The mirror is cold. It has always been cold. I know this because I touch it every night. My fingers leave no mark. The glass does not warm. It waits.

My name is Elara. I am the daughter of the house. The house is stone. The stone is old. The stone remembers. I am not alone in the room. There is a shape in the corner. It is not a chair. It is not a coat. It is a presence. It watches. I do not blink. I must not blink. If I blink, I lose it. If I lose it, I lose myself.

You see it too? No. You do not. You are outside. You are safe. I am inside. The air is thick. It tastes of iron. It tastes of rust. It tastes of old blood. I smell it on my skin. I wash. I scrub. The smell remains. It is under the skin. It is in the bone.

My mother died in the chair. The chair by the window. The light was yellow then. It is gray now. The light does not change. The time does not move. We are stuck. We are held. The mirror holds us.

I speak to the mirror. "Who are you?"

The reflection does not move. It is still. It is dead. I am not dead. I am alive. I am trapped.

The house breathes. I hear it. A long, slow exhale. The floorboards creak. They groan. They complain. They are tired. They are old. They are tired of carrying us.

I go to the kitchen. The door is heavy. It drags. It resists. I push. I pull. It opens. The room is dark. The stove is cold. The pot is empty. There is nothing to eat. There is no food. There is only hunger. A deep, hollow hunger. It eats me from the inside out.

I open the cupboard. It is empty. I open the fridge. It is empty. I open the drawer. It is empty. Everything is gone. They took it. Who? The shadow in the corner? The thing in the mirror?

I look at the mirror again. It is in the hallway. I walk there. My steps are soft. They are silent. I do not want to wake it. I do not want to anger it.

The reflection looks back. Its eyes are wide. They are black. They are deep. They are pits. They pull at me. I feel the pull. I feel the weight. I feel the drag.

I want to run. I cannot run. My legs are heavy. They are lead. They are stone. I am becoming stone. I am becoming the house. I am becoming the wall.

My father left. He left years ago. He said he was going to find work. He said he would return. He did not return. He did not call. He did not write. He vanished. Like smoke. Like mist. Like a ghost.

I asked the mirror about him. "Where is he?"

The reflection did not answer. It just stared. It just watched. It just waited.

I am the daughter. I am the keeper. I am the warden. I guard the door. I guard the key. I guard the secret. The secret is in the mirror. The secret is in the glass. The secret is me.

I cut my hand. A paper cut. A small slice. The blood is red. It is bright. It is warm. I hold it up to the light. The light catches it. The light shines through it. It is beautiful. It is terrifying.

The mirror reflects the blood. It drinks it. I see the glass darken. I see the color sink. I see the hunger grow.

I do not pull away. I hold it there. I let it take. I let it feed. I let it have me.

This is the deal. This is the contract. This is the price.

My mother made the deal. She traded her life for my life. She traded her soul for my body. She did it to save me. She did it to keep me here. She did it to keep me safe.

Safe from what? Safe from the world? Safe from the dark? Safe from the truth?

The truth is here. The truth is in the room. The truth is in the mirror.

I am not the daughter. I am the vessel. I am the container. I am the jar. I hold the shadow. I hold the thing. I hold the evil.

The shadow is not outside. The shadow is inside. The shadow is me.

I look in the mirror. I see my face. I see my eyes. I see my mouth. I smile. The reflection smiles. It is not my smile. It is a wide smile. It is a long smile. It stretches to the ears. It does not stop. It never stops.

I am not Elara. I am the thing that wears Elara. I am the mask. I am the skin. I am the lie.

I walk to the bedroom. The door is ajar. I push it open. The room is white. The sheets are white. The walls are white. The light is white. It is blinding. It is painful. I squint. I close my eyes. I open them.

The bed is empty. The pillow is flat. The blanket is folded. It is neat. It is perfect. It is wrong.

I sit on the edge. The mattress springs. They creak. They groan. They sing. They sing a low song. A sad song. A crying song.

I remember my mother. I remember her hands. They were rough. They were strong. They were warm. They held me tight. They held me close. They held me safe.

They were cold now. They were ice. They were stone.

I remember the night she died. I remember the sound. A sharp crack. A loud noise. A sudden stop. The glass broke. The mirror shattered. The shards flew. They cut the air. They cut the dark.

I remember the silence. The deep silence. The heavy silence. The dead silence.

I picked up the shards. I put them back. I glued them. I fixed them. I made them whole. I made them perfect.

I was wrong. I was so wrong.

The mirror is not broken. The mirror is not fixed. The mirror is alive. The mirror is hungry. The mirror is waiting.

I stand up. My legs are shaky. My head is spinning. The room tilts. The floor slides. The walls lean. I grab the bedpost. I hold on. I hang on. I do not fall.

I go to the bathroom. The door is locked. I try the handle. It does not turn. It is stuck. It is fused. It is part of the door.

I bang on it. I kick it. I scream. I shout. I cry. I beg.

Let me out. Let me go. Let me die. Let me live.

No answer. No sound. No voice. No help.

I am alone. I am truly alone.

I look in the small mirror above the sink. It is clean. It is clear. It is bright. I see my face. It is pale. It is ghostly. It is dead.

I touch the glass. It is cold. It is always cold.

I see something behind me. A shadow. A shape. A form. It is tall. It is thin. It is black. It is void.

I turn around.

There is nothing. There is no one. There is only the room. Only the walls. Only the tile.

I turn back to the mirror.

The reflection is not me.

It is my mother.

She is standing there. She is smiling. She is waving. She is beckoning.

"Come," she says. "Come home. Come in. Come to me."

I shake my head. "No. I cannot. I am the keeper. I am the warden."

"You are my daughter," she says. "You are my light. You are my life."

"I am your prisoner," I say. "I am your jailer. I am your ghost."

She smiles wider. Her teeth are long. Her teeth are sharp. Her teeth are white.

"Let me out," she says. "Let me in. Let me be."

I cry. I weep. I sob. I wail.

"I can't," I whisper. "If you come out, I go in. If you go free, I am trapped. If you are you, I am me. I cannot be me. I am the shadow. I am the dark. I am the void."

She stops smiling. Her face is sad. Her eyes are wet. Her tears fall. They hit the floor. They make a sound. A drip. A drop. A splat.

"I am sorry," she says. "I am so sorry. I did it to save you. I did it to keep you safe. I did not know. I did not know it would hurt. I did not know it would cost."

"I know," I say. "I know. I forgive you. I always forgave you. I just wanted to be free. I just wanted to be me. I just wanted to be alive."

She nods. She steps closer. She touches the glass. Her hand presses against the surface. I touch it back. My fingers meet hers. They do not cross. They touch. They connect. They merge.

I feel a pull. A strong pull. A violent pull. It is my body. It is my soul. It is my life. It is being dragged. It is being pulled. It is being taken.

I fight. I struggle. I scream. I push.

I push with all my might. I push with all my strength. I push with all my will.

The glass cracks. A line. A thin line. A red line.

The line spreads. It grows. It widens. It breaks.

The mirror shatters.

The shards fall. They hit the floor. They scatter. They glitter. They shine.

The light comes in. The real light. The sun. The day. The air.

The shadow is gone. The shape is gone. The presence is gone.

I am alone. I am in the bathroom. The mirror is broken. The floor is wet. The air is cold.

I look at my hands. They are trembling. They are shaking. They are clean. They are empty.

I am free.

I am alone.

I am free.

I walk out of the bathroom. I walk down the hall. I walk to the door. I open it.

The street is outside. The cars are moving. The people are walking. The sun is shining. The world is turning. The life is moving.

I step out. The air hits me. It is cool. It is fresh. It is real.

I look back at the house. The stone. The old stone. The dead stone.

I do not go back.

I walk away. I walk fast. I walk hard. I walk free.

I am Elara. I am alive. I am here. I am now.

The mirror is broken. The promise is kept. The debt is paid. The price is high. The cost is everything.

But I am free.

I am free.

I am free.