Elira stood frozen in front of the mirror, her chest rising and falling in sharp breaths. The flicker she'd seen was gone now. Nothing stared back but her own pale face and wide eyes.
She spun around.
"No. No, this can't be real," she muttered, pacing the room. "I was there. I was there. Elric, the Queen, Kael… the fight. The scrolls."
Her hand touched her ribs, half-expecting to feel some scar or burn. Nothing. Just smooth skin and her soft cotton shirt.
"Was it all just… in my head?"
But it hadn't felt like a dream. Dreams didn't ache. Dreams didn't bleed. And dreams didn't scream at you in ancient tongues.
She grabbed the doorknob again, rattling it hard. Still locked.
"Elric?" she called, hopelessly. "Anyone?"
Silence.
No footsteps. No car horns outside. No wind.
Just... the hum of nothing.
She tried the windows again—wooden frames sealed like they were glued with magic. Even her kitchen drawer, where she usually kept a spare key or screwdriver—empty. Every cabinet was bare. Every door led nowhere.
She sat down hard on the floor.
"I'm trapped. In my own house."
Her mind raced.
"What if… what if this is still the mirror's world?"
She rubbed her forehead. "What if the mirror didn't send me home—it made a version of it? A cage built from memory?"
The thought made her stomach turn.
"And if that's true… did I ever really leave the palace? Or did someone put me here?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"Lord Malveric."
His name felt oily on her tongue. He had power over time, fate, and mirror magic. Queen Lysandra had said he was corrupted by desire.
What better way to control the Mirrorbound than to lock her inside her own mind?
"No," she whispered, standing up again. "No. I was there. I felt everything. I saw Kael. I bled. I fought. I fell. That was real."
But then… so was this.
And that was the most terrifying part.