The morning was gray, but Lyra barely noticed. Every reflection now unsettled her—the polished doorknob, the rain-streaked windows, the gleam of water in a basin. Anywhere she caught her image, she feared seeing her.
Elias sat at the desk in the library, pouring over the remaining scraps of the Vale family records.
"Elira's existence was hidden," he said. "Her name was erased from the official lineage. But here—"
He pointed to a brittle, half-burnt parchment.
"—this page lists 'twin daughters born beneath a blood moon.' One was Lysette Vale. The other name is blacked out, but the ink bled through."
Lyra squinted, heart pounding.
Elira.
---
They descended again—this time not to the chapel, but to the sealed vaults below the east wing. A place Lyra had never dared go.
The door was locked with an iron sigil, but Elias used the silver dagger. When the blade touched the keyhole, the door moaned and swung open.
A cold, dead wind rushed past them.
The corridor beyond was lined with portraits.
One caught Lyra's eye: a girl in a green velvet dress, hair braided like hers, eyes wide and glassy.
But there was something wrong with the face. It wasn't painted—it was pressed into the canvas, as if someone had tried to trap her inside.
"She's everywhere," Lyra murmured.
"No," Elias corrected. "She's here."
---
They reached the final chamber.
In the center sat a mirror, untouched by dust, rimmed with bone and gold.
Lyra felt drawn to it, though every part of her screamed to run.
"Don't look too long," Elias warned. "It's not a mirror. It's a door."
She stared.
And saw herself—but not herself.
This version wore a crown of black thorns. Her smile stretched too wide. Her eyes gleamed with hunger.
Then the reflection moved.
Not to mimic—but to reach.
The glass rippled as her twin's hand pushed through.
Lyra stumbled back, but the fingers found purchase—gripping the edge of the frame.
"Lyra," Elias gasped, stepping forward. "She's trying to cross."
---
The mirror cracked.
Not shattered—split, like a veil opening.
Lyra's twin—Elira—stepped out.
She looked like Lyra, but sharper. Too perfect. Too still. A statue come alive.
"I've waited long enough," she said. Her voice was sweet, but hollow. "You took what was mine."
"I didn't even know you existed," Lyra said, steadying herself.
Elira smiled. "Exactly."
She stepped forward, but Elias blocked her path.
"You can't have her life," he said.
Elira tilted her head. "Then I'll take yours."
She raised her hand—and Elias crumpled.
Lyra screamed.
The mirror behind Elira pulsed, glowing brighter, as if hungry to take someone back.
And Lyra had a choice.