Before we could return to our room, a voice called from behind us.
"Good evening, Young Master Hogg. Young Lady Hogg."
"Hiek!" we both yelped in unison.
We spun around to find a maid standing still as a painting—expression blank, eyes unreadable, posture far too composed for comfort.
I swept into a dramatic bow, one hand over my chest like a love-struck troubadour. "Oh! My poor trembling heart nearly burst from my ribs and leapt into your hands, my sweet enchantress. But alas, my heart is not mine alone—it is a candle shared by all who pass by."
I ended with a sniff worthy of a stage curtain.
The maid stared at me, as unmoved as a marble statue. Then, in the same flat tone, she said, "Dinner is nearly ready. However, the Madam is occupied and will not attend. Please understand."
"Of course! What is there not to understand?" I replied, still halfway in my minstrel persona. "We shall appear at the dining hall as swiftly as the moon rises after dusk—before you know it!" I added a wink for good measure.
The maid turned without comment and walked away, silent as a shadow.
I leaned toward Ronette and whispered, "Don't tell Master Sylph and Lady Nozomi about this."
He nodded solemnly, and together we headed to the dining hall.
Dinner passed in strained silence, our minds only half-tasting the food, the other half plotting. When our plates were clean, we resumed our mission:
Operation: Rescue Maria before our souls get devoured.
Ronette gave me a wary look. "That sounds kind of ominous."
I licked my spoon and stood. "Ominous? Ronette, darling, ominous is our middle name."
We returned to our room, the air heavy with expectation. Without a word, we walked to the bookshelf.
My fingers drifted along the worn spines, hesitating as they neared the one I half-hoped had been a hallucination—bright red, slightly crooked, like a secret trying too hard not to be seen.
I pulled it.
With a low, reluctant groan, the bookshelf shuddered and began to shift sideways, revealing the hidden passage behind it.
I stared into the dark maw. "Oui… It wasn't a dream."
Ronette leaned forward from behind me, poking his head out like a nervous jack-in-the-box. "What are we waiting for, Louis? Let's go."
I glanced at him. "Why don't you go first then?"
He shook his head so fast it ruffled his fringe. "Ladies first."
I rolled my eyes. "Isn't it sweet how 'ladies first' turns from polite to 'you go get haunted' real quick?"
Ronette chuckled, a nervous edge clinging to his laugh.
Still, I stepped forward into the shadows, steeling my nerves as the passage seemed to inhale us. The narrow corridor closed around us like a throat, swallowing every echo of our footsteps. Even the light from Ronette's candle seemed hesitant, flickering like it knew what lay ahead and wished it didn't.
"Keep an eye out for snakes," I said under my breath.
"I'm keeping two eyes out," Ronette whispered. "Three, if terror decides to gift me another."
I smirked. Just a little.
We descended the spiral staircase at the end of the passage, our breath turning faintly visible in the air. It had grown colder—colder than before. The stones beneath our feet were damp, the silence nearly thick enough to trip over.
"Hmph. The place is still as creepy as ever," I muttered.
"And colder," Ronette added with a shiver. He blew out a puff of breath, and a small fig of mist escaped his lips. "We should've worn thicker clothes."
Then we reached it.
The room from before. The one where the cobra had slithered into the shadows and vanished like a bad omen.
Now it stood still—too still. Too empty.
I took a step forward. Something cracked beneath my boot.
Ronette leapt back, startled. "Was that a bone?"
I crouched down and picked up the fragment. 'White, fragile, and curved.'
"Teacup," I said, frowning. "Looks like someone's been having creepy tea parties down here."
"Who? Skeletons?" Ronette's voice wobbled, his hands clenched nervously.
"I'd be happy if it's just skeletons," I sighed, standing.
"Why? Skeletons are scary."
"Compared to a cobra? They're nothing." I flexed my fingers into a tight fist. A series of soft cracks echoed from my knuckles. "One tap, and their bones would snap like twigs."
Ronette inched a few steps back, his expression shifting from frightened to… frightened of me. His wide eyes blinked at me with concern.
I glanced over, raising a brow. "Relax. I wasn't talking about you."
That didn't seem to help.
We continued down the narrow corridor, the air growing heavier with every step. Around the next bend, a strange sight emerged from the gloom.
A round table stood in the center of a small alcove, set as if for high tea—delicate porcelain cups, floral saucers, silver tongs resting neatly beside a sugar bowl. Everything was perfectly arranged. Too perfectly.
We approached slowly, eyes darting, breaths shallow.
My fingers hovered over one of the cups before settling gently on the rim.
It was warm.
I looked at Ronette. "It's still warm."
His face paled a shade further. "Could it be… they know we're here?"
"Most probably," I murmured. My hand drifted to the spoon. It had been used—faint traces of sugar clung to the metal.
The scene looked freshly abandoned. Like whoever had set it was expecting company—or had just fled.
I stepped back, my voice low and steady. "Let's move forward."
Ronette swallowed hard but nodded, falling into step behind me.
We left the tea set behind—its warmth, its silence, and the distinct feeling that something had just slipped out of sight.
The corridor stretched ahead, narrowing with each step, the shadows clinging tighter to our ankles. Our footsteps were muffled now, not by stone or dust—but by something stranger. The sound of walking had changed. Each step rang like a distant bell underwater.
We turned another corner—and stopped.
The corridor ended.
Or rather, it didn't.
Before us stood a mirror. Towering, seamless—neither framed nor mounted—simply there, swallowing the entire width of the corridor like it had grown from the stone itself. It reflected us with unsettling clarity. Too perfect. No grain. No warping. Not a single speck of dust. Even our breath failed to fog its surface.
"Eww! Mirrors! I hate mirrors," I muttered, my face wrinkling in distaste.
I lifted my hand experimentally.
My reflection didn't move.
Ronette's hand clamped onto my shoulder. "Louis… do you see that?"
The mirrored version of me tilted her head—slowly, deliberately—mocking. But I hadn't moved. Not a twitch.
And then, I saw her.
Standing beside the mirrored me was not Ronette. It was a girl.
Maria.
She clung to my double's hand like a shadow, a porcelain doll clasped tight in her other arm. Her lips moved, silently whispering to something—or someone—we couldn't see. Then, she turned her head—not toward us, but toward the corridor within the reflection, as if something unseen had entered behind her.
Ronette's voice dropped to a whisper. "We're not looking in a mirror. We're looking through."
My pulse quickened. "Then where's the other side?"
As if in answer, the mirrored Maria slowly lifted her arm… and pointed directly at me.
The glass rippled.
Ronette tightened his grip on my arm. "Are mirrors supposed to do that?"
"Of course not."
"Then this is… not normal, right?"
I gave a dry laugh, eyes fixed on the shifting glass. "Rather than being shocked by what's abnormal, I'd say what's shocking is that anything here ever pretends to be normal."
Ronette gulped, pale as wax.
The glass rippled again—slowly, like the surface of a disturbed lake—beckoning.
Maria's reflection stood still, her eyes round and endless. She didn't blink. Neither did the other me.
I stepped forward before Ronette could protest.
As my fingers touched the surface, a chill bloomed across my skin—sharp, invasive, like frostbite—but it didn't stop me. My hand sank into the glass, not with resistance, but with a yielding softness that made my skin crawl. I glanced back at Ronette.
"If I get eaten by a cursed mirror dimension, avenge me."
He didn't answer. Just closed his eyes and nodded, trembling like a leaf in a thunderstorm.
And I stepped through.
It was like walking through silk soaked in ink.
Then—light.
The air was strange. Too sweet. It smelled like overripe fruit and old perfume. My feet met carpet now—soft, crimson, and patterned with twisting golden vines that moved slightly when I stared too long. The corridor here was identical… but wrong. The shadows were red. The walls pulsed faintly, like lungs drawing breath.
I turned—
Ronette crashed in after me, stumbling and barely catching himself against a velvet wall sconce shaped like a human hand.
"I hate this. I hate mirrors. I hate art," he gasped.
Then we heard it.
A giggle.
It echoed through the hall. Not mischievous. Not joyous. Flat. Hollow. Mechanical. Like a doll mimicking laughter.
We followed it.
The corridor spilled into a grand ballroom. Chandeliers dangled from the ceiling—but they were melting, dripping threads of glittering light. The ceiling soared too high, grotesquely tall, like a cathedral sketched by someone who had never seen one. Paintings lined the walls, and from their eyes wept black tears.
At the center of it all stood Maria.
She was dancing. Slowly. Elegantly. With someone—or something.
It wore Ronette's face. More accurately, Mr. Lerrington's face.
But the smile stretched too wide. The eyes were pure white.