[Chloe – POV]
Chloe didn't want to tell the story that night. But she knew it had to be her. Ethan had been pale ever since he saw the center of the stones.Maya wouldn't stop writing. Jake had broken his fist on a tree, as if he could punch the fear out. Lily barely spoke. Sam asked questions that had no answers.Owen avoided looking at the flame. And Josh… Josh looked at her as if he knew she was saying goodbye. She stood up before anyone could speak.
"Today, I'll tell it."
No one protested.
No one dared.
Because everyone knew: when the leader tells a story…
…it's because someone needs to carry the weight.
She walked to the edge of the circle.
She didn't pick up the bag of story dust.
She knew she didn't need to.
The flame already knew her.
"Before I begin," she said, looking at Josh, "listen carefully."
"Because this story… isn't about monsters." "It's about what happens when you love someone too much that you shouldn't have told them."
Josh nodded, tense.
Chloe closed her eyes.
And the smell came.
Burnt paper. Rotten mint.
The air grew thick, damp, like inside a book that's been closed for a hundred years. She began.
[Chloe's Story – "The Mirror That Holds Names"]
My sister's name was Lila.
She was 14 years old. I was 16.
She was brilliant. Not like Maya—with logic—but with imagination.
She saw stories even in the morning dew.
One day, she found an old mirror in Grandma's attic.
It was small, handheld, with a dark wood frame and broken glass in the corner.
But the strange thing wasn't the mirror.
It was what it didn't reflect.
When Lila looked at it…
…she saw herself, but not as she was.
She saw what she would be if she had never been born.
A girl with empty eyes, sitting in a chair in a white room.
No windows. No doors.
Just her… and an empty notebook.
Lila thought it was beautiful.
She said it was "the pure version of her—without fear, without guilt, without pain."
She began to visit the mirror every night.
And, with time…
…the girl in the mirror began to speak.
"You don't need to suffer anymore," she said.
"You can let me live for you."
Lila laughed.
She thought it was just another story.
Until one night, she didn't return from the attic.
I ran upstairs.
The mirror was on the floor.
Broken.
But the glass…
…reflected nothing.
Only darkness.
And, from the darkness…
…I heard a voice.
"She chose to stay," the voice said.
"Now, it's my turn to leave."
I ran.
That night, I went to the Circle—yes, we were already part of it.
I told what happened.
The flame went black.
And a voice—not human, not animal—whispered:
"She told a story that wasn't hers."
"Now, the story possesses her."
I searched for Lila for weeks.
Until one day, I found a notebook by the river.
It was hers.
On the last page, it was written:
"I'm sorry, Chloe.
I just wanted the pain to stop.
But the girl in the mirror…
…didn't know what pain was.
So she decided to learn from me."
I never saw her again.
But sometimes, on moonless nights…
…I look in the bathroom mirror…
…and I see two girls.
One is me.
The other…
…is still learning what suffering is.
And she's getting closer and closer to leaving.
Chloe stopped. The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was heavy. As if the air had swallowed all the sounds of the world.
[Josh – POV]
Josh felt the buzzing before he heard it. A thin whistle, coming from inside his skull—as if something was pulling the sounds from his ear, leaving only emptiness. The smell arrived soon after.
Burnt paper. Rotten mint.
The flame, which had been blue, now glowed black—like ink spilled on water.
And in the center…
…a shape.
Not tall like last time.
Not faceless.
This time, it had two faces.
A young one. An older one.
Both with closed eyes.
Both smiling with sewn-up lips.
The Storyteller.
And he was satisfied.
Josh looked at the others.
Lily wept silently, her hands clutching her necklace. Maya had stopped writing.
Jake stared at the floor, as if he didn't want to see what came next.
Sam was pale.
Owen… Owen had taken two steps back from the circle.
Chloe was still standing.
But her hands trembled.
"Why did you tell this?" Josh asked softly.
She looked at him.
"Because this story… is alive."
"And if I don't tell it here…"
"…it will come out of the mirror another way."
"And it will take one of you."
"Are you protecting yourself?" Maya asked.
"No," Chloe replied. "I'm feeding Him my pain."
"So that He doesn't have to eat yours."
Josh understood then.
She wasn't telling a story.
She was making a pact.
With fear.
With guilt.
With whatever was at the center of the stones.
[Chloe – POV]
The flame whispered. Not with words. With memories. Chloe saw Lila again.
Not in the mirror. In the clearing. Sitting on the north rock. With the notebook in her lap.
Writing.
"Chloe, don't be angry.
I just wanted you to be happy.
But the story…
…never makes anyone happy.
It only leaves scars."
Chloe swallowed the metallic taste.
—Go away—she whispered. —You're not my sister.
—You're what she left behind.
The vision faded.
But the smell remained.
Stronger.
Rotten mint now had a hint of river water—slime, slime, something that had rotted beneath the surface.
The flame pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
And then, a voice—not from outside, but from inside everyone's head—spoke:
"The story has been heard. The debt, paid. For now."
Chloe fell to her knees.
Not from weakness.
From relief.
But also from grief.
Because she knew:
Every time she told that story…
…Lila drifted further away.
And one day…
…nothing would remain of her.
Only the story.
[Josh – POV]
No one moved for almost a minute.
Until Lily stood up and went to Chloe.
She knelt beside her and held her hand.
"You're not alone," she whispered.
Chloe didn't answer.
But she squeezed her hand.
Maya closed her notebook.
Jake wiped his face with his sleeve.
Sam seemed to have aged years in minutes.
Owen returned to the circle.
And Josh…
Josh understood something he had never realized before.
The Circle wasn't about telling stories.
It was about carrying what others couldn't carry.
And Chloe…
…had carried it all alone for too long.
"You don't have to do this again," Josh said.
Chloe looked at him.
Her eyes were dry, but empty.
"It's not a choice," she replied. "It's a responsibility."
"I'm the leader."
— And leaders…
— …don't tell stories to save themselves.
— They tell them to save others.
The flame returned to blue.
But now, in the center, there was a black stain.
Small.
But growing.
Josh knew what it was.
Lila's story.
Trapped there.
Alive.
And hungry.
[Chloe – POV]
On the walk back, Chloe didn't speak.
But Josh walked beside her.
Silent.
Present.
When they reached the edge of the forest, she stopped.
— Are you going to ask me what happens if I don't tell the story again?
Josh hesitated.
— Will she come out of the mirror?
— No — she said. — She already did.
— The girl in the mirror…
— …is in Duskwood now.
— And every time someone tells a weak story…
— …it grows.
— What if you tell it again?
— She goes back to the mirror.
— For a while.
— But each time…
— …it gets stronger.
Josh looked at the sleeping city.
— So… you'll have to tell it forever?
Chloe didn't answer.
She just looked at the sky.
The moon was covered by clouds.
And, for a second, Josh swore he saw two reflections in her eye.
A human.
An empty one.
— Until someone — she said softly —
— tells a story so true…
— …that it falls apart.
— Who?
Chloe smiled. Sadly.
— Maybe you.
And she turned to leave.
But before disappearing into the darkness of the street, she stopped.
— Saturday.
— Don't miss it.
Josh nodded.
He knew she wasn't remembering.
She was begging. Because, for the first time, Chloe didn't know if she would be able to return.