Chapter 8

“Sometimes the reflection isn’t you. It is the one waiting for you to surrender your place.”

I didn’t realize right away that everything had changed.

The corridor, which had seemed straight, began to warp. The walls — glass, but not transparent — looked as though they were coated in a thin film of water. Light drifted and refracted. It was hard to tell up from down. At times, it felt like I was swimming inside a mirror.

And then I noticed the reflection.

Mine. Except it didn’t duplicate me exactly. It lagged slightly. It didn’t blink when I blinked. It was… imprecise. Alive.

I froze in the water, holding my breath. The reflection kept moving. It smiled at me.

I backed away sharply, catching my shoulder against the wall. The wall was warm, like skin. No—like breath. The space narrowed, and a new door opened ahead of me. Not a door—a hole in the water. Like an open mouth. Dark, beckoning.

I drew in air and dove.

I found myself in a massive, circular room. Immediately, I lost my balance. The entire space was made of mirrors. The floor, the walls, even the ceiling — if there even was one. Everything reflected. Everything repeated.

I stood up. My wet suit clung to my body. On the surfaces — dozens, hundreds of me. And not a single one moved in sync with me.

One stared at me with reproach. Another held someone’s severed hand. A third was weeping.

I walked forward. Slowly, distrustfully.

A massive wall in front of me displayed a scene: my mother, sitting in the kitchen. Hunched over. Smoking. Her lips were trembling. Her eyes were red.

I clenched my fists. That wasn’t her. That was the labyrinth. She was already gone. Gone.

The next wall showed my father. He was holding a gun. Speaking quietly:

“The coach believed in you. And you failed. You always fail.”

I reeled. The space was whispering. Rustles. Voices. All of them — mine. My memories. My fears.

I saw Joe. In the reflection, he was drowning. His hands reached upward. He was screaming, but there was no mouth. Only silence and air bubbles.

The next scene was Lia. Her face was contorted. She was clutching her stomach. Blood. So much blood. And her eyes — staring straight at me.

“You left us,” she whispered. “You chose yourself.”

I screamed. The sound ricocheted in thousands of echoes. All of them were mine, yet foreign. Each one reflected fear, guilt, rage.

My reflections began to move. They drew closer. One — eyeless. The second — bearing an ugly smile. The third — wearing the coach’s uniform.

“You aren’t real,” they said. “You’re a mask. A copy. You are nothing but a composite structure of other people’s expectations.”

“No!” I slammed my fist into the nearest mirror. It shattered. The shards cut my skin. Blood — live, real blood.

The reflections froze.

From the crack, a voice sounded. Mine, but not mine. Hoarse, deep, like a roar from underwater.

“I am you. The real one. The one who isn’t afraid. The one who is ready to give up everything just to get out.”

From the mirror emerged me. Except her skin was ink-black. Her hair was wet, like seaweed. Her eyes — solid black.

“Yield to me. Let me in. I will save us. I am stronger.”

“No,” I whispered. “You are my weakness. My thirst to lose myself. My shadow.”

She reached her hand out to me. I stepped back. My heart was in my throat. But I knew: if I allowed it, I would vanish. Forever.

I stood up straight.

“I have made my choice. I will accept the fear. I will accept the pain. But I will remain myself.”

The shadow screamed. The walls shook. The mirrors began to burst — one after another. The room filled with a cracking sound, as if the labyrinth itself were demolishing its own structure.

I leapt into the broken mirror, pushing through the pain, through the shards.

Water.

Silence again. And then — light. I surfaced, coughing, trembling. The air was stale. Dampness. Stone walls. A new section. A new trial.

I survived. I didn’t become her.

But somewhere behind me, the mirror is still breathing.

And maybe, one day, it will want me again.