Amara could not shake the reflection she had seen. All through the night, sleep eluded her. When her eyes closed, she saw the mirror's cracks spreading like veins, and the other self staring back at her with unyielding eyes. Strong. Free. Everything she feared she was not.
By dawn, she had convinced herself it was only a trick of the light. But deep down, a whisper gnawed at her: What if it was the truth?
---
The temple courtyard was hushed that morning. Women passed by in pairs, murmuring about the mirror's weakness. The air was heavy with unease. Amara lingered at the edge, tracing the ribbon on her wrist through her sleeve.
That was when she felt it — a presence at her side.
"You're troubled," came a voice low and smooth.
Amara stiffened, turning sharply. A woman stood a few paces away, cloaked in shadow despite the morning sun. She remembered her instantly — the stranger who had once spoken of ways out, who had looked at her as if she knew all her secrets.
Amara's lips parted. "You."
The woman smiled faintly, tilting her head. "I knew we would meet again. I did not expect it to be so soon."
A chill traced Amara's spine. "What do you want?"
"To help." The stranger's gaze flicked toward the temple doors. "The mirror is breaking. You've seen it yourself. Do you know why?"
Amara shook her head.
"Because the bonds are flawed," the stranger said softly, stepping closer. "Because people like you do not belong bound to someone they did not choose. The mirror forces you into chains, and in the end, it will destroy you."
Amara swallowed. The words cut too close.
"I…" Her voice faltered. "I saw something. In the glass. Another me. Stronger."
The stranger's eyes glimmered with knowing. "That is who you could be — if the mirror no longer bound you."
Amara's breath caught. "But… without the mirror, Myraea would—"
"Would what? Continue to cage girls who only wanted freedom?" The stranger's tone was sharp, then softened. "You ache to be free. I can see it in your eyes. You don't want this bond, not truly. I can help you break it. All you must do is trust me."
Her heart pounded. Nysa's voice echoed in her memory — Be careful, Amara. Sometimes silence hides too much.
But silence had given her no answers. Only this stranger offered them now.
"How?" Amara asked, the word trembling out before she could stop it.
The woman reached into her cloak and drew out a shard of obsidian, its edge gleaming unnaturally. "Press this to the mirror's scar. The cracks will spread. The bond will shatter. And you… you will be free."
Amara's hands shook as she took the shard. Its surface burned cold against her skin.
---
That night, she slipped into the temple. The silence pressed close, broken only by the whisper of her own breath. Before her, the mirror loomed, tall and fractured, its cracks glowing faintly in the candlelight.
Her pulse raced. This was wrong. She knew it was wrong. And yet—
What if it was the only way to reclaim herself?
She raised the shard. It hovered before the mirror's heart, right where her reflection's eyes stared back at her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, though she could not say to whom — to Nysa, to the village, or to herself.
Then she pressed the shard to the glass.
The mirror screamed. Not with sound, but with light. Cracks spiderwebbed outward, faster and faster, until the surface burst apart in a storm of silver and shadow. Amara stumbled back, shielding her face as fragments rained to the ground, vanishing before they touched stone.
When the light faded, nothing remained but the empty frame.
Her chest heaved. The ribbon at her wrist flickered faintly, then dimmed.
"You've done it," the stranger's voice purred from the shadows. She stepped forward, eyes gleaming triumph. "Now the path begins."
Amara's stomach turned cold. Something in the woman's smile was wrong — too sharp, too eager.
"What have I done?" Amara whispered.
The stranger only laughed, low and cruel. "Exactly what I needed."
---
The temple doors slammed open. Elders rushed in, followed by villagers carrying torches. Their eyes fell upon the shattered frame — and then upon Amara, standing alone before it, the shard still clutched in her trembling hand.
Gasps filled the chamber. Someone whispered, "She
broke it."
Amara's blood ran to ice.
And from the shadows, the stranger was gone.