It was a small, hand-held mirror, but the glass showed not Alina’s face. Instead, it showed the empty chair behind her. And sitting in that chair, slowly materializing, was a version of herself—smiling with too many teeth.
That evening, the air in her apartment grew cold. The mirror fogged, and the other Alina pressed her palms against the glass from the other side. The compass needle now spun wildly between Fear and Forgotten . The key in her hand grew warm. Alina Lopez Pack
A knock came from the front door. Three slow, deliberate raps. It was a small, hand-held mirror, but the
That’s when the final note fluttered out. It read: It was a small