There were footsteps in the walls.
Amara could hear them every night now, just after the school fell silent. Soft, pattering like a child walking barefoot over cold wood. But it wasn't the sound that terrified her—it was the laughter that followed.
Soft. Innocent.
But hollow.
Wrong.
She pressed her ear to the dorm room wall, her heartbeat a war drum in her chest. The footsteps stopped. Silence.
Then
"Mama..."
She stumbled back, slamming into her desk, knocking over books and a half-eaten apple. Her roommate Nina groaned, turning in bed. But the walls? The walls whispered still.
The next morning, everything seemed... too normal.
Micah sat in the cafeteria like nothing had happened. Eyes clear. Smile gentle. He even waved at her.
Amara froze, tray trembling in her hands.
Selene walked beside her, whispering, "That thing isn't Micah. It's wearing him like a coat."
"But what if he's fighting it?" Amara asked, unable to look away.
"Would you risk the school for a maybe?"
Amara had no answer.
That night, Amara returned to her room alone. Selene had gone into the forest to consult her spirit guides. Before she left, she'd handed Amara a small silver pendant etched with runes.
"Don't take it off," she warned. "If it whispers to you, don't answer. If it offers you him... run."
Amara nodded. But part of her was already too late.
She wanted to see him again.
Not the cursed child.
Not the reflection.
Micah.
The real one.
2:03 AM.
The mirror on her desk shivered.
No breeze. No movement. But the glass quaked. Like something behind it was knocking softly.
She approached slowly.
At first, her reflection stared back.
Then… another face slid into place beside hers.
A child.
Hair like moonlight.
Eyes like Micah's, but too still.
Skin pale, almost glowing.
"You left me," he whispered.
Her breath caught. "You're not real."
"I'm growing in you. You feel me, don't you?"
Amara clutched her stomach.
It was still flat.
But her soul felt full. Heavy.
"You're not my child."
The reflection smiled. "But you made me. And now… you belong to me."
The mirror cracked.
Glass didn't shatter—it peeled. Like a flower opening. And from it, a small white hand reached out.
Amara screamed, stumbling back.
The hand didn't stop. An arm followed. Then a face.
He was crawling out.
Like being born.
Like he belonged in this world.
Suddenly, a gust of wind smashed into the room. Selene appeared in the doorway, eyes glowing gold. She threw a powder across the floor—salt and sage—and the mirror's surface erupted into flame.
The child screamed, retreating into the glass.
Amara sobbed, falling to her knees.
Selene knelt beside her. "We don't have much time. He's almost strong enough to break through without mirrors."
Amara whispered, "What do I do?"
"You make a choice," Selene said. "Bind him—or birth him."
"I don't want him."
"Then say it aloud."
Amara looked at the flickering mirror.
Tears streamed down her face.
But her voice didn't come.
Because deep down...
A part of her did want him.