⋱⌘⋰ Lore Scrap ⋱⌘⋰
"Some reflections learn how to look back."
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The Mirror Wing had been sealed for years. Or so the signage claimed. "DO NOT ENTER. UNSTABLE REFLECTION INDEX." By the time Eira reached it, three days had passed.
Since the book.
Since the ink.
Since whatever tethered itself to the hollow between her heartbeat and her breath.
She hadn't told anyone. Not even Cael.
But something had changed.
She woke each morning with ink on her fingertips and no memory of how it got there. Mirrors flickered at the edges. Not with light—but recognition.
And the voice had returned.
Not from a page. Not from a vault. From the air.
"Eira Starling… we know what you are."
The words unraveled her spine like pulled thread.
Sleep was shallow. Meals tasteless. The Library pulsed beneath her skin—like it had laid claim to her.
She didn't ask permission to go. She just… moved.
The corridors leaned strangely under her steps. Runes sparked faintly from corners where there should have been dust. She passed Finnian near the Archivist's stairwell, arm-deep in a scroll tube. "You okay?" he asked. She nodded. "Just tired." He grinned — then stopped, unsettled. Something in her eyes made him quiet. But he didn't follow. The Mirror Wing was hidden behind a veil of ivy that writhed when touched. Whisper-roots, Vessa had called them once. Grown from failed reflections. They uncoiled for Eira like they recognised her. The door didn't resist. It inhaled. She stepped through. It was colder than she expected. The sort of cold that came with too many eyes and no breath. Glass. Mirrors lined every surface, some jagged, others polished smooth as ice. Fractured pieces floated in midair, suspended by threads of ink-light. And yet none of the reflections matched her. Some mirrored her movements, but late. Others blinked wrong. A few stared back with pity. Or contempt. Eira walked slowly, breath fogging. Each step echoed more loudly than the last. Then she saw her. A figure. Back turned. Same height. Same shape. Same braid tied too tightly behind one ear. "Who are you?" she asked. The figure didn't move. Then it did. Turning. Her face. But wrong. Too pale. Lips curved just a little too sharply. Eyes wide — not in fear, but anticipation. "I'm what the whisper remembered," the not-Eira said. "You're what it left behind." The mirrors pulsed. They began to show memories — not visions. Recordings. Julian tucking a letter beneath her pillow. Her own hands bleeding from a failed sort. The moment she first said the word contract. "Stop it," she whispered. The glass trembled. "Stop it!" A panel shattered. Ink spilled from the crack. The other Eira stepped through it like a curtain. "He never left you," she said. Eira froze. "Julian—?" "He remembers. But not as you knew him." The ink-binding on Eira's wrist pulsed — then flickered. Her reflection warped. "You came here to understand," the double said. "But reflection is not comprehension." Behind her — another presence moved. Ink pooled in corners. A face emerged — eyes black as grief. Too many teeth. "Who are you really?" it asked, in a voice that had once belonged to Cael — but twisted. "Eira!" This time, the real Cael. Far away. But near enough to rupture the illusion. Glass cracked. Mirrors fell. The double's face contorted into a scream. And then — Aerin. Eira blinked and the other girl was standing before her — pale, monochrome, not quite breathing. "That's not you," Aerin said. "That's what your grief made." The mirrors calmed. Only one remained unbroken. It showed Eira. Her own face. But her eyes watched her like they weren't hers. And then… the mirror winked. Just once. Eira didn't scream. But her reflection did.
She was still staring when Vessa arrived.
"Come on," the healer said quietly, placing a firm hand on Eira's back. "You need to ground before it roots."
Eira let herself be led out.
As they walked, Vessa murmured glyphs under her breath. Protective, stabilising. Eira's ink-binding flinched at each one like it recognised the language but not the intent.
"Why the Hall of Unnamed?" Eira finally asked.
Vessa didn't answer right away. Then:
"Because the thing that looked like you… wasn't built from ink. It was built from loss. And that's where we keep the ones who almost disappeared."
She paused at the stairwell, eyeing the dark that trembled at the edge of the corridor. "You're still resonating. That thing is stitched to you. We go where the Unnamed linger."
Eira blinked, but didn't argue.
⋯⋱⧉⋰⋯ To be continued…
⸻ ❖ Archive Fragment ❖ ⸻ Some mirrors show truth. Others remember what you wish you'd forget.
⋱◈⋰ End Chapter ⋱◈⋰