"Some memories aren't forgotten. They're locked away—because remembering them would unmake you."
***
The cold hit me like an uncompleted recollection.
Not cold of winter—but cold of something old and uncompleted.
The frozen past, just waiting to wake and consume me.
But something, inside me, restrained me.
Not for fear of what was beyond the glass. It was because for an instant, the world behind me was starting to change.
The overhead fluorescent light flickered. Once. Twice.
Then, silence cracked.
The room was no longer still.
My shadow, cast faintly on the stone floor, moved without me.
I froze.
It turned its head—my shadow turned its head toward me, even as I stood perfectly still. Its lips—my lips—curled upward.
And whispered.
"Go ahead, Clara. Save her. But know this..."
Its voice was dust and velvet. It scraped against the inside of my skull.
"...you may never come back the same."
I blinked, and it was gone. The shadow returned to normal, fixed and obedient, lying flat and lifeless on the cold stone.
But I was no longer sure if the world outside the mirror was any less cursed than the one behind it. Was this museum, with its hushed secrets and ancient dust, merely another layer of the same twisted reality?
Still, Gustav stood waiting—one hand outstretched. One eye was half-lit by that red corridor. The other was swallowed by shadow. His presence pulled something ancient in me. It felt like moonlight calls to tides. Familiar yet unknowable. Like a forgotten melody humming just beneath the surface of my skin.
"You once promised yourself," he said. His voice was a low rumble. It resonated with the very stones beneath my feet. "That if you ever remembered… you wouldn't hesitate."
The mirror pulsed again. It sounded almost like… a heartbeat. A slow, heavy thrum vibrated through the air, through my bones.
And I remembered something. Not as a thought, but as a scar. It was etched deep into my very being.
The scent of lavender and blood. A cloying sweetness mingled with iron.
The sound of a piano playing itself in the ruins of a ballroom. Ghostly notes echoed through shattered windows.
The feeling of cold metal chains wrapped around my wrists. Not as punishment, but to keep me from turning into something far worse. Something monstrous and unknown.
Memories that weren't mine.
Or maybe... they were. Maybe they belonged to a part of me that had been deliberately, brutally, severed.
I took one more glance over my shoulder—at the museum, at the catalog room, at the badge pinned to my coat.
"Intern."
A title that meant nothing now. A flimsy label in a world that had suddenly decided to shed its skin. A world revealing its true, horrifying form.
Not compared to what the mirror was whispering beneath its skin. A siren song of forgotten power and unspeakable truths.
I took Gustav's hand. His skin was cool, firm, and surprisingly comforting. A faint static seemed to hum between our palms, a subtle spark of connection.
The glass rippled, not like water, but like breath held too long. And finally, released. It stretched and warped. It became a living membrane swallowing the last vestiges of the familiar world behind me.
As I stepped through, the cold bit into me. Not cold like winter—but the cold of memory unfinished. A history frozen in time, waiting to thaw and engulf me.
The sensation of walking through it was like falling between two verses of an unfinished poem—never meant to be read aloud. A secret passage in a forgotten tome.
The hallway beyond the mirror smelled like candlewax and burnt roses. An intoxicating blend of reverence and decay. The walls pulsed faintly. Like the inside of a creature still alive, a vast, breathing entity. Paintings lined the sides—none of them hung, all watching. Their eyes, dark and ancient, followed my every move.
A girl in one painting, with eyes as black as obsidian, turned her head as I walked past. Her lips moved, forming silent words. A desperate plea I couldn't hear.
Gustav didn't look back. He walked with purpose. As if this place obeyed him. Or feared him. His stride was confident, unhesitating. A guide leading me into the heart of a nightmare.
"Where are we?" I asked. My voice echoed too many times. It was swallowed by the vastness of this impossible space.
"A memory that was never yours," he said. His voice was softer now. It was tinged with a melancholy I couldn't decipher. "But one that needs you to rewrite it."
The corridor opened into a vast, circular chamber. It was lit with hundreds of floating candelabras. Their flames danced without any visible support, casting long, shifting shadows. In the center stood a pedestal, ancient and carved with symbols that seemed to writhe in the flickering light. An object rested atop it.
A book.
Bound in something dark, veined, pulsing faintly as if with a hidden heartbeat. It radiated an energy that both repelled and drew me closer.
A name burned itself onto my tongue before I could even see the title. A word plucked from the deepest recesses of my subconscious.
But something in me froze.
Not because I was scared of what was to come. It was what was behind me changing.
The overhead fluorescent lighting flickered. Once. Twice.
Then silence burst wide apart.
The room wasn't still anymore.
My shadow changed.
I didn't.
It turned its head—my shadow faced me. As I froze in place.
Its lips were set in a smile.
And whispered.
"Do it, Clara. Save her. But remember this…"
Its voice was like velvet on gravel. Dust and danger.
".you may not come back the same."
I blinked. And it was gone.
The shadow returned to normal. Flat. Obedient. Lifeless on stone.
But I could no longer choose which world was more cursed—inside or outside of the mirror.
Gustav continued to wait—his hand held out. One eye illuminated by the glow of the mirror. The other in darkness.
He tugged something deep within me. Like moonlight pulling at the tide. Familiar yet un-knowable. Like a tune I nearly recall.
"You once made yourself a promise," he said, voice like thunder in the stones beneath my feet. "If you ever remembered, you wouldn't hesitate."
The mirror throbbed like a heartbeat. Slow. Weighty.
And I remembered.
Not as a concept—but as a scar.
The scent of lavender and blood. Sweet and metallic.
A piano itself playing in the ruined ballroom.
Chains on my wrists. Not to punish me. To hold back something worse in me.
Memories not my own.
Or perhaps. they were. Ripped away from me ages back.
I looked back—at the museum, the catalog room, the badge pinned to my chest.
"Intern
A title that was meaningless now. A paper mask on a planet that had ripped off its skin.
The mirror revealed to me things I was incapable of understanding. A melody of buried truths and dangerous power.
I took Gustav's hand.
He had a cold and firm grip. There was a subdued spark between us.
The glass rippled—not like water, but like breath. Held. Then exhaled.
And swallowed the world behind me.
When I stepped through, cold hit me. Not cold like winter—memory cold. Frozen past set to thaw and devour me.
It was like falling between lines of a poem unfinished by anyone. A secret sewn in a forgotten book.
The hall smelled of candlewax and burnt roses. Reverence and decay. The walls pulsed—alive. Breathing.
Pictures filled the hallway. Not on walls. Observing.
Eyes followed me. Black. Ancient.
A girl in one portrait turned her head as I passed. Lips moved. Silent words. A plea I couldn't hear.
Gustav never looked back. He moved like this place obeyed—or feared—him.
"Where are we?" My voice echoed. Far too many times.
"A memory that wasn't yours," he said gently. "But one that needs you to rewrite it."
The hallway opened into an enormous round room. Scores of candelabras hovered suspended. Shades danced on the floor below.
At the center—a pedestal. Carved in writhing symbols.
A book rested on top.
Dark. Veined. It pulsed—as if it breathed
I knew its name before I saw it.
The Mirror Codex.
Gustav moved away to let me pass.
"It knows your name," he breathed. "Because you are the one who attempted to kill it. lifetimes back."
I trembled in my hands. A shiver ran down my spine.
As I reached for the book, a groan echoed behind us. The mirror snapped shut—loud as a coffin sealing. Or jaws clamping shut.
Gustav didn't flinch. He just watched.
His eyes were deep. Haunted.
"Welcome back, Clara," he whispered. "You came here before to forget. Let's see if this time. you're ready to remember."
And room spoke a name. One word. Ancient. Bloody. Cold as shadow.
"Bathory."
***