Mirrors. Elegant and brightly shining in light, aiding our needs to know how we - and things around us - look. They show our true self. Unless they're concave, convex or any different from normal and plain mirrors, they can't lie. If they did, reality would also be "lying;" plain mirrors display our world exactly how its face gazes upon it, and nothing more is to be said.

If there was only light that existed, mirrors would be perfect… wouldn't they?

Sadly, light has an enemy. If light is not guarding an area, it may either appear extremely sudden, or slowly crawl in, depending on how light left. It delves into this now more unsafe place.

There are many reasons we call it the evil one of the two. It is born with mind-changing and shape-twisting capabilities, among hundreds of possible ways to make you feel unsettled.

This enemy also manipulates mirror reflections, with the cooperation of our eye;


Jack's room is filled with joy. He owns a lot of decorations, games and loves every part of his room. His mom and dad adore him - they have a strong relationship. In the middle of his room, a quite sized mirror covers a lot of the wall to the opposite of his bed. He uses this sometimes - and finds it quite interesting to look at himself.

Such a perfect copy.

Such precise details.

It's just like an image, with extreme detail.

At the time, he was in 6th grade. He didn't have that many friends, though - Axel and John were his best and only friends at the school. Does that matter anyway? He was happy. Number of friends did not count to Jack - he was actually overly understanding when it came to accepting things in life.

Aside from that, he also did well at all the small tests they received.

Late one evening, he'd been out all day with Axel, completely forgetting time and hurried home after a goodbye. His mom was a little displeased. It was pitch dark outside. He understood and went off to sleep not long afterwards. When entering his room, he glanced at his mirror. It was a little strange. He never arrived home this late, and had never been able to see his mirror in this gloomy blackness. He could hardly see anything though, as his room had a lack of lights, which he was used to. His eyes had to adapt the darkness properly for some seconds. He could see his reflection in the mirror now, but it was unclear. For what appeared to be quick seconds, he noticed a cut in his wrist. He shook his head rapidly and examined his real body's wrist. Nothing. Looking at the mirror again, he did not spot any cuts. Stupid mirror in the dark, making him unable to see himself properly. He knocked it off and went to sleep. Before falling asleep, he thought a lot about this weird experience.

The following day, his father had already made his early meal, and said that he was a little late. He consumed the food quickly, and ran to school. He made it in time, luckily. Before him, he saw the other pupils walking slowly into the classroom, queued up. Axel and John were behind, and they put on a chat. During the lesson, which was cooking, he got orders to take some tools to the secondary section of the room, where his group stood. While holding the tools, he beamed down to the floor and noticed an oiled vegetable, and wasn't able to react. He slipped over and had a knife cut his wrist. The blood flowing out along with the pupils' scared shrieks, was a little terrifying. The teacher took hold of him and yelled that this was not anything deadly or critical, and got their mouths shut. Jack was led to the medical section of the school, and easily got the cut fixed in a matter of minutes. He had Axel and John follow him home after school. His mom and dad didn't do much about it, and told him to take care of himself while handling such troubling, sharp tools.

He blanked out while sitting at his desk, constantly thinking about the resemblance between today's event and the mirror from yesterday. This made him stay up late. He felt unsettled. Darkness had flushed the room as he stared lifelessly forward. Suddenly awakening from his locked glare, he broke his unfocused mind and took of his clothes to sleep. He bent down to the bed, but stopped. He had an urge to check that mirror again. His reflection was normal. Though after seconds, what he could spot in the mirror made him regret instantly. His jaw was wretched, as if it was shredded or terribly frayed. For worse, he noticed "2" carved into the mirror. Hitting the mirror, he emptied his anger. He had to sleep, this was just his mind tricking him.

Waking up the next day, he had a severe headache, making him grumpy - he did not say a thing to his mother while eating breakfast. He grabbed his bag and went off. Halfway to school, he carefully raised his arm and looked at the bandaged cut. It made him sigh. He lowered his hand only to accidentally slip on a stone and fall down to a massive bed of thorns placed throughout a slope. His body didn't receive many cuts on his lower body, but his face - mostly the mouth and chin - were completely ripped up. He felt so uneasy at this moment that he had to run to his house in fear. Arriving the house, he dashed upstairs - without bandaging or healing his wound in any way - and looked at his mirror. He saw the normal, unwounded Jack. The carving was violently scratched out and left with "1" beside. He panicked. It couldn't possibly be a normal person's work. The uncertainty kept him frightened for the rest of the day. The father bandaged his jaw calmly later that day, making sure it would heal right. Luckily, his father made him smile, and diminished the hasty breathes Jack had to take. Jack finally fell asleep in the hands of his father's relieving hands. He rolled the quilt over Jack and carefully placed his head on the pillow.

So dark outside. The father stood up and was on his way to exit Jack's room. He saw scratches on Jack's mirror. It looked like some crazed person had scratched the mirror, with a knife or something similar. Next to the scratches was a "1" carving, which could've been done with the same tool. "Did Jack note something to himself?" he thought. Before turning around and exiting the room, Jack's reflection vanished abruptly. He rubbed his eyes and could not see much difference; Jack's reflection still missed. Maybe the darkness was too much for his eyes, he didn't want to waste time adapting it.

Morning grew bright. His mother yelled for Jack, and received no answer. Ten minutes before his lesson began, she rushed upstairs and didn't find him anywhere. Maybe he had left without her noticing. When she now looked around the room, she did not think about how surprisingly clean it was there.

But what were those two clusters of deep scratches on the mirror?