"Some truths don't want to be found. They want to be obeyed."
—-----
The air beyond the blood-marked door didn't feel like a hallway.
It felt like stepping into a memory too old for names.
The light dimmed as Clara and Gustav crossed the threshold. Behind them, the door sealed itself shut—not with sound, but with silence, like the world exhaled and decided they no longer needed to hear what came next.
The corridor was long, narrow, lined with dark marble walls that shimmered as they walked—like they were reflecting not who Clara was, but who she might've become.
Their steps echoed hollowly.
Not a single painting. Not a single relic.
Just spirals carved into the stone, glowing faintly with what looked like ink—or blood that had forgotten how to dry.
Clara held Gustav's hand tightly.
She wasn't scared.
She was remembering.
Not things she'd lived—but things her blood hadn't forgotten.
"What is this place?" she whispered.
Gustav's voice was low, reverent. "Where reflections go to wait."
Clara frowned. "For what?"
His gaze stayed forward. "For you."
—
Halfway down the corridor, something shifted.
The air stiffened. Like the hallway knew they were coming.
Then, without a sound, a figure stepped from the shadows.
Clara froze.
Because the woman standing there…
Was her.
Older. Sharper. Dressed in velvet so black it seemed to drink the light.
Hair pinned with silver needles.
Lips blood-red and still.
And eyes—oh gods, the eyes.
They were hers.
And not.
"Hello, Clara," the version said. Her voice was silk dipped in fire.
Gustav stepped between them immediately. "She's not real."
"On the contrary," the other Clara smiled, unfazed. "I'm what happens when you stop pretending that love is more powerful than memory."
Clara's throat tightened. She took a step closer. "What are you?"
"Truth," the reflection said. "Or a possible one."
The corridor dimmed further. Gustav kept his hand near the dagger tucked under his coat.
"Don't listen to her," he warned.
But Clara couldn't look away.
There was something magnetic about this version—regal, restrained, unbreakable.
Unfeeling.
"You're one of Bathory's tricks," Clara said, steadying herself.
"I'm a version of you," the reflection said calmly. "The one who chose differently."
Clara hesitated. "Chose what?"
"Not to break," the other her said. "Not to forgive him."
She nodded toward Gustav.
"Not to die a thousand quiet deaths just to keep love alive."
Gustav flinched slightly, but Clara didn't move.
"I loved him," she said. "And I still do."
"Love?" the reflection echoed. "Darling, you've mistaken survival for sentiment. He left you in loop three. In loop five, he forgot you. In loop six, he used you as a key. How many more loops will you bleed for him?"
Clara blinked. "You remember all that?"
"I remember everything. Every time you chose pain just to feel something real."
Clara's voice cracked, but she stood her ground.
"I chose hope."
"You chose illusion," the version spat. "And you kept choosing it until the mirror laughed in your face."
Gustav finally stepped forward. "She's trying to divide us. That's what Bathory always does—turn you against yourself."
But the version laughed softly. "I don't need to turn her. She's already doubting."
Clara clenched her fists. "Why are you here?"
"To offer you mercy," the reflection said. "Turn back. Leave the mirror. Leave Irene. Let the loop continue. You'll be safe. You'll forget."
Clara's fists clenched at her sides.
The silence between them sharpened like a blade being drawn.
"You think forgetting is safety," she said, her voice low. "But it's a cage."
The reflection raised one elegant eyebrow. "A cage that kept you alive."
"No," Clara shot back. "It kept me small."
The other her walked forward, each step a soft echo. "You call it small. I call it smart. Do you know what happened in Loop Four? You begged Irene to rewrite you. You offered her your entire name—just so Gustav would remember your face. And you know what she said?"
Clara's mouth went dry.
"She said you weren't worth remembering."
Clara looked away. Pain surged hot behind her ribs, but she didn't move. Wouldn't move.
"You don't know what Irene meant," she whispered.
"Oh, I know exactly what she meant," the reflection said, circling slowly now, like a lion studying its prey. "You wanted love to be your anchor. But love doesn't hold. It breaks. And when it does? The mirror offers something better: erasure."
Clara let out a sharp breath, as if something in her chest cracked open.
"You want me to give up," she said. "That's your whole offer. You're dressed like mercy, but you're just fear wearing silk."
The version smiled—genuinely this time, like someone amused by a child's tantrum.
"I'm dressed like survival," she said. "I made peace with what you keep fighting."
Clara stepped forward. "You made peace with silence. I never will."
The reflection's smile faded.
"You don't understand," she said quietly. "When you walk through that door… it won't just cost you Gustav. It might cost you yourself. The real you."
Clara's eyes filled with tears. She didn't blink them away. She let them fall.
"I already lost myself once," she whispered. "When I let the mirror decide who I could love. I'm not doing that again."
The reflection hesitated—for the first time. Something flickered in her expression. Not doubt. Grief.
"Do you know what hurts most?" she said. "It's not the dying. It's the remembering. Every version of us that begged, that bent, that broke... and for what? A man who might not even choose you next time?"
Clara looked at Gustav. His eyes didn't waver.
She turned back. "Then I'll choose him."
The reflection's voice cracked—barely. "Even if he becomes the one who locks you away again?"
"Yes."
"Even if he forgets you again?"
"Yes."
The version looked down.
And then she asked, so softly Clara barely heard it:
"Even if you become me?"
A long silence.
Then:
"No," Clara said. "Because the difference between us isn't who we loved."
"It's who we became after."
And for the first time—the version flinched.
"I don't want to forget anymore," Clara said quietly.
"You say that now. But what happens when you remember how you died the first time?"
Gustav paled.
The reflection smiled wider. "Yes. You think this is your first life? It isn't. And it won't be your last. Unless—"
She stepped closer.
"Unless you end the loop here. Stay with me. I've built a world without pain, without mirrors, without Gustav."
Clara's jaw tightened.
"And what do I give up?"
The version tilted her head. "Your need to be understood. Your obsession with meaning. The ache of love."
Clara looked at Gustav.
He looked at her. No words needed.
The ache was still worth it.
Clara turned back.
"No," she said. "You're not me."
The reflection's face turned colder.
"I'm the you who got tired of bleeding."
Clara's hand went to the spiral on her palm. "You're the you who stopped believing."
The version hissed. "If you find Irene, the loop breaks. If the loop breaks—so does he."
Clara took a step forward. "If that's the cost of remembering who I am… then so be it."
"You'll lose him."
"Then I'll find myself."
The version's calm cracked.
"You don't understand," she snapped. "You were never supposed to get this far."
Clara's voice was steady.
"No. But Naomi did. And she led me here."
Silence.
Then Gustav spoke. Quiet. Steady.
"The real you," he said to Clara, "always cries before she chooses."
Tears welled in Clara's eyes.
The reflection watched her closely.
And Clara smiled.
Not in joy.
In defiance.
"You're not my future," Clara whispered.
And then she spoke the name.
The name no mirror wanted said.
"Erzsébet Clarae Nadasdy."
The reflection screamed.
Not in sound—but in soul.
She clutched her face as spirals of fire erupted from beneath her skin. Her body twisted, unraveling like ribbon soaked in flame.
"I was perfect!" she shrieked. "I was safe!"
"No," Clara said. "You were afraid."
Then the reflection exploded.
In light. In ash. In memory.
Gone.
Just gone.
—-----
The hallway pulsed.
The carvings along the wall flared once—then dimmed.
The path ahead unsealed with a soft groan.
The spiral burned hotter on Clara's palm.
Gustav exhaled, finally stepping beside her. "Are you okay?"
"No," Clara said. "But I'm ready."
They walked.
—-----
The corridor ended in a chamber framed by broken stone.
In the center: a gate.
Half-real. Half-mirror. Flickering.
The hour had come.
Gustav pulled the watch from his pocket.
3:12:47
Clara felt the ground tremble under her boots.
The gate shuddered.
"Sixty seconds," Gustav whispered. "That's all we'll have."
"Then we don't waste it."
They stepped forward.
Behind them, the last mirrors of the world cracked.
Bathory howled—somewhere far but closing in.
And the door Naomi died to reveal—
opened.
—------