The next morning, I woke with a dry throat and the faintest ache in my bones. It wasn't the kind of tiredness that came from lack of sleep—it was heavier, stranger, like something inside me was draining without permission.
I sat up slowly. My uniform clung to my skin, damp with sweat. My hand throbbed faintly where the cut had been, but when I unwrapped the bandage, the wound was nearly gone. Healed too fast. Almost… unnatural.
I traced the faint pink line left behind and swallowed hard. It should've taken days, maybe weeks. Instead, it was as if my body had devoured the injury overnight.
---
The kitchen smelled of toast and tea, but the sweetness from the night of the stew still lingered, faint and metallic. My mother stood by the counter, already dressed for work. She didn't look up when I came in—just set a plate of bread on the table and murmured, "Eat."
I sat, watching her. Her hands trembled as she buttered her own slice, though she tried to steady them.
"Mom," I began carefully, "what was in that stew two nights ago?"
She froze. The knife hovered midair. Then, slowly, she set it down and forced a small smile. "I told you already—leaves and herbs. Nothing more."
Her voice was calm, but her eyes didn't meet mine.
I wanted to press harder, to say the word blood, to see if her mask cracked—but I bit it back. My instincts screamed at me not to.
Instead, I forced myself to eat the toast, though it felt like sandpaper against my tongue. My throat craved something else. Something warm. Something sharp.
And that terrified me.
---
At school, the whispers started.
"Did you see her hands? Always covered."
"She looks sick… like she's fading."
"Creepy."
I tried to block them out, but every word clung to me like cobwebs. Even Aisha's smile looked uneasy when she waved across the hall. I could see it in her eyes—the same question everyone else had: What's wrong with her?
By the third period, I couldn't focus on the board anymore. My head spun, my chest tightened, and the faint smell of iron drifted through the air. I glanced down.
The boy sitting beside me had nicked his finger with his pen. Just a small cut. A dot of blood.
But to me, it wasn't small.
It glowed.
My throat burned as if fire lived inside it. My tongue pressed against my teeth, and for a horrifying moment, I thought I felt them sharper than before.
I snapped my gaze away, nails digging into my palms, forcing myself to breathe. But the smell lingered, sweet and metallic, curling into me until the bell finally rang.
---
That evening, the house felt heavier than ever. My mother was silent at dinner, pushing food around her plate more than she ate. She kept glancing at me like she wanted to say something—but the words never came.
When I excused myself and shut my bedroom door, I pressed my back against it, heart racing.
The mirror.
It called to me.
I tried to resist, but the memory of her—my reflection, her crimson hands, her voice—pulled me like gravity.
By midnight, I was standing in the bathroom again.
The crack in the glass seemed wider now, jagged, like it had grown. My reflection stared back at me, pale as ever, but her eyes glowed faintly—barely noticeable, but enough to send my pulse racing.
She lifted her hand first, pressing it against the glass.
I hesitated… then raised mine.
The moment our palms touched, warmth bled through. Not cold glass. Not emptiness. Warmth. Alive.
Her lips moved. I heard the whisper clear this time:
"Your veins are hollow. But they won't be for long."
The glass rippled like water. My reflection smiled, a cruel, knowing smile, and I felt something stir in my chest—a hunger that wasn't mine. A hunger I couldn't control.
My knees buckled. I staggered back, clutching my chest, gasping for air. The taste of iron filled my mouth though I hadn't bitten anything. My tongue brushed my teeth, and this time there was no denying it.
They were sharper.
When I looked up again, my reflection's smile had widened into something monstrous.
And for the first time, she spoke without me. Her voice crawled into the room, not just my head.
"Soon, you'll understand what you are."
The light above flickered, then died.
And I was left in the dark, the whisper of her laughter clinging to the walls.