Chapter Text
The mirror shouldn’t have felt warm when she touched it.
Serephina froze, her fingertips pressed to the glass of the mirror set flush into the far wall of her new apartment. The surface of it seemingly glowed with the heat not associated with glass. There was no sunlight in here, no radiator nearby, nothing that should have made the antique bronze mirror give off a warm aura.
And yet… It did.
She pulled her hand back from the reflective surface, flexing her fingers as pain radiated down her wrist. The stress of the move must have done a number on her physically. Serephina was exhausted from hauling her whole life, whatever life was left, up three flights of stairs.
When the leasing agent mentioned there was character, she didn’t realize that meant a strange architectural eyesore that no one wanted to pay to remove.
The Royal Amber Theatre had been gutted years ago, following the devastating fire that ruined the main stage and the catacombs of the theatre. The theatre was now carved into a handful of luxury lofts and sold off to people who enjoyed the history enough to live in a converted building, but didn’t want many modern luxuries. The hallways were lined with the old ornate moldings and the remnants of the grand lobby had been turned into a communal lounge. And her apartment apparently had a massive antique mirror that swallowed up almost the entire wall. There was no luck removing it, it was framed by aged wood, bolted into the plaster so tightly it was part of the bones of the building.
Serephina stepped back and looked at the empty space around her. The moving boxes were placed neatly at the door, all labelled for her to unpack. The air smelled faintly of dust and old velvet, the smell too reminiscent of an old theatre that made her stomach twist with dread.
”No more stages,” she muttered to the empty space. “Never again.”
Her voice too loud in the empty room, the acoustics bouncing her sound off the walls. It wasn’t so much an echo, but she thought it felt more like the room was absorbing the sounds, swallowing the words as they escaped her lips. It reminded her of rehearsal rooms lined with soundproofing, the quiet spaces where the dancers heard their heartbeats louder than any dancing around them.
She dragged a hand through her hair and crossed towards the window, opening it just enough to let in the fresh night air. The city hummed faintly outside, distant and ready for her to disappear. This was as good as a place as any to start over and let the world forget she had once been a rising star.
Or that someone had cut the ribbons of her shoes before her final performance. Or that she had stepped on that stage expecting a standing ovation instead she tore the muscle in her calf when the knotted sating gave way beneath her foot.
The company had called it an accident.
She knew it was no accident. Especially when the person who did it walked away with a smile.
She swallowed hard, shutting down the memory before it overtook her. Moving here meant quiet. It meant anonymity. No more questions about where she was or what she was going to do now that ballet was no longer an option. Being here meant having. Fresh start, even if that fresh start felt like breaking every bone in her body.
Serephina knelt on the floor, ripped open her moving boxes and pulled out her worn practice clothes. Leggings, an oversized shirt, a pair of high socks with the heels worn out. Her body was restless, muscles tight from the move.
She changed quickly, then walked back towards the mirror. The floor creaked in places, but the moment she neared the far wall, the air shifted. Everything went deadly quiet, as if the air in the room was sucked out.
Serephina stood in front of the mirror and stared at her reflection.
The glass was old and slightly warped at the edges, softening her already soft features. She looked tired. A shadow of the girl she used to be. The one one who believered the stage belonged to her was nowhere in sight.
”Just ten minutes,” she mourned.
She set her feet apart, rolled back her shoulders and took a deep exhale. The familiar ritual grounded her. She stretched her body, lifting herself in various positions. Her muscles protested at first, then slowly gave in as she moved through the routine. She didn’t attempt anything too complex, fear of aggravating her old wound stopped her from trying.
When she reached for her right leg to extend it in front of her, she sensed it again.
A subtle awareness. A pull at the back of her neck, as though someone's gaze was trailing her skin with the lightest touch.
She snapped her head up. Her reflection stared back, still and nervous. But the longer she looked, the more something felt off. Like the mirror recorded more than just her image.
Serephina sighed and shook her head, pulling herself from her thoughts. She pushed into another stretch, arching her back. Her breath fogged a small patch of the glass.
As she straightened herself, another burst of fog spread across the mirror, but this one was slightly to the left and behind the glass.
Serephina froze in place. No window was open, no vents in the apartment, the heater wasn’t even on.
The fog slowly faded. She stared at the mirror until her eyes were dizzy from concentration. She held her breath, testing the mirror, waiting for it to make sense. After several seconds, she leaned in, breathing hot air onto the glass again. A new area was fogging up beside her mouth, exactly where it should.
But no mysterious second section appeared.
She let out a shaky laugh.
”Stress,” she whispered. “That’s all… just stress.”
The hairs on her arms didn’t agree with her. She stepped closer to the mirror, studying the old wooden frame. Scratches along the lower ledge, faint grooves that looked like fingernails scratches or a tool dragged across it a long time ago. And on the inside of the glass, deep behind the surface, there were smudges like old fingerprints. Like the person who made the mirror left behind a piece of themselves before integrating it into the wall.
She turned off the lights, willing the day to be over already, but as she walked toward the small bedroom, her bare feet halted at a soft sound. Behind her, a soft, deliberate tap sounded from the mirror’s side of the wall.
Serephina spun instantly, looking around.
Nothing moved or fell. There was nothing to explain the noise. Serephina forced one foot in front of the other, every instinct inside her telling her not to look back, not to turn back. She made it to the bed, climbed in fully clothed and pulled the blanket to her chin like she did as a child trying to hide from monsters under the bed.
The apartment shifted in the darkness, the old pipes shifting and the city outside hummed softly behind the windows. All the sounds she was familiar with and have come to expect with an old building like this. But beneath it, there was something quieter through the room. It felt like a faint awareness she couldn’t name, like the feeling of a draft when one was not there.
Serephina exhaled slowly, telling herself it was the exhaustion, from the move, from her life burning into pieces. New spaces always felt strange, especially at night. She just needed to get familiar with the new space and having the huge mirror she couldn’t get rid of threw her off. She closed her eyes anyway, forcing herself to sleep. By the time she finally started to succumb to the darkness, she almost convinced herself the unease was nothing but nerves… Almost.