Sharon woke in the dark, disoriented. The air was thick, like it was pressing down on her. She was in a room she'd never seen—walls lined with old photos, all of them of her.
Her heart pounded as she scrambled up. The photos moved, faces shifting like ripples in water. She stumbled back, hitting something solid.
The boy stood behind her, eyes black as coal. "Welcome to my gallery," he said.
Sharon's breath caught. "What is this?"
He gestured to the photos. "These are the ones who came before you. Who loved me."
The images twisted, showing faces she didn't recognize, all with the same black eyes as the boy. "What did you do to them?"
He leaned closer. "I showed them love. The kind that lasts."
Sharon's skin crawled. "That's not love."
The boy's smile was a thin line. "It's the only kind I know."
He reached out, tracing a finger down her cheek. She felt a jolt, like electricity in her veins. Images flooded her mind—Emilia laughing, the mirror shattering, the boy's lips on hers, again and again.
She jerked away, vision blurring. "Stop it."
The boy's eyes flashed. "You see it now. What I am."
A creature of shadows, living in reflections. Feeding on love, or what passed for it. The thought made her stomach twist.
Sharon backed away, but he followed, moving like smoke. "You can't escape," he whispered. "You're mine now."
She hit a wall, trapped. The photos seemed to watch, faces twisted into screams. "Help me," she whispered, but they didn't move.
The boy leaned in, breath cold. "No one can help you. I've waited too long."
His lips touched hers, and darkness poured in, filling her like water in a cup. She saw things—centuries of girls like her, drawn to him, lost in him.
Sharon fought, but he was ice, unyielding. The darkness spread, consuming her.
***
She woke in the mansion's bedroom, gasping. Was it real? The mirror reflected her face, eyes wild. But behind her, the boy's face appeared, smiling.
She spun, but he wasn't there. The room was empty.
The phone buzzed. A message: _Meet me at midnight. The gazebo._ It was him.
Sharon's heart pounded. She wouldn't go. She'd escape instead.
She packed a bag, grabbed keys. The house creaked, like it was watching. She felt him waiting, everywhere.
Downstairs, the front door was locked, like it'd sealed itself. Windows wouldn't budge. Trapped.
Panic clawed her throat. The mirror in the hall rippled.
The boy's voice came from it. "You can't leave."
She backed away, hands shaking. Basement. There had to be a way out through the basement.
The stairs creaked like bones. Down in the dark, she found a door—old, rusted. It opened with a scream of metal.
A tunnel yawned beyond, earth-scented. Escape.
Sharon stepped in, heart racing. The door slammed shut behind her. She was plunged into black.
Footsteps echoed, closing in. The boy's whisper: "Wherever you run, I'll be there."
She ran anyway, hands outstretched. The tunnel twisted, narrowing. She was going to get out.
The darkness lit suddenly with candles, lining a path. The boy waited at the end, in a room like a church.
"Welcome, Sharon," he said. "It's time."
Time for what?
The candles flared, blinding her. When she could see again, she was in a circle of salt. The boy stood outside it, eyes burning.
"You're like me now," he said. "Trapped."
The salt glowed red, heating. Burning her feet.
Sharon screamed.
***
She woke back in bed, dawn creeping in. Had it been a nightmare?
The boy sat beside her, smiling. "It's real, Sharon."
Her heart froze. "What do you want?"
He leaned closer. "You."
The mirror behind him rippled, showing a hundred reflections of her, all screaming.
Sharon screamed too.
***
The scream hung in the air, like it was trapped. Sharon's throat was raw by the time she stopped. The boy's smile lingered, burned into her eyes.
She scrambled out of bed, vision blurring. The mirror reflected her face—eyes brown, like normal. But the symbol on her chest burned, like it was real.
The boy's voice came from the mirror. "It's real, Sharon."
She spun, but he wasn't there. The reflection showed him standing behind her, smiling.
"Let me out," she whispered.
The mirror rippled, like water disturbed. The boy's hand reached through, cold fingers closing around her wrist.
"You're already out," he said.
He pulled her into the mirror, into darkness.
***
She stood in a hall of mirrors, reflections stretching to infinity. A thousand Sharons stared back, all with black eyes.
The boy appeared beside her, his hand still around her wrist. "This is where you live now," he said. "In the shadows."
Sharon yanked free, backing away. "No."
He followed, moving like smoke. "You feel it, don't you? The hunger."
She did. A pull in her veins, like shadows were moving through her. She wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to let him consume her.
The mirrors seemed to ripple, like they were alive. The reflections changed, showing her Emilia, the forest, the knife.
Sharon's stomach twisted. "What did you do to me?"
The boy's smile was a thin line. "I made you like me. A shadow in the blood."
He reached for her again, and she saw it—the knife, gliving in his hand.
"This is how it ends," he whispered.
Sharon screamed, but the sound was swallowed by glass.