The Pratap Singh mansion stood cloaked in an uneasy stillness that night. The chandeliers burned low, their light flickering against the marble walls as though even the house sensed something dark moving within.
Riddhi's car rolled into the driveway, its headlights slicing through the mist. She stepped out quietly — her face expressionless, her gait unnaturally calm. Anyone watching would have thought she was sleepwalking.
Inside, the mansion was silent. She walked down the corridor with slow, measured steps, her heels echoing faintly. Every light she passed seemed to dim just a little.
She stopped before Aakash's room.
Inside, Aakash stood near the dresser, his back turned, phone pressed to his ear.
"Yeah, I'll check the files in the morning," he said distractedly, his reflection faintly visible in the mirror before him.
The door creaked.
"Riddhi?" he asked, still half on the call. "You're home this late—"
He never finished.
Riddhi's eyes slowly turned pitch black, her pupils vanishing into a void. Her expression didn't change; there was no rage, no emotion — only obedience. She took a step forward and, without warning, shoved Aakash hard toward the mirror.
A sharp, unnatural shimmer rippled across the glass.
Aakash gasped — not from the push, but from the pull. The mirror's surface rippled like water, dragging him inside with a muffled, echoing scream. In an instant, the reflection swallowed him whole.
The mirror stilled. Aakash was gone. Only Riddhi's blank reflection stared back.
Turning away, she smoothed her hair as though nothing had happened and walked toward Moti Baa's room, her steps eerily steady.
Down the corridor, the lights flickered again — once, twice — and went out.
The clock in the Pratap Singh mansion ticked past ten. The house was quieter than usual, most lights dimmed except for the soft glow from Chandrika's room at the end of the hall.
Riddhi walked slowly through the corridor, her heels tapping against the marble floor in a rhythm that felt too deliberate, too hollow. Her face was blank, eyes distant—until faint black veins began to snake beneath her skin.
Inside the room, Chandrika (Moti Baa) was arranging her medicines on the bedside table. She turned at the sound of footsteps.
"Riddhi? Beta, you're back?" she said warmly. "Any news about Yuvaan's release?"
Riddhi stopped at the doorway, silent.
Chandrika's smile faded. "What happened, child? You look… strange. Are you unwell?" She came closer, worry knitting her brows.
Without warning, Riddhi's pupils darkened completely, her expression twisting into something cold and detached.
Chandrika took a hesitant step back. "Riddhi?"
Riddhi's voice came out in a low whisper—not hers, but layered, echoing.
"The mirrors must feed."
Before Chandrika could react, Riddhi's hand clamped around her throat with unnatural strength. Chandrika struggled, gripping her granddaughter's wrist.
"Riddhi… what are you doing!"
Riddhi didn't answer. Her eyes were jet black now, unblinking. She shoved Chandrika backward—hard—toward the tall mirror near the wardrobe.
The glass rippled like liquid, a faint humming sound filling the air. In one terrifying moment, Chandrika was pulled inside, her scream echoing and then silenced.
The mirror returned to its still, reflective state—only Riddhi's black-eyed reflection staring back before the darkness in her eyes slowly faded away.
Riddhi blinked as if waking from a trance.
"Dadi?" she called softly, looking around the empty room. "Dadi, where did you go?"
Her voice trembled, but the only reply was the faint hum of the air conditioner and the soft sway of the curtains—no trace of Chandrika anywhere.
The air in Chandrika's room grew unnaturally cold, though the window was shut.
Riddhi stood still, staring blankly at the now-silent mirror. The darkness had left her eyes, but her body remained tense, as if strings still held her upright.
Down the hall, muffled voices carried through the door of Susheela and Vinod's room.
Vinod sat at the edge of the bed, the phone pressed to his ear.
"Please, Advocate Anjali," he said gravely. "There must be some way—Yuvaan is innocent."
On speaker, Advocate Anjali Awasthi's calm but firm voice replied,
"I understand, Mr. Pratap Singh, but the bail has been denied. It's a murder case. Unless we can prove his alibi or find solid evidence, the court won't release him."
Susheela paced nearby, clutching her dupatta nervously.
"Bhagwan, what will happen now?" she whispered. "Yuvaan is stubborn, but he isn't a killer."
Just then, the door creaked open.
Riddhi stood at the threshold—expression blank, eyes slowly darkening again into that same abyss-black sheen.
Vinod looked up. "Riddhi? Beta, what are you doing up at this hour?"
No answer.
Susheela frowned. "Are you alright, child?"
Riddhi stepped closer, her movements stiff—almost puppet-like. The shadows in the room seemed to deepen around her.
Vinod hung up the call. "Riddhi?" he repeated, rising to his feet.
Then—too fast to react—Riddhi's hands shot forward, grabbing both their necks. Her strength was inhuman; the pressure made Susheela gasp for air while Vinod struggled to pry her off.
"Riddhi! What are you—leave us!" Vinod choked out.
But her voice was not her own.
"The mirror thirsts for more," she whispered in that same layered, echoing tone.
With a violent force, she threw them toward the wall mirror.
The surface shimmered—liquid, alive—and both Vinod and Susheela were pulled in, their terrified screams vanishing into the glass as the room fell silent again.
For a long moment, Riddhi stared at the mirror. Her reflection blinked back—but the one inside was smirking.