It started with a line.
Thin.
Faint.
Barely visible.
Running from the base of my thumb to my wrist like a hairline fracture in porcelain.
I didn't notice it until I bent down to tie my shoe and saw how the light shimmered differently across that part of my skin.
It looked like... cracked glass.
I rubbed at it. Nothing changed.
Tried to hide it. It stayed.
Then another appeared.
Across my collarbone.
Then a third, along the side of my jaw.
Not bloody. Not bruised.
Just... cracks.
And with every one, something inside me shifted — like I was becoming hollow.
Less girl.
More doll.
---
That night, the house lit up.
Mirrors gleamed.
Candles floated in the air without flame.
The smell of roses, too strong and too sweet, dripped through the air like poison perfume.
A party.
Mirror Alya was throwing a Nightfall Bride Gathering.
Invitations were sent out.
To the living.
To the dead.
To those stuck in between.
Even I got one.
Slipped under my pillow. Written in glitter ink.
> Alya, darling.
Come celebrate the perfect version of you.
Come see what the house wants.
Come see who remembers your name.
I ripped it up.
But it still lay on the table five minutes later, perfectly intact.
---
I didn't want to go.
But I also knew...
The longer I stayed invisible, the more I'd disappear.
So I dressed in the only thing the house couldn't replace.
A red scarf that had belonged to my real mother.
The one I had carried in my backpack.
The only thing that hadn't been taken, burned, or absorbed.
I wrapped it around my neck like armor.
Then I walked into the ballroom.
---
The party looked like something out of a haunted fairytale.
Floating lanterns spun above a checkered floor.
Waltzes played from invisible instruments.
Dozens of women danced — most of them wearing my face.
Some were older.
Some younger.
Some with black eyes.
Some with no mouths at all.
All brides.
All failed.
I realized then…
They weren't guests.
They were warnings.
Failed versions of me.
Mirror Alya stood at the center.
Spinning slowly in a silver dress.
Hair braided with pearls.
Lips red like crushed rubies.
She saw me.
And smiled.
Like I was the punchline to her joke.
"Aww," she said sweetly, "you came anyway. Even with all those cracks."
I glared. "You're not me."
She stepped closer, brushing hair behind my ear.
"No, I'm better. I didn't cry in the bathroom every night. I didn't beg for Aaryan to look at me like I mattered. I embraced it. I made the house love me."
I pulled away. "The house doesn't love. It consumes."
She laughed. "Only the weak."
---
I tried to walk away. But the floor shifted beneath my feet.
Like a chessboard.
Trapping me.
Mirror Alya snapped her fingers.
The music stopped.
The brides turned.
All of them.
Their eyes glowed faintly.
She looked at them and said, "What do you do with a version that won't fit?"
They chanted together, in perfect unison:
> "Break her."
I ran.
---
Through the ballroom.
Past the fountains that now flowed with ink.
Up the stairs that weren't there yesterday.
My skin cracked more with every step.
My shoulder.
My thigh.
My ribs.
Shimmering fractures, like glass under pressure.
But I kept running.
Somewhere, deep inside me, a voice kept whispering:
> You're not made of glass.
You're made of the things glass reflects.
And those things do not break easily.
---
I made it to the forbidden room.
The first bride's chamber.
Dust coated everything.
A single window showed a full moon that hadn't risen outside.
And on the desk —
A diary.
Leather-bound.
Locked with a mirror clasp.
I knew what I had to do.
I pressed my thumb against the glass.
Blood smeared across the surface.
It opened.
---
Inside were pages. Hundreds of them. Torn. Scrawled. Angry.
The words were hers.
> I was the first.
I said yes to love.
Yes to Aaryan.
Yes to the house.
It kissed me sweetly.
Then caged me silently.
The mirror version was born the night I stopped being enough.
I turned the page.
> They let her wear my dresses.
They let her dance with my husband.
They let her have my name.
But she never got my memories.
That's how I won.
I froze.
That's how I won.
That's how I'd win.
---
I grabbed the book. Clutched it against my chest. Ran back down.
When I reached the ballroom again, the music had returned — louder, shriller, spinning out of control.
Mirror Alya was dancing in the middle with Aaryan.
He didn't even look like himself anymore.
His eyes glowed like the others.
A puppet. A prince. A prisoner.
I stepped onto the floor.
"Stop," I said.
No one heard me.
So I screamed.
"STOP."
The music shattered.
Literally.
Invisible violins cracked.
Mirrors across the walls burst.
Brides dropped to their knees.
Only Mirror Alya remained standing.
She turned slowly.
"Still playing rebel?" she hissed.
I held up the diary.
"This belonged to the first. The one the house tried to erase. But it couldn't. You know why?"
She laughed. "Because she was sentimental?"
"No."
I walked toward her.
"Because she remembered who she was before the house tried to rewrite her."
"And?"
I opened the book to the final page.
Scrawled in jagged letters:
> The mirror copies the surface.
Not the scars.
Not the memories.
Not the pain.
Not the soul.
I looked up at her. "You can copy my face. But not what broke it."
She lunged.
I dropped the book.
And raised my hand.
The cracks on my body gleamed.
For a second — I thought I would shatter completely.
But I didn't.
Because the cracks weren't breaking me.
They were releasing me.
The glass in my skin split wide —
And light poured out.
---
She screamed.
Not words.
Not even human.
The house trembled.
The lights burst.
The brides vanished.
And then—
She cracked.
Down the middle.
Like a mirror dropped from heaven.
And when she shattered, all her reflections did too.
One by one.
Until I was the only girl left standing.
Cracked.
Bleeding light.
Alive.