The door was heavy, but it opened soundlessly.
For a moment, I thought I was stepping into water. The light in the room shimmered like the bottom of a pool, slow and fluid, bending the world in gentle waves. But it was only the mirrors - every surface coated in them, curved and warped, casting an impossible number of versions of me back at myself.
I stepped in.
Then I saw her.
She was sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, barefoot, her back to me. Hair like tangled silk, so dark it almost looked blue in the flickering light. Her dress - plain, loose - looked like something stitched from moonlight and dust.
She didn't turn around. Not right away.
I took a hesitant step closer. The mirrored floor beneath my feet felt almost soft, like walking on sea of memory.
And then, she spoke.
"You're late."
Her voice was calm, young, but not childish. It had a weight to it. Like she'd been waiting longer than time could measure.
I froze. "Do I… know you?"
