"You made it past the lies. Now face the lives."
—-----
The moment Clara's fingertips touched Irene's skin, reality buckled.
She felt it first in her chest—a pulling, stretching sensation, as if her soul was trying to split itself into pieces. Her eyes widened in panic, locking onto Gustav's. He was experiencing it too, mouth parted, breathing shallow.
Irene stood still, eyes white, open, unseeing—but seeing everything.
Behind her, the Cartomancer—tall, slender, cloaked in silence—had already positioned himself. His pen, sharp-tipped and glistening red, hovered over a vast parchment spread across the obsidian table, vibrating as though alive.
Irene drew in a breath that sounded like knives scraping stone.
"Hold my hands. Both of you—Now."
Clara hesitated only a heartbeat before grasping Gustav's hand tightly. She intertwined their fingers, pressing her palm firmly against Irene's open hand. Gustav followed.
The moment all three made contact, a sharp jolt crackled between their joined palms.
The room exploded into motion.
Walls that had appeared blank were suddenly alive, breathing, whispering in low, haunting voices. The circle of cracked mirrors flared briefly, reflecting fragmented, distorted images—then abruptly faded into darkness.
Irene gasped sharply, her eyes rolling back until only milky white remained. Her mouth fell open, and from within, a torrent of rapid-fire words poured forth.
At the same time, the Cartomancer's body snapped forward, hand slamming down onto the parchment. Blood-red ink bled from the tip of his pen as he traced symbols, lines, numbers—capturing every word in a frenzy of motion.
Irene spoke, her voice trembling and distant:
"You arrived late, yet not fully blind. You knew from dreams. You knew from paintings. So now, listen."
Clara's pulse thundered in her ears, Gustav's grip tightened.
"Seven rooms await you. Seven times, you discarded the keys to your love. You've seen them already—without seeing."
Cartomancer's hand blurred, seven circles forming across the parchment, each marked with strange, intricate symbols.
Irene's words accelerated, images blossoming vividly with each revelation:
"That broken doll on your desk? A child's memory from your third life. Don't throw it away; she still remembers you."
Clara's breath caught sharply.
"The letter hidden in the library—Clarae wrote it in agony in room four. You photographed it but never read. You must."
Gustav swallowed, guilt flashing in his eyes.
"The bracelet you wear every day—it carries the first key. You cry when you wear it, never understanding why."
Clara's wrist burned with recognition.
Irene's breathing quickened, words tumbling out:
"Naomi wasn't merely a friend. She was the eighth Clara—the one the mirror rejected. She faded because you hesitated too long."
Tears sprang to Clara's eyes, grief hitting her anew.
"The piano playing itself? A melody from your fifth incarnation. Do not ignore the song—it's a door."
Gustav tensed, recalling sleepless nights haunted by its notes.
"The raven on your balcony? Guardian of the seventh room. He appears when Bathory awakens."
A chill swept through Clara's spine.
"Your smiling reflection in the museum vault? That's the Clara from the second room, remembering how you forgot her."
The Cartomancer's fingers moved furiously, drawing a woman's reflection with eyes full of longing.
"Gustav kissing Clara in the campus hallway? That wasn't your Gustav. It was the obsessive Gustav from room three."
Gustav flinched, remembering the twisted reflection he fought.
Irene's voice began to shake, her whole body vibrating:
"The painting turning its head? Clara from the sixth room, abandoned at the altar. She waits for your apology."
Clara's heart twisted with familiar guilt.
"The broken necklace you never wear—it burns your skin because it holds your betrayal."
"The strange professor speaking of Bathory? He knows time. Exactly seventy-seven minutes per room. Past that, you become them, forever."
Fear spiked Clara's blood. Gustav's breath quickened.
Irene's voice rose sharply:
"3:13—Not coincidence. It's when Bathory opens her eyes in every world. Every night."
"The sketches of Gustav's face? Those aren't imaginations. They're soulprints—memories from the fourth room, when he died in your arms."
Clara squeezed Gustav's hand tighter, eyes brimming.
"The ink appearing on your skin? You are the Codex key, Clara, but your mark remains incomplete.
The Cartomancer traced spirals across the parchment feverishly.
"Mirrors that no longer reflect you? Because the true Clara remains trapped in room seven. You are her shadow."
Clara's breathing hitched painfully.
"The old photograph in the museum? You've stood there before, two hundred years ago. Gustav held the same flower."
Time folded onto itself, disorienting them both.
"Gustav's hand trembling after holding yours? Memories of his fifth self—who stabbed you at the altar."
Gustav's eyes widened in silent horror.
Irene spoke rapidly, her voice ragged:
"The raven at your apartment window waits for a single phrase from your lips: 'I remember.'"
"The glowing mirror after your nightmare in Chapter 2? Not a dream—Clara from the first room tried to merge with you."
"Gustav's journal disappearing and reappearing? He writes in dreams, recording mirror-rooms even he doesn't understand."
Gustav paled further, nodding in realization.
"The young Gustav trembling at your touch? Not love, but fear. He once lost you and blamed himself forever."
Clara looked at Gustav, heart aching at his hidden pain.
"The symbol of seven doors in the Codex? Not symbols—your own body. Each door is a piece of Clara."
Irene's voice cracked now, struggling to sustain its force.
"And Bathory? She isn't dead. She sleeps within every fractured Clara, waking faster whenever you doubt."
The mirrors around them trembled violently, cracks glowing deep crimson. Irene's body shuddered uncontrollably.
Then, her voice dropped low, weighted by exhaustion and agony:
"The mirror-rooms are fragments of your most vital—and broken—moments of love."
"Each holds one devastating wound, one fatal choice, one hidden key—pieces of love discarded or forgotten."
Her voice quivered, almost a whisper now:
"Time only gives you seventy-seven minutes per room. Exceed it, and you'll become the failures you once were—Bathory will escape using your bodies."
With her final syllable, Irene collapsed, gasping. Gustav reached to catch her, but Irene weakly raised a hand to stop him, whispering sharply:
"Don't. You must see the truth."
The Cartomancer's pen slowed, the frantic lines finally coalescing into a single, powerful image. He slumped back, blood dripping from his fingertips.
At the center of the parchment, seven circles were now clearly visible. Each contained a symbol—doll, bracelet, necklace, piano—and at its center, Bathory's mirror, still fractured, incomplete.
The parchment pulsed softly, glowing in rhythm with Clara's heartbeat.
Irene, on the floor now, raised her head one final time, voice weak yet fierce:
"Enter the mirror rooms. But remember this well—"
She locked eyes with Clara, pupils flickering back to human clarity:
"You must do more than find your keys… You must become the Clara who can unite them. Because only one Clara leaves alive."
—------