The night was eerily still. The kind of stillness that carried whispers no one could explain.
Alessia stood beside Luca, her fingers brushing his as they faced the tall remaining piece of the broken mirror, the same one that had been her favourite in the room.
It's silver frame was cracked at the corners, yet something within it shimmered faintly, like trapped light begging to breathe.
Luca's reflection looked back at him, strong, unreadable, the faint shadow of fatigue softening his edges.
But beside him, Alessia's eyes glimmered with something beyond fear, curiosity wrapped in destiny.
She stepped closer, her voice steady yet trembling underneath.
"Show yourself," she whispered.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the surface of the mirror rippled, distorting their reflections as if the glass had turned to water.
And then, she showed.
The witch woman from the old stories.
"Lapátásodà Vàlká".
