Theda Always Knew It Would Come to This
There is a mirror buried beneath the manor.
Older than the Vale name. Older than Elowen's birth.
Older than even Mara's first lie.
It doesn't reflect.
It reveals.
And Theda has kept its key for seven years, hidden behind a portrait of a girl who never smiled for real.
Now, with Irlenne by her side and Lucien carrying Elowen—shivering but awake—they descend the staircase that wasn't there yesterday.
"I never told anyone," Theda says quietly, leading them down. "This one only opens when something has been truly forgiven."
Irlenne glances sideways.
"That's why it stayed locked?"
Theda nods.
No one had forgiven anyone.
Until now.
---
Below, the Mirror Waits
It's not mounted. It rises.
A monolith of living glass — nearly ten feet tall, pulsing with slow, soft light.
Inside it, things shift.
Not reflections.
Possibilities.
"What is it?" Lucien asks, voice cautious.
Theda answers, "It shows the version of yourself that almost happened. The self you could have been… if love hadn't broken you first."
No one moves.
No one breathes.
The mirror hums.
---
Lucien Steps Forward First
He doesn't speak. Just looks.
And what he sees makes him fall to his knees.
Inside the mirror:
He and Irlenne, twenty-one, laughing in a cluttered kitchen.
She's wearing his hoodie. He's burning pancakes.
They're happy.
No drama. No mirrored ghosts.
No Mara.
Just life.
"I never…" he starts, voice cracking. "I never told her I chose her. Not really. Not when it mattered."
Irlenne kneels beside him.
"You don't have to say it now," she says.
"I want to."
She touches his hand.
"You already did—when you walked through the glass for me."
---
Elowen Refuses to Look
She's trembling harder now.
"What if it doesn't show anything?" she whispers. "What if I was never meant to be real at all?"
Irlenne places a hand on her back.
"You were made of echoes," she says softly. "But you don't have to stay one."
Elowen steps toward the mirror.
It resists her.
Then flickers.
And shows—
A girl in a white sweater.
Alone. Reading. Drawing. Smiling to herself.
Content.
No Lucien.
No Mara.
No thieving. No imitating.
Just herself.
Elowen crumples.
"I don't know who she is," she sobs.
"Not yet," Theda says, finally stepping beside her. "But you could."
---
Theda's Turn
She expects it to show her what she always feared: herself broken, cold, empty.
Instead—
She sees Mara.
Alive.
Writing a letter.
Not a cruel one.
But an apology.
Unsent.
Unread.
And Theda is at the window, watching her.
A version of herself that stayed.
Didn't run. Didn't judge. Didn't flinch from the mess.
"I thought saving you meant leaving," Theda whispers to the vision.
Mara looks up, smiles faintly.
And the vision fades.
Not shattered.
Released.
---
The Mirror Dims
Its job is done.
Not to haunt.
But to show the road not taken.
The regrets that no longer have to hold.
Irlenne touches the glass last.
It doesn't flicker. Doesn't change.
It simply shows her as she is.
Hair tangled. Eyes red. Hands open.
And behind her — Lucien, Theda, Elowen.
She smiles.
And says:
"I'm enough."
The mirror doesn't argue.
It just vanishes.
---
They Return Upstairs Changed
The manor is warmer.
Mirrors behave again.
No more voices.
No more shifting shapes.
No more ghost-Maras watching from the corners.
Elowen sleeps for the first time without whispering someone else's name.
Lucien dreams of Irlenne beside him in the sun.
Theda writes a letter she'll never send.
And Irlenne?
She plants a seed in the greenhouse Mara once tried to poison.
She waters it.
Waits.
And watches it bloom—ugly, wild, and absolutely real.