My eyelids felt like they were weighted down with lead, possibly actual lead. A dull ache throbbed at my temples. Familiar, yes, from a life of questionable decisions and minimal sleep. But this felt… different. More profound. Like my brain had been unplugged and then plugged back in wrong. Maybe with a toaster.
I blinked slowly. My ceiling fan, perpetually listing left and missing a blade, wobbled above me. Okay. My apartment. I was home. That was good. Last thing I remembered was… signing something. And then… black.
Panic flickered. How did I get home? Had I been dreaming? Did I pass out on the street and get delivered like a very confused pizza? My mind scrambled, trying to fill the void between the sidewalk and my slightly-too-soft mattress. Nothing. Just a big, terrifying blank.
I pushed myself up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My feet hit the floor, but for a split second, I felt like I was floating. Gravity felt… off. Like the world was a poorly rendered video game map and I'd just clipped through the floor. I blinked hard. Nope. Floor felt solid now. Must still be that migraine. Or residual weirdness.
Groaning, I shuffled toward the small, cracked mirror on my dresser. First, damage assessment. Had I drooled? Was my cat-eye liner a raccoon-like disaster? Priorities, people.
I looked in the mirror. And froze.
Two reflections stared back. One was me: messy bun slightly askew, eyes wide with alarm. The other… was also me, but it was a beat behind. Like a laggy video feed. Not perfectly synced. It was terrifying. And kind of rude, honestly, to just pop up uninvited.
I took a shaky step back, bumping into my dresser. The second reflection vanished, leaving just me. Pale, slightly sweaty, looking like I'd just run a marathon in a panic. Okay. Definitely a migraine. Or maybe I needed to finally admit I needed glasses. Either way, not ideal.
My gaze dropped to my left hand. And that's when I saw it.
It wasn't the glowing crescent mark from the street corner. Not exactly. Now, circling my ring finger, was a band of solid black. It wasn't metal. It looked like polished obsidian, but it felt like it was part of my skin. Deep, matte black, absorbing the light.
"Okay, nope," I muttered to myself. "Absolutely not." I reached for it with my other hand.
I tried to pull it off. It didn't budge. Not even a millimeter. It felt grafted there. Like a very aggressive, very permanent accessory. I twisted, I tugged, I even tried to bribe it. Nothing. It was stuck. Permanently stuck.
A cold knot formed in my stomach. This wasn't a joke. This wasn't a dream brought on by starvation. The parchment, Lucien, the bleeding ink, the hand mark… it had been real. And now this ring. My life had officially gone from "broke and hungry" to "cursed by stylish jewelry."
The air in my tiny apartment felt thick, heavy. The silence wasn't empty; it was filled with a low hum. Just at the edge of hearing. Like a thousand tiny insects buzzing the same unsettling tune. Or maybe the sound of my life going dramatically off the rails.
Then, the world blinked.
Literally. One second, I was standing by my dresser, heart hammering. The next, everything flickered. The light dimmed for a split second, the sounds outside cut out. The familiar posters on my wall seemed to shimmer. Their colors briefly shifted to impossible, dark hues.
It lasted only an instant. But it was long enough to make my blood run cold. What the hell was happening to me? Was this the "unparalleled exposure" they meant? Because it felt less like a billboard and more like a bad trip.
Whispers started. Low, indistinct murmuring. Like voices speaking just outside a closed door. They weren't in the room, but they felt close. Right at the edge of perception. Were they coming from the walls? From outside? From inside my own rapidly deteriorating head?
Contract…
Bound…
His…
The words were fleeting, barely there, swallowed by the humming. But I heard them. And they terrified me. My inner sarcastic shieldmaiden was nowhere to be found. She'd probably packed her bags and left.
"Okay, Sera," I said, trying to inject some sarcasm into my voice. Trying to anchor myself in the familiar absurdity of my life. "Deep breaths. This is fine. Totally fine. You just signed a weird modeling contract and now you're getting complimentary hauntings. Probably a bonus package they forgot to mention. Like free wi-fi, but for ghosts."
It didn't help. The panic was clawing its way up my throat. I didn't sign up for this. I signed up for money. Maybe a photoshoot. Not… whatever this was. Ghostly whispers? Reality glitches? An evil, unremovable ring? And what was up with that ozone smell?
I needed to call someone. Someone who wasn't a creepy, shadowless recruiter named Lucien. I fumbled for my phone in my messenger bag. It felt weirdly cold. I pulled it out. The screen was black. Dead. Still dead from yesterday. Great. My life's problems always came in threes.
Right, Lucien's card. I dug it out of my bag. The elegant black card with his name and number. My only lead. My only way back to figuring out what kind of hell I'd accidentally enrolled in. Or what kind of very niche performance art this was.
My ancient laptop took approximately three business days to boot up, groaning like an elderly relative on a treadmill. When it finally came to life, I immediately typed Lucien's number into a search engine. Nothing. No agency name, no address, no website. Just a string of numbers that led nowhere. Of course.
Okay. New plan. Call Cam. My best friend Cam. She was sporty, practical, covered in cool tattoos that she insisted were just 'aesthetic,' and was probably the only person who wouldn't immediately think I belonged in a padded room. Even if she did dabble in weird witchy TikTok stuff and believed in ghosts more than I did. She'd probably tell me to sage my apartment.
I pulled out my emergency burner phone—a relic from a time I thought I was going to get into real modeling and might need to evade paparazzi (spoiler: never happened). It miraculously had battery. I dialed Cam's number, my hand shaking.
It rang once. Twice.
"Yo, Sera! What's up? You sound like you just saw a ghost. Or ran a mile. Which is less likely." Cam's voice, bright and wonderfully normal, was a lifeline.
"Cam, something weird is happening," I blurted out, words tumbling over each other. "Like, really weird. Weirder than finding a week-old burrito in your fridge that tries to talk to you."
"Coming from you, that's saying something," she chuckled. "Spill. Did you finally get abducted by aliens who appreciate your unique aesthetic? Did they give you snacks?"
"I wish," I groaned, rubbing the black ring. It felt cold, lifeless, but undeniably there. "No, remember yesterday? When I was waiting for the bus? The guy who showed up?"
"Yeah? The one who sounded like a villain from a YA novel? Did he finally show up?"
"No! Forget the bus. I met this guy. Lucien. Offered me a modeling contract. Really weird guy, Cam. Like, polished-to-an-unsettling-degree weird. Silver eyes, spoke like a creepy lawyer… and he didn't cast a shadow!" The last part came out in a rush.
There was a beat of silence on the other end. "Okay, weird. Maybe he was a vampire? Did you check for fangs? Did he sparkle?"
"Cam, this is serious! I signed the contract, right? And the paper... it bled black ink. And then my phone died, and I got this mark on my hand..." I trailed off, looking at the crescent scar beneath the ring. "And now... I have this ring on my finger, and I can't take it off, and the world keeps... blinking. And I hear whispers!"
Another pause. This one was longer. I could almost hear her processing my frantic monologue. Probably cross-referencing it with her TikTok ghost-hunting algorithms.
"Whoa, slow down, Sera. You signed a contract with a guy who didn't have a shadow, and now you have a ring you can't remove, the lights are flickering, and you're hearing voices? Are you... uh... are you high right now? Because I'm pretty sure that's not a standard bonus package."
"No! Cam, I'm not high! I'm terrified! The mirror just showed two of me! And I feel like gravity is messed up!" I stood up, tentatively. The floor felt normal, but the memory of that brief floaty feeling lingered. Like I'd just stepped off a wonky escalator.
"Okay, okay," Cam said, her tone shifting from amused to genuinely concerned. "Deep breaths. Two reflections? Gravity weirdness? That... doesn't sound like just a migraine, even for you. Did this 'Lucien' guy give you anything? Like a drink or... a weird cookie? Some otherworldly sparkling cider?"
"No! Just a pen! And a contract! And this ring appeared!" I rubbed the ring again, frantically. "It feels cold, Cam. And there's this humming sound... and whispers..."
Bound… to him… The whispers were louder this time. Clearer. They seemed to slither into my ear, cold and sharp. Like tiny, icy knives.
I gasped, stumbling back. "They're getting louder, Cam! The whispers!"
"Sera? Sera, what's going on?" Cam's voice was sharp with worry now. "Are you okay?"
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the whispers, the hum, the feeling of the room subtly shifting around me. This wasn't just weird anymore. This was actively wrong. This was "I might need an exorcist and a therapist" wrong.
"I don't know, Cam," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I think I messed up. Like, really messed up."
A cold dread washed over me. What kind of contract makes the world glitch and gives you an unbreakable, spooky ring? What kind of 'immortal branding' felt like this? My stomach, surprisingly, was no longer demanding fries. It was busy doing somersaults of pure terror.
Suddenly, my vision blurred. Not like a migraine. Like the edges of my sight were dissolving into shadows. The air grew heavy, stagnant. That ozone smell intensified. The humming vibrated through the floor, up my legs.
"Cam, I feel... weird," I mumbled into the phone. "Like I'm about to black out again. Or teleport. Hopefully to a place with good snacks."
"Sera! Stay with me! What do you see? What do you hear?" Her voice was distant, tinny, like she was calling from another dimension. Which, given my current situation, was entirely possible.
The shadows in my peripheral vision deepened, stretching and pooling in the corners of the room. They writhed, solidifying into impossibly dark shapes. They weren't just shadows anymore. They were things. The kind of things you don't invite over for tea.
They moved towards my mirror. The mirror that had shown me two reflections. It was no longer reflecting my apartment. It was reflecting swirling darkness, pierced by pinpricks of cold, distant light. A portal? Seriously? Just when I thought my day couldn't get any weirder.
My breath hitched. The shadows reached for the mirror, their tendrils stretching like grasping claws. Then, they turned.
They were reaching for me.
Come… bride… The whispers were a chorus now, echoing from the mirror, from the shadows, from everywhere and nowhere.
Panic consumed me. I dropped the phone. It hit the floor with a clatter. The shadows surged forward, cold and insubstantial, but strong. They wrapped around my ankles, my waist, pulling me towards the mirror.
I screamed, scrabbling at the floor. But it was useless. The force pulling me was immense, unstoppable. I was being dragged backwards, towards the swirling darkness in the mirror.
"No! Let go!" I thrashed, trying to break free. But the shadows held firm. My reflection in the normal part of the mirror was wide-eyed, terrified, being pulled into the impossible darkness of the other side.
My head hit the frame of the mirror. Pain exploded behind my eyes. The whispers were deafening.
And then, I was through. Pulled into the darkness, leaving my apartment, my life, behind.
The world went black for the second time. Well, crud. At least this time, I knew I wasn't waking up in my own bed. Probably no fries, either.