Elena found the mirror in her grandmother’s attic, hidden beneath a faded sheet. Its frame was carved with strange symbols, the glass polished but cold. When she looked into it, her reflection smiled back a heartbeat too late.

At first, she dismissed it as nerves. But soon, the reflection began moving differently—tilting its head when she didn’t, mouthing words she never spoke.

One night, unable to resist, she leaned closer. The reflection whispered from behind the glass:

“You’re not the one watching.”