Mirror Seed

Mirror Seed

Bird first noticed the mark on her left palm on a bleak Tuesday morning. It was small, almost insignificant—a dark spot like a beauty mark she’d never had before. At first, she thought it was a smudge from the coffee cup or ink from the notebook she’d been scribbling in late the night before. But when she tried to wash it off, the spot remained stubbornly there, as if etched into her skin.

She picked at it nervously with her fingernail. The surface didn’t budge. It was smooth, hard, almost like a tiny seed embedded beneath her skin, waiting. An unsettling chill crawled up her spine.

When Bird glanced into the mirror that evening, the seed caught her eye again, this time clearer in the dim bathroom light. She held her hand up close and stared, and then she saw it. Her reflection blinked once, but the movement was wrong. It wasn’t synchronized with her blink.

Her breath caught.

Blinking again, Bird tried to force her reflection to mimic her exactly. Open eyes open eyes. Close eyes close eyes. But the reflection’s eyes twitched independently. It smiled faintly, a curl of lips Bird was sure she hadn’t made.

"Hello," the mirror whispered, voice echoing eerily inside her mind. Bird stumbled back, her heart hammering in her chest. The room was silent. The mirror held only her—no other face, no other presence. She laughed nervously, blaming exhaustion or a trick of the light.

But the next day, the spot had grown. It was now a dark, glossy oval, like the shell of a tiny insect. Bird’s skin around it had taken on a strange texture—rough and clammy. She tried to ignore it, hoping it would disappear. But at night, she could hear faint tapping, like something knocking from inside her hand.

Sleep came uneasy, filled with restless dreams. In one, the seed sprouted tiny green leaves. In another, her reflection reached out, its fingers cracking the surface of the glass. Bird awoke sweating, her hand aching as if something beneath the skin had awakened. By the third day, the mirror was no longer a safe reflection.

Bird would stand still, watching the mirror as her reflection twisted, its mouth moving in silent conversation. Sometimes, it grinned malevolently. Other times, it looked pleadingly at her, as if begging for release.

She didn’t tell anyone. Who would believe her? The doctors said it might be stress, hallucinations from too little sleep. But Bird knew something was growing inside her, something alive and foreign. On the fourth night, Bird was jolted awake by a cold sensation. Her hand was glowing faintly, the seed pulsing with an eerie green light. The tapping had become a rhythmic heartbeat.

With trembling fingers, she lifted her palm to the mirror. The seed’s light reflected back with unnatural clarity. Then her reflection spoke not in words, but in images and feelings. She saw a garden blooming beneath her skin, vines twisting and writhing like snakes, wrapping around bones and muscles. The seed was taking root.

Bird gasped. She tried to pull back, but her hand was glued to the glass.

The reflection’s hand lifted to meet hers. The two palms touched, and suddenly, Bird was inside the mirror world.

Everything was inverted—a realm of shadow and light, where time moved in loops and faces flickered like candle flames. The seed had been planted here long ago, a parasite from another dimension.

Bird stumbled through this eerie landscape, hearing whispers from the mirror-people trapped inside, their lives frozen between reality and reflection.

They told her stories of others before her, those who’d carried the seed and lost themselves to its hunger.

The reflection, the seed’s host, was growing stronger. It wanted to escape the mirror, to replace Bird entirely.

Desperation surged through her veins. Bird understood that the seed was not just a mark it was a gateway.

She had two choices: surrender and become a prisoner of the mirror world, or fight the growing darkness within.

Summoning every ounce of will, Bird concentrated on the feeling of her real hand, grounding herself to the flesh and bone she still owned.

The seed’s pulse faltered.

With a final, fierce pull, Bird yanked her hand from the mirror’s surface. The glass rippled like disturbed water, and the glowing seed cracked, splintering into tiny shards that fell away, disappearing into the air.

Bird collapsed to the floor, panting, her palm raw but free.

Morning light streamed through the window, warm and real.

Her reflection smiled back perfectly synchronized.

Bird’s hand was clear of the mark. The seed had vanished.

But the mirror’s surface held a new secret—deep in the corner, a tiny seedling sprouted, barely visible, waiting for its next host.