I know, I post so very rarely here... but I rarely write something I feel worthy of posting. Not gonna bore you with long introductions. Just a warning. If you've read my stuff before, you may already know. These stories of mine are dark.
The Mirror
“We will always have tomorrow…” she used to say.
The large pristine mirror wall reflected the room she had always dreamed of, a painting out of a fairytale.
The sheer white curtains swayed in the gentle breeze. The air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and roses, their petals softly illuminated by the sweet caress of sunset. Above, the sky was painted in deep shades of violet and indigo, the first stars beginning to twinkle.
The table was set in a sea of deep crimson. A silk tablecloth, rich and luxurious, cascaded over the edges, pooling slightly on the floor. Slender candles burned slowly, their warm amber glow casting shifting shadows against the dark navy walls. Crickets serenaded under the window, blending seamlessly with the soft violin melody on the old gramophone in the corner.
She wore a flowing dress, soft ivory, almost luminescent against her skin. It shimmered slightly as she moved, the string of pearls around her neck catching the candlelight in fleeting glimmers. My sharp charcoal suit was pressed to perfection, and the silver-threaded ribbon was tied neatly in a bow under the stiff collar of my purple shirt. It contrasted her fragile elegance, projecting strength and confidence.
There was no clock in the room, time didn’t matter this evening.
Her lips, a perfect shade of rosewood red, parted slightly in a sweet, shy smile. Her hand felt soft in mine as I escorted her to her chair, and her bright eyes followed me as I sat in mine.
The roses at the centre of the table were a violent shade of red, their petals lush and full, their scent thick and intoxicating, almost suffocating. Between two ornate wine glasses filled with a dark, velvety red merlot, lay a plate of food, the juicy steak seared to perfection, still bleeding at the centre. A smear of deep burgundy sauce stained the plate, an accidental stroke of art against white porcelain.
The first sign? The trembling in my fingers. Subtle at first, just a slight unsteadiness as I reach for my wine glass, but when I lift it to my lips, the liquid wobbles, sloshing dangerously close to the rim. I set it down too quickly, the base clinking against the table louder than it should have. She glanced up, concerned, but I force a smile, nodding as if to say, I'm fine…
Little did she know she already had my trembling heart in her palms.
The silence had melted shortly after the first sip of wine. Laughter rippled between us like a ribbon caught in the breeze. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass, the movement slow, absentminded, as she smiled at me over the candlelit table. My hand, steady and sure, rests beside hers, fingertips brushing in quiet, unspoken affection. The warmth between us is tangible, weaving through the air like the scent of roses and the lingering taste of red wine. It reminds me of cherries and chocolate.
The ivory dress draped smoothly over her form as she leaned forward. The candlelight flickered gently in the mirror, casting a golden glow that danced over their faces, illuminating the quiet adoration in their eyes. Her lips parted, exhaling a breathless sigh of delight as his fingers brushed against hers, their touch light, lingering. Her nails painted the same shade as the roses in the centrepiece, traced lazy circles on the back of his hand, a silent promise, a gentle invitation.
The table, set with care, shimmered in the candle’s glow. A wine glass tilted as he reached for her, but I catch it just in time, chuckling as I steady it. The merlot swayed inside, rich and dark, but not a single drop spilt. Instead, I lift the glass to her lips, offering her a sip, watching as the deep red stained her mouth like the first blush of a kiss.
I stand up and offer her my hand. My fingers tighten around hers, not in force, but in quiet reverence, a touch filled with tenderness. Her eyes, reflecting the dim golden glow, softened, flickering between anticipation and certainty. My nose fills with her scent, pure, innocent, as I pull her close for one last dance.
-----------------------
My gaze catches the mirror. My reflection feels… unnatural. Do I belong in there? My dark eyes glinted with something unreadable, unnerving.
The candlelight seems too bright now, flickering erratically, throwing shadows that move too fast, too sharp. The warmth in the air is stifling, pressing against my skin like a suffocating weight. My breath hitches. Shallow. Wrong. I try to inhale deeply, but my chest feels tight as if invisible snakes had wrapped around my ribs, squeezing, ever tighter—
My heart is pounding in my ears, drowning out the soft melody playing in the background, drowning out her voice. Is she speaking? I’m not sure. I can’t focus. The room feels too small, its walls pressing closer, the air thinning. My throat clenches. My fingers twitch against hers, gripping the fabric like an anchor, but it’s not enough. The world is tilting, the edges blurring.
I find myself falling, swallowed by a vortex of darkness. Shadows twist around me in the eye of an eternal storm, each carrying shards of the large mirror on the wall. Except, in the myriad of reflections, it’s not me standing at her side.
‘You… It’s not you… It will never be you…’ The hushed murmur is cold. ‘She doesn’t love you.’ It is ice, cracking in my soul. ‘How can you trust her? She betrayed you before, she will not hesitate to do it again.’ My blood froze in place.
Her hand covered mine, warm and steady. I flinch. Once she had my attention, she gestured to pace my breathing. My gaze locks onto hers - clear and grounding. With my heart still racing, I mimic the slow rise and fall of her chest. Inhale… Exhale… The walls recede in their place, as the shadows retreat.
Her thumb brushed against my knuckles, comforting me. I nod slowly, my breath still shuddering. The moment passed. The warmth in the room returned. The candlelight softened. But somewhere, deep beneath the surface, the darkness still stirred, slowly pressing against the back of my mind.
I try to brush it off, blaming it on exhaustion and maybe too much wine. She didn’t seem to buy it. I insist I am fine and I won’t cut this night short over something so trivial. All I need is her company and I will be alright. She relented only after making me promise I would rest.
The mirror still stands in its place. Pretending to fix my tie and suit, I inspect it closely. The man looking back at me stands as tall and proud as he did at the beginning of the night. Composed, resolute, the embodiment of the perfect gentleman. But the unnerving glint is still there. For an instant, my eyes are obsidian, as black veins streak across my face. For an instant, my reflection smiles a wicked smile. But, before I even know it, it’s all gone in the blink of an eye.
No matter how warm her touch was, how comforting her smile was or how bright the candles were, there was something else there. A sliver of ice lodged in my heart.
I joke about what had happened, feigning fainting, calling her my knight in shining armour and myself the damsel in distress, only to get a half smile and the ghost of the laughter we shared earlier. It quickly dies just before the last glass of wine. Now, silence stretches between us like a fraying rope, taut and thin. My fingers twitch against the stem of my glass.
Her shadow shuddered behind her as the flame flickered. It demands my attention as it glides back towards the mirror and bleeds into it as it reaches its edge. Hairline cracks form as it spreads, a spiderweb ensnaring and distorting my reflection.
My gaze drifts back to her. Her eyes closed, she rests her head in her hands, listening to the music - a delicate cascade of notes, gentle swells, and notes blooming like candlelight in the dark, warm and golden, wrapping around her like an embrace.
How foolish, how childish can I be, to be jealous of a song?
As if to answer my question, I hear it, something lingering underneath the beauty - a single, sustained note, quivering, a thread of unease woven into the harmony. Subtle at first, barely noticeable amid the melody’s elegance, then, a shift - a minor key, blending through the sweetness, an unexpected tension, a dissonance almost too slight to name.
Uncalled, her shadow tugs at the edge of my vision. The cracks are more pronounced, each of them, a menacing shard. Each shard - a different face, looking lovingly, longingly at her, laughing at me. Each raucous laughter, accompanied by the sound of cracking ice, insinuating itself under the violins. The melody hesitates and falters, if only for a breath, before continuing, as if trying to shake off the weight of the burgeoning shadows.
The refrain returns, heavier, the once-playful trills laced with sorrow. The violin cries - not in anguish, but in the quiet, aching way of someone holding back tears. The darkness does not encroach, it doesn’t consume. No, it lingers, patient, waiting beneath the surface, like a secret, never to be spoken, but never entirely forgotten.
As the song fades into silence, the final note shivers in the air, unresolved. Not quite an ending, not quite peace.
‘You can’t appreciate the sun without rain,’ she used to say, ‘nor summer’s soothing warmth without winter’s blistering cold.’ A single, sparkling tear, ran down her cheek. She always loved that song, not for its sweetness, but the bitter undertone. Our song…
“Forgive me, my dove,” I hear myself speak, “I never meant to cast a shadow over our night.”
The voice, the words, they are mine, but I don’t remember uttering them. “My intention was never to make your heart race with fear or worry, only with love…” I stand up and step close to her. My movements are not mine, they feel mechanical, yet fluid, as though an invisible puppeteer is guiding me. “I wish I could undo that second, erase it with a touch… Please, let me remind you who I truly am to you.”
I offer her a hand to help her stand, but she wraps her arms around me, pulling me close and laying her head on my chest, listening, smiling…
I had never noticed the difference in our stature, until now. She’d always been up on a pedestal, a goddess worthy of devotion, someone to worship. Now, exhausted, she feels small and fragile, even though she tries to hide it. She shifts and nuzzles into me, acting like a child seeking comfort. The puppeteer relinquishes its control for a moment, waiting for my reaction.
My hands, ice-cold, but steady, cradle her face, thumbs tracing slow, reverent circles along her cheeks. She shivers, not from the cold, but from the way I hold her gaze and my breath mingled with hers in the fragile space between us. Her skin is soft and warm, radiant in the dimming candlelight. I brush her velvety hair aside and, trace a finger under her chin and down her neck. Her heart must’ve skipped a beat, as a faint gasp escapes her lips.
I hesitate, just for a moment, as I savour the inevitability of it. Then, with a quiet sigh, I close the distance.
The kiss is slow and unhurried, with a gentle press of lips that speaks of longing held back for too long. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my jacket, anchoring herself as the world fades in our embrace. The room starts to spin, as light and darkness swirl around us. She pulls me in tighter and I let her. I want to memorise the taste of her, the feel of her, the way we melt into each other.
‘NO!’ The shadow’s silent scream breaks through like shattering ice.
Startled, I break the kiss abruptly. Does she hear it? Am I going insane?
“The moon looks lovely tonight…” Her voice sounds like out of a dream. “It almost feels alive…”
‘NO! Lies!’
I want to turn, but the mirror beckons me. It changed yet again, the cracks had spread more, the spider web had grown more intricate, with her caught in the middle. Each shard, a different pair of eyes ogling her, a different pair of lips pressed against hers, a different pair of hands caressing her. And she welcomes every ounce of attention she gets.
“Do you see that?” I ask as I push her gently and twirl her around to face the mirror.
“Oooh,” she feigns surprise, “the moon has nothing on you, on us!”
“What do you see?” I press the question… but I don’t hear her answer.
The image shifts yet again. Her reflection faces me, ragged, worn down. Her muffled words are heavy, filled with scorn and disgust. The shadow loomed large behind her, a malicious mass, ready to consume us both. It shifts and alters its form… It is him, or rather me, my eyes - pits of obsidian black, my smile - a wicked grin, a predator about to enjoy a well-earned meal.
My reflection moves forward. Closer. Too close. The glass ripples like water as dark tendrils shoot forward, slithering and curling towards me. A sharp pain lances through my skull, like fingers clawing into my mind. The world around me blurs, black creeping at the edges. With a jolt, it pulls me through, darkness swallowing me whole.
My sight clears with every blink, but something is terribly wrong. And yet, it feels incredible - unwavering confidence, unbelievable clarity, unparalleled power.
“No matter what I do, you were never mine, to begin with, were you?” I hear myself ask…
Her eyes widen in shock and her lips part slightly to utter an answer or to protest, but she will never get to finish. His hands… no, my hands are around her throat…
Her ivory dress bunches and wrinkles beneath my grip. The candlelight flickers wildly, painting the scene in erratic flashes of gold and obsidian. Her lips part further, gasping, but no sound escapes… except the rasp of breath fighting to remain. Her nails painted the same shade as the roses, claw at my wrists, leaving streaks of crimson against my skin.
The once beautiful table, set with care, trembles as her struggle sends a wine glass toppling. The Merlot spills, a thick red pool creeping across the tablecloth, bleeding into the fabric like ink on paper.
My grip tightens. Her teary eyes, reflecting the dim golden glow, widen, flickering wildly between panic and pleading. But my face remains unmoved. When her body finally stills, the only thing left was him… me… the shadow.
“You were never going to be mine, were you?” I ask her again, as her heart stops in my cold, steady hands.
The Darkness engulfs us…
-----------------------
How much time has passed, I don’t know. I come to my senses, kneeling. My hands finally relax and release her.
The room is trapped in a frozen stillness, barely lit by the candle’s smouldering embers. The wax has melted into grotesque, deformed shapes. The once-clear glass vase, overturned on the floor, now holds a dead, brittle rose, its petals crumbling at the slightest touch.
The gramophone still plays, but its melody is warped and slow, notes dragging into an unsettling wail. The crickets had fallen silent, replaced by the distant rustling of something unseen moving in the shadows.
Through the window, the sky is a void of endless black, the stars devoured by an oppressive darkness. The air, once sweet with jasmine, now reeks of spoiled meat and vinegar, decay and something metallic.
She is slumped over the toppled table, a thin rivulet of red dried out the corner of her lips, the string of pearls - a ruby choker. Her skin is pale to the point of being near blue, darker blue around the lips, stiff, her eyes still open, a final look of terror. Somewhere in the distance, a raven’s call splits the silence.
“There’s no longer a tomorrow… not for us… not for you…” I say as I stand up. I glance at the pristine mirror wall, but I am no longer there.
