Chapter 50: Ruin in the Mirror
She dreamt again.
She didn't mean to.
Didn't want to.
But want had stopped listening to her long ago.
Dreams had become her prison—no, her confession booth. And Selene was always the priest behind the veil, cool and cruel, demanding penance from a body too eager to sin.
It began, as always, with silence.
A hush thick enough to choke on. The kind that presses in on all sides like steam in a sealed room. Aria stood barefoot in the long corridor of Selene's home—though it never felt like a home to her, not really. More like a cathedral with all the warmth stripped out. Sacred, but unforgiving.
She wore nothing but one of Selene's cardigans—oversized, black, her scent woven into every thread: smoke, cedar, frost. It clung to Aria's skin like memory. And guilt.
She should've turned back.
Should've forced herself awake.
But instead her feet carried her forward, drawn like a moth to frostbite.
To the mirror room.
That cursed antique mirror with the cracked silver spine and the uncanny gleam—like moonlight caught in a snare. The one that didn't just reflect, but remembered.
She opened the door.
Selene was already there.
She always was.
Lounging in the chair by the far wall, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, her shirt unbuttoned low enough to tease. Her gaze landed on Aria like snowfall—quiet, steady, cold enough to burn.
"You keep coming back," Selene murmured, not rising.
Aria swallowed. "It's just a dream."
Selene tilted her head. "You say that like it absolves you."
Aria took one step in.
Then another.
The door clicked shut behind her.
She didn't remember closing it.
"Why am I here?" she whispered.
Selene stood.
Slow, elegant. A silhouette of sin stitched in moonlight.
"You know why."
Aria trembled.
"No," she lied.
Selene's smile was barely there.
A dangerous curl.
"Then let's show you."
She walked forward, circling like a predator. Aria couldn't run. Her legs wouldn't move. The mirror loomed behind her—too large, too knowing. Her own reflection stared back at her: pale, flushed, thighs clamped tight beneath the cardigan.
"Take it off."
The command landed like icewater across her chest.
Aria hesitated.
Selene stepped closer. The air chilled by degrees.
"I won't ask twice."
That was all it took.
The cardigan slid from her shoulders.
It fell to the floor in silence.
She stood there in a camisole and thin panties—cotton damp, nipples hard beneath silk, breath catching in her throat.
Selene didn't touch her.
Not yet.
"Turn around."
Aria obeyed.
Faced the mirror.
Faced herself.
She looked… not like herself. Her lips were parted, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with unspoken need. Her body practically screamed for touch. But more than that—shame. Shame twisted into arousal. Guilt that dripped between her legs.
Selene stood behind her.
Not touching.
Just there.
"Look," Selene whispered. "Look what I've made of you."
Aria whimpered.
"No," she breathed.
Selene's mouth ghosted beside her ear. "Yes."
She didn't touch Aria—not fully. But her fingers floated close. Traced the space just above her skin. She dragged them along the curve of Aria's arms, the dip of her waist. Close enough for heat. Too far for relief.
"You used to be sweet," Selene murmured. "Used to blush and turn away. Now you spread your legs in sleep, panting for me."
Aria's knees buckled.
She caught herself against the dresser.
Her reflection swayed—messy, undone.
"I didn't mean to—"
"To moan my name in your sleep? To come with my voice in your ear?"
Selene finally touched her.
Just one hand, flat and cold, pressed between her shoulder blades.
"Lie down.
The bed behind her had never looked more like an altar.
Aria obeyed, heart galloping.
She lay back on the sheets. Legs drawn up. Camisole askew.
Selene stayed standing.
Watching.
"You won't be touched tonight," Selene said. "You'll ruin yourself for me."
Aria's breath caught.
"I—please…"
"No," Selene snapped. "You'll do it. Because you need to. Because you ache when I breathe."
Aria's hand slid down her belly.
Hesitant.
Her fingers grazed the waistband of her panties.
Selene crossed her arms. "Eyes open. Watch yourself."
So she did.
Her other hand braced against the bed as the first slipped into her panties.
She gasped.
Wet.
Soaked.
Already waiting.
Already wanting.
She began to move.
Soft circles.
Teasing herself like Selene told her to. She whimpered, her own touch cruel in its delicacy. Selene stood silent, a sentinel to her degradation.
"Slower," Selene said.
Aria whimpered louder.
"I—I can't—"
"You will."
Every flick of her fingers felt like fire. Every moan was a confession. Her hips rolled, seeking friction, and the sheets tangled beneath her legs.
She watched herself in the mirror.
Saw her own flushed face, parted lips, eyes glazed with heat and shame. Her thighs spread wider. Her fingers glistened.
She wanted to look away.
But Selene wouldn't let her.
"This is what you've become," Selene said. "A girl who dreams of being used. A girl who begs in silence and comes alone."
Aria's cries grew louder.
Selene walked to the mirror, traced it with her fingertips.
The surface rippled.
And suddenly, Aria wasn't watching herself anymore.
She was watching Selene—inside the mirror now, undressed, perfect, walking toward her like a promise too big to hold.
Selene crawled over dream-Aria in the reflection, cold hands trailing down warm skin.
Aria sobbed.
"Please… please touch me."
"I am touching you," the reflection purred.
And she was.
Aria could feel it.
A ghost of Selene's fingers over her chest, her thighs, down her slick folds.
But there was no weight.
No body.
Just the illusion.
And her own hand.
She moved faster now, chasing release, chasing Selene.
Her legs trembled. Her cries broke.
"Say my name," Selene whispered from inside the mirror.
"Selene," Aria gasped.
"Again."
"Selene—please—"
"Come for me."
And she did.
It tore through her—sharp, relentless.
Her back arched off the bed, her thighs clamped, her hand frantic as waves of pleasure ripped through her gut, down her spine, behind her eyes.
She collapsed seconds later.
Shaking.
Spent.
Ruined.
The mirror quieted.
Selene stepped back into the chair like nothing had happened.
Aria stared up at the ceiling, still breathing too hard.
Still aching.
Selene's voice cut through the silence.
"Wake up."
And just like that—
She did.
Her body jerked.
Sheets twisted.
Panties soaked.
Her breath still ragged in her throat.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
She stared at the ceiling of her own room now.
Familiar.
Safe.
Empty.
No one there.
Just the echo of a voice that didn't belong to reality.
Just the ache.
The pulse.
The unbearable longing she couldn't name.
She pressed her hand to her chest, then lower—hesitated.
Stopped.
She couldn't.
Not again.
Instead, she curled on her side, face buried in her pillow, wetness slick between her legs, heart splintered from a dream that didn't end.
And wouldn't.
Because Selene wasn't just in her head.
She was inside her.
Like a bloom she couldn't stop.
A hunger that only grew.
A bloodline awakening, unaware.
And Selene—Selene had guessed.
Which was why she tempted.
Which was why she waited.
Not for Aria to beg.
But for her to break.