The Mirror Between Worlds

The Mirror Between

By [Jon]

Ayla had always felt something strange about her grandmother’s house. The creaky floorboards, the way shadows moved even when the curtains were drawn, and the constant, faint humming in the attic above.

It was only after her grandmother passed that Ayla finally got the key. The attic had been locked for as long as she could remember, and now the old iron key burned cold in her palm.

The door opened with a groan. Dust floated through beams of light like forgotten stars. Among the old trunks and moth-eaten curtains stood a tall, antique mirror. Its glass was faded, edges lined with intricate vines carved into a dark wooden frame.

She stepped closer. Something shimmered behind her reflection — a flicker of movement. Her breath caught.

As Ayla reached out to touch the surface, it rippled like water. With a gasp, she was pulled through.

⸻

She landed on soft, mossy ground under a sky of swirling silver clouds. The world beyond the mirror felt like a dream — yet it was too vivid to be anything but real.

“Where… am I?” she whispered.

A figure approached — a boy around her age, with dark eyes and a cloak that looked stitched from starlight. “You crossed,” he said simply. “That mirror only opens to those carrying a powerful memory.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Ayla began, but the boy raised a hand.

“I’m Cael. I was pulled in too, years ago. This is the Between — a realm shaped by memory. The longer you stay, the harder it is to leave.”

Ayla’s heart pounded. “My grandmother disappeared years ago. Could she be here?”

Cael nodded slowly. “Maybe. Some who enter forget why they came. Some forget who they are.”

Suddenly, the ground trembled. The sky dimmed.

“Run,” Cael said.

From behind a hill emerged a creature — massive, faceless, cloaked in shifting mist. It shrieked with voices Ayla couldn’t recognize — yet one sounded like her own.

“What is that?” she cried.

“A Memory Wraith,” Cael said, grabbing her hand. “It feeds on regrets.”

They ran through a forest of mirrored trees, each one reflecting flickers of Ayla’s life: her father smiling by a lake, the last time she saw him; her mother crying quietly in the kitchen. The reflections cut like shards.

At a clearing, Cael stopped. “This place reflects what you carry. If you don’t face it, it will consume you.”

Ayla trembled. “My father vanished when I was seven. He said he’d come home from work. He never did.”

The trees around them twisted. One mirror-tree shifted into a door.

“That’s your gateway,” Cael whispered. “But you have to walk through the memory that haunts you most.”

She stepped forward. The door opened.

Inside was her old bedroom. The clock on the wall read 6:14 PM — the time her father had left the house. Seven-year-old Ayla stood at the window, watching raindrops race each other.

She remembered the knock at the door hours later. The police. The words accident, bridge collapse, no survivors.

But now she saw something more. Her father’s briefcase lay open — and inside, a folded letter with her name on it.

She had never seen it before.

With shaking hands, she opened the letter. Her father had written:

“Ayla, if you’re reading this, I may not have come back. But I love you more than the stars. If anything ever happens, remember: you’re brave enough to face anything. Look for the mirror. It will show you the truth.”

Tears blurred her vision. All this time, she had buried the memory to escape the pain. But the mirror hadn’t brought her here to suffer. It had brought her here to heal.

The light in the room brightened. The letter in her hand began to glow.

Cael stepped beside her. “You found it. The truth. Now you can go back.”

She looked at him. “What about you?”

Cael smiled sadly. “My memory still hides from me. But helping you… helped me remember who I was.”

The mirror reappeared — no longer dull, but bright and clear. Ayla stepped forward, then paused. She hugged Cael tightly.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

With that, she stepped through.

⸻

Back in the attic, the air was still. The mirror shimmered once more, then dulled.

Ayla stood silent, holding the glowing letter. For the first time in years, her heart felt lighter. The pain hadn’t vanished — but it no longer owned her.

She glanced back at the mirror, now just glass.

But she knew what it truly was.

A bridge between memories — and a path to healing.