Chapter 12

“A true mirror is not made of glass. It is that which looks back at you.”

At first, it felt as though I were in the water again. But it wasn’t water — it was air, so dense it felt as though it could be drunk. I surfaced into a space resembling a dream’s waiting room. Everything was cast in shades of gray; the walls vanished into a light haze. There were no doors, no visible source of light. Only a floor that echoed hollowly with every step, and a mirror.

It stood in the middle of the room like a misplaced object, as if someone had forgotten it there. Tall, set in an ornate frame coated in rust. The glass was cloudy, but something was moving inside it nonetheless.

I took a step forward. Hesitant. No reflection cast back from me — instead, inside the mirror was something that looked like me, but wasn’t. A girl with the exact same face, but a different gaze. There was no fear in her eyes. Instead, a strange confidence burned there, even anger.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

The reflection mirrored the movement of my lips, but the voice remained outside.

“I am you, once you stop pretending.”

I froze.

“Is this another trick?”

The reflection didn’t answer. It took a step forward. The hand inside the mirror — and my real one — touched the surface simultaneously. But the glass wasn’t solid. It gave way.

I took a step — and passed right through.

On the other side, it was brighter. The room was a mirrored duplicate, yet everything within it was slightly… off. The walls were slightly more crooked. The air — warmer. The sound of footsteps — not mine.

A path of tiles bearing letters materialized on the floor. On the wall was an inscription, gouged as if by fingernails:

“Every step changes you. Choose a path — and pay with yourself.”

The tiles were laid out like an alphabet, but there was a strangeness to them: some flickered, others were cracked, and a few looked as if they were made of glass.

On one was “S”, on another “F”, then “L”, “M”, “I”, “T”, “D”. 

“What the…”

Then I understood. This wasn’t just a random assortment of letters. They were the first letters of words: Strength, Fear, Lie, Memory, Innocence, Trust, Desire.

I had to choose which one to walk across. Only one. The rest would vanish beneath the water if I made a mistake.

I stood over the letters. Behind my back — a rustle. I turned around. The reflection was walking right behind me. No longer inside a mirror. Real. Or nearly real.

“How are you here?” I asked.

“I have always been here. You are just finally ready to look.”

“I don’t want to choose between fear and a lie. Between trust and desire.”

“Then you will be chosen for.”

I bit my lip. A familiar cold burned in my chest. Fear, old as water, was creeping up. But now, it didn’t seem quite so terrifying.

“What happens if I step on Desire?”

“You stay. Forever. Inside the desire.”

“And if I step on Lie?”

“You get out. But you won’t be yourself.”

I looked at “Trust”. The tile was thin. Like fragile glass. A risk? Or a lie?

“And all of this — is me?” I asked.

The reflection nodded.

“All your choices. All your masks. Everything you once chose — and refused to remember.”

I closed my eyes. I pictured the pool. The voices of the team. Thomas. My own heart.

“Then I choose… Memory.”

I stepped forward. The tile yielded softly. It didn’t cave in. It didn’t explode. It opened up like a capsule.

Light.

I was standing in a different room now. But I wasn’t alone. Before me was Thomas. The real one. Lost. Wet. Bewildered. His eyes looked foreign.

“Miranda…” He stepped closer. “I thought you…”

He fell silent. We looked at each other. For the first time, truly.

“Did you choose?” I asked.

He nodded.

“The wrong path. I need to… fix it.”

But a sound came from the corner of the room — as if a mirror had cracked. Then another. A ripple ran across the floor, like water. And once again, a voice spoke, but it wasn’t ours.

“One of you must remain. One must pass. A choice.”

I looked at Thomas. He looked at me.

And I realized: this was yet another “test.” Only this time — it wasn’t mental. It wasn’t physical. It was a choice within myself.

“I’ll go,” he said.

“No,” I replied. “Together. Or not at all.”

The floor beneath us glowed. The tiles snapped together like a mosaic, forming a new door. The labyrinth had recognized the choice.

We walked onward.

But something from the mirror was still watching us leave.

And it was smiling.