My chamber was as I had left it—curtains drawn, hearth fire low, the mirror standing in its corner. I crossed the threshold in silence, unfastening the clasp of my cloak.
Then I saw it.
The mirror did not follow me.
My reflection stood still, its eyes locked on mine while I moved. My hands stilled. My cloak slid soundlessly to the floor.
The figure in the glass tilted its head, just slightly—slow, deliberate. Not my motion. Not mine at all.
The room felt smaller, the air heavier, though I did not show it. I walked forward with perfect calm, every gesture precise. If the Veil thought to unsettle me, it would find no fear here.
The reflection smiled. My lips did not.
A faint whisper stirred the glass, words without breath: Bride. Obey.
I placed my hand upon the mirror's frame, steady, cool. "If obedience is all you want," I said softly, "you should have chosen someone else."
The reflection's smile faltered. For a moment, its eyes burned red with heat, fire flickering where my calm remained. Then the surface of the glass rippled, as if water had been disturbed.
And suddenly—it was only me again. My face, pale and still, unbroken.
I drew my hand away, smoothed my gown, and crossed to the window. Outside, the city lay in its hush of fog and stone. Life moved beneath the shadow of the Veil, unquestioning, obedient.
But the mirror had revealed something it should not have: it could be rattled. It could be provoked.
And if the Veil thought I was already its Bride, then it was wrong.