The mirror didn't lie.
It didn't need to.
Thea and Igor stood in front of it, silent. Their reflections didn't mimic them — not exactly. The mirrored Thea shifted weight to the opposite leg, arms crossed. The mirrored Igor blinked when he didn't.
They were… almost them.
But not quite.
Behind the reflections, the shadows loomed — faceless, flickering shapes pressed up against the glass like fogged silhouettes on the other side of a window. No detail. No definition. Just presence.
"Don't blink," Igor said quietly. "They move when you blink."
Thea narrowed her eyes. "What is this supposed to test? Our fear of doppelgängers? Confronting our inner selves?"
The mirror spoke.
Yes, spoke.
"You may enter… if you abandon what you are pretending to be."
Thea took a small step forward. "Define 'pretending.'"
The glass rippled like water.
"The goals you fake. The truths you hide. The masks you wear even from yourself."
Thea turned to Igor. "This feels like one of those self-help cult seminars where they make you cry so you'll buy the expensive workbook."
"And this is the part where someone hands you a juice and says it's 'cleansing' but it's actually just carrot pulp and shame," Igor muttered.
Still, the hallway waited.
Behind the mirror, the reflections hadn't stopped watching. They didn't smile. They didn't speak.
But they judged.
It was Thea who moved first. She exhaled slowly, stepped toward the frame, and said, "Fine. I'll go first."
The glass didn't shatter.
It peeled open.
Like a film being stripped from reality.
And then she was gone.
Inside the Hall
Igor followed, swallowing his discomfort like a bitter pill. The moment he stepped through the glass, the world shifted again — subtly, nauseatingly.
It was no longer a station.
Now it was… a hallway made of choices.
Long, narrow, and lined with doors. Each door bore a version of their names etched in different fonts, different eras.
Some doors looked new.
Others looked ancient.
Some were pristine and corporate-looking — "THEA, INC." in bold sans serif. Others were scratched into warped wood: T-H-E-A, childlike, messy.
Same with Igor.
One read "IGOR 2.0: PROJECTED SUCCESS". Another just said "IGGY", surrounded by doodled skulls.
At the center of the corridor, a screen flickered to life. A prompt blinked in glowing red text:
"Choose the version of yourself you will NOT become."
"Oh. That's healthy," Igor muttered.
Thea scanned the doors, eyes narrowing. "They want us to pick something to reject. Like pruning a tree. You don't get to grow in all directions."
"I vote we throw a chair through the screen and grow sideways anyway."
"No chairs," Thea replied dryly. "Just existential dread."
After a moment, she walked up to a sleek, high-tech door with her name in gold. The kind that looked like it belonged on a CEO's office in a dystopian future.
She placed a hand on it.
The door whispered.
"You dream of control."
She closed her eyes. "Yeah. I do. And maybe that's the mask."
She took a step back.
The door evaporated.
Not opened — ceased to exist.
And with it, a weight lifted.
Igor stepped forward to a door painted like a locker. It looked like it belonged in a high school hallway, covered in old band stickers and permanent marker insults.
He hesitated. Then touched it.
"You pretend nothing ever hurt you."
He didn't speak.
Just nodded.
The door disappeared.
The screen blinked once. Then a new message appeared:
"Hall Cleared. Proceed."
The far wall slid apart.
Beyond it: darkness. Pure, pressing black.
"After you," Igor said.
Thea sighed. "I miss the creepy mannequins already."
The Descent
They stepped into the void — and found themselves falling.
But not in a terrifying, out-of-control way.
More like a slow-motion drop through ink. Images floated past them — memories, moments, regrets — all distorted. The time Thea lied about a scholarship. The time Igor left someone behind in a snowstorm because he panicked.
Private, painful fragments of past selves — framed like art.
"We're falling through our own psychological museum," Thea murmured.
"Can we rate the exhibits? I'd give mine two stars. Very depressing."
At last, their feet touched solid ground.
Another door waited — this one simple. Wooden. Old.
And carved into it, one phrase:
"Trust is your only light."
Thea reached for the handle.
Room of Echoes
Inside, it looked like a church turned inside out.
Pews floated upside-down from the ceiling. Candles burned backward, wax flying up into flames. The walls whispered, echoing things neither of them had said aloud — but had thought.
"She'll leave you eventually."
"You're just like your father."
"If you tell the truth, they'll hate you."
Igor grimaced. "Okay, I hate this level."
"No kidding," Thea whispered, scanning the room.
At the front was a podium. On it: two books.
One black. One white.
Thea approached. There was a note between them, handwritten.
"One of these holds the map. The other writes your fate. You can only read one."
Behind them, the doors slammed shut.
From the far side of the church, footsteps echoed.
Not one set.
Three. Four. More.
Shadowed figures began to emerge — each one wearing their faces.
Smeared. Slightly wrong. Laughing too wide. Eyes too glassy.
"You get the book," Igor whispered, stepping in front of her. "I'll handle the nightmare twins."
Thea didn't argue.
She grabbed the black book.
It burned her hands — not with heat, but memory. Her arms trembled as she opened it.
Inside, a single sentence glowed:
"There is no map. But there is always a pattern."
Thea froze.
"Igor—look out!"
The doppelgangers lunged.
But Igor was faster.
He ducked, grabbed a candle, and slammed it into one's face. The wax hissed — and the copy screamed, glitching like a broken hologram before vanishing in a burst of static.
"Pattern," Thea repeated. "They're mimicking us. But they can't improvise. They're scripted!"
Igor grinned. "Finally. A reason to be unpredictable."
He leapt onto a pew — flipped upside down — and used it as a launching point to crash into another clone.
Thea flipped to the last page.
More writing appeared:
"The exit is behind the altar. But only for the one who chooses to leave first."
Her heart sank.
"Igor…"
But he already knew. He'd read her expression.
"Go," he said, still catching his breath. "I'll stall them."
"I'm not leaving you."
"Then we fail."
They stared at each other — locked in that moment.
Then Thea smiled faintly.
"I've got a better idea."