Chapter 19 — The Mirror's Eye
The iron gate groaned open without a touch. Isabelle stepped into the monastery courtyard, breath fogging in the cold, unnatural stillness. No birds. No wind. Just silence, thick like oil.
Above her, the monastery rose like a fractured cathedral — sharp-angled towers, long shadowed cloisters, and windows shaped like broken eyes.
The bell in the eastern tower tolled once.
She had not touched it.
Inside, the hallways stretched longer than they should. Every corridor felt like déjà vu. Carved saints lined the walls, their faces scrubbed smooth, their eyes gouged out.
In the center chamber, she found the first mirror.
It was oval, set in stone, untouched by dust. When she stepped in front of it — her reflection blinked.
She didn't.
Heart racing, she backed away. The bell tolled again.
A nun appeared — soundless, sudden.
"You carry the shard," the nun said. Her face was pale, veiled in silver lace. "The mirror recognizes you."
"Is it safe here?"
The nun did not answer. She only turned, gliding down the corridor. Isabelle followed — she had little choice.
They passed more mirrors. In one, she saw herself as a child. In another, as Elira — the past life she barely remembered, her hands bloody, holding something that shimmered like a soul.
"You're walking through the seams of time," the nun said without turning.
"Why?"
"To remember. And then to choose."
In the refectory, dinner was set — untouched, perfectly warm. She sat out of instinct. The moment her fingers touched the spoon, all the candles flared out. Shadows rose from the corners like smoke.
When the light returned, the food had rotted.
She stood. Her reflection in the silver tray smiled.
She had not smiled.
Later, in the sleeping quarters, the nun whispered before vanishing:
"Break the mirror only when you are no longer afraid of what's on the other side."
The bell tolled a third time.
And Isabelle was alone.
But not unobserved.