The charm sizzled in Aiden's palm, searing his skin like a lover's bite.
He dropped it instinctively, and it hit the floor with a low, metallic thud—but the view through the keyhole didn't vanish.
If anything, it widened, the portal pulsing with a golden glow, beckoning him closer.
No. It invited.
Aiden stumbled back, heart pounding, his cock straining painfully against his pants.
The reflection—his reflection—was still there, watching through the mirror with eyes that weren't his own.
It tilted its head slowly, like a curious predator, then looked down at Irie and smiled, its lips curling with a hunger that made Aiden's skin crawl.
Irie knelt before the obsidian-framed mirror, nude, her legs parted, one hand trembling between her slick thighs, the other pressed against the glass, fingers splayed in desperation.
Her real expression was a mess of hesitation and frustration, her moans soft, trembling, unfulfilled, her silver hair clinging to her sweat-damp neck.
But her reflection?
Mirror-Irie was a vision of unrestrained lust, shuddering, grinding against an unseen presence, her hips rolling with brazen urgency.
Her lips moved, mouthing a name that sent a jolt through Aiden's core.
"Aiden."
He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his erection throbbing. "This isn't normal voyeurism anymore. This is… cursed. Totally cursed."
His Purity Eye pulsed, a sharp throb behind his right eye, and a rush of perception flooded him—layers peeling back like stained-glass windows unshuttering.
Crimson threads dripped from the mirror, weaving a predatory web around Irie's lust aura, which shimmered like steam, coiling around her breasts, her hips, her parted lips.
The mirror wasn't just reflecting—it was feeding.
It pulsed ahead of her climax, like a conductor orchestrating a false orgasm trail that her body struggled to follow.
Each time she failed—each time her trembling fingers couldn't match the reflection's pace—it soaked up her denied release, drinking her frustration like wine from a cracked chalice.
Aiden pressed his knuckles to his forehead, sweat beading on his brow.
"So it's preempting her… stealing her orgasm before she has one. Who the hell makes a mirror like that?!"
The reflection-Aiden crouched beside mirror-Irie, its lips brushing her ear, whispering something inaudible.
A faint hum filled the air, like breath caught in a throat, vibrating through Aiden's bones and teasing the tip of his cock.
The real Irie gasped, her back arching, her thighs twitching.
Her fingers froze mid-rub, suspended in a torturous pause, her violet eyes wide with need.
But mirror-Irie had already finished.
It moaned—long, loud, and too loud, the sound echoing through the room and out through the keyhole, vibrating in Aiden's teeth, his chest, his groin.
It was Irie's voice, but older, more experienced, a version of her that knew what she wanted and had stopped asking permission.
Aiden flinched, his pendant humming against his chest, its rune-wrapped mouth pulsing in warning. "Okay. Nope. Time to leave."
He turned, his robe swishing, determined to flee.
The hallway behind him rippled.
The floor bent, like liquid stone, and the air grew heavy, thick with floral incense and something darker—raw, primal lust.
The door to C-12 clicked.
Not from a lock.
From an invitation.
It swung open slowly, on its own, heat rolling out like a lover's breath, warm and perfumed with roses and sweat.
The room's purple-rose glow spilled into the hall, bathing Aiden in its seductive light.
He took a step back.
Then another, his boots slipping on the warped floor.
And the reflection-Aiden smiled wider, its eyes glinting with a promise that wasn't human.