outside the solarium.
He looked exhausted. Wrinkled collar, hair falling into his eyes.
"You weren't supposed to see her," he said.
"Anastasia?"
He nodded.
"I tried to stop it. I told them you weren't ready. They didn't care."
"I don't think they wanted me to pass," I said.
"They didn't."
We stood there, an arm's length apart, a sea of words between us.
Julian rubbed the coin between his fingers.
"I don't think I'm good at choosing the right side," he said.
"Then don't choose a side," I said. "Choose me."
It came out softer than I intended.
He looked up.
"I already did. That's the problem."
And then he kissed me.
Not gently. Not hesitantly.
Like someone whose world was caving in.
Like he needed me to believe him before everything else fell apart.
I kissed him back.
And for one moment, it was just us. No Order. No mirrors. No past.
Just breath and fire and mouths and the truth that burned beneath everything:
We were too far in to pretend anymore.
---
Later that night, I found Theo waiting in the studio.
He didn't speak. Just handed me another drawing.
A mirror.
Cracked.
But inside it: me. Standing. Whole. Unbroken.
"I won't let them erase you," he said.
I reached for his hand.
And didn't let go.