Chapter 1: The Crack

Elara Voss hated mirrors.

Not in the casual way. She hated them. So when she inherited her grandmother’s old Victorian house, the first thing she planned to do was cover every reflective surface.

She never got the chance.

The giant hallway mirror was ancient, framed in heavy dark oak. While dragging a dusty sheet across the floor, Elara tripped. Her elbow smashed into the center of the glass.

Crack.

A single jagged line ran diagonally across the mirror, splitting her reflection in two.

“Perfect,” she muttered. “Seven years of bad luck.”

She reached out to touch the crack. The temperature in the hallway dropped sharply. For a split second, her reflection moved after she did — like a delayed video.

Elara blinked hard. The illusion vanished.

That night, she woke at 3:33 a.m. with a choking feeling. She turned on the lamp and looked at the small mirror above the dresser.

Her reflection was smiling.

Elara wasn’t.

She raised her hand slowly. The reflection copied the movement — but half a second too late. The smile lingered even after Elara’s face had gone pale with fear.

The next morning, she found a single perfect red apple on the kitchen counter. She was allergic to apples. Next to it was a note written in handwriting that looked exactly like hers, only neater:

You should eat healthier.
Love, Me.

Upstairs, the crack in the big mirror had grown wider. And if she looked at it from the right angle, she could see two versions of herself standing side by side.

One of them waved.