There was a list of rules taped to the hallway between the art building and the dormitory annex. Yellowed and curling at the edges, printed in two languages.
Anya had passed it twice without noticing.
Now, the third time, the ink shifted in the light.
She stopped walking.
The rules didn't make sense.
🕯 KUROBARA STUDENT GUIDELINES
(Excerpt – Full list available in Headmistress's Office)
Doors that lock themselves are to be respected.
Do not run in mirrors.
Do not accept tea from someone who does not cast a shadow.
If you hear your name whispered at night, answer in someone else's voice.
Forgetting is part of the curriculum.
She stared at Rule 17 for a long time.
Do not run in mirrors.
"Is this a prank?" she muttered.
"No," said a voice behind her, soft but unmistakable. "It's… a rule."
Anya turned.
The hallway was empty.
Class 3-K was smaller than she expected.Six desks. Five students.
One always left empty.
Their teacher didn't take attendance. She didn't smile either.
She introduced Anya with an index card and mispronounced her name.
Anya didn't correct her.
The others didn't talk much — at least not to her. One girl, Hoshino Midori, passed her a folded note during third period that simply read:
"You're sitting where Yuki died. Just saying."
"Don't drink the sink water in the South Hall."
"Bathroom mirrors lie."
Anya looked up, but Midori had already returned to reading silently.
At lunch, someone bumped into her.
It was one of the older girls — upperclass, white gloves, hair pinned up like she lived in 1940. Anya caught her balance but the girl glared.
"You're the new one, right?" she said, tone sharp.
Anya didn't answer.
"You're in Class 3-K? That class doesn't exist anymore."
"…Then where do I go every morning?"
The girl leaned close. Her breath smelled like cold tea and ash.
"No one in this school goes there. Just don't look too long at the blackboard."
She walked away, leaving Anya with the smell of something burnt and a headache she didn't have five seconds ago.
That night, Anya brushed her teeth in the bathroom alone.The mirror was cracked — not cleanly, but fractured in a spiderweb across one side.
She leaned closer, wiping away steam.
The reflection moved a second too slow.
Then it smiled, just slightly. But Anya hadn't.
Her hand trembled. The toothbrush clattered into the sink.
She blinked once, and—
A second girl was behind her.
Shorter. Black hair with blonde ends. Burned sweater sleeves.
Her bangs fully covered her eyes.
Anya turned around — no one there.
She looked back at the mirror.
The girl was still there.
"You shouldn't run in mirrors," the reflection whispered.
The room tilted. Water overflowed from the sink.
The lights flickered — but only in the reflection.
"You left me in the fire.
Now I'll leave you in the truth."
Anya ran.
Not out of fear. Not at first.
She just wanted air. To be somewhere without eyes on her.
She turned the corner, down the old stairwell. Thunder cracked above.
In the window beside the landing, her reflection kept running after she stopped.
It looked over its shoulder and grinned.
Anya stumbled back and hit the banister.
In the reflection: a hand grabbed her shoulder — but nothing touched her in real space.
Rule #17: Do not run in mirrors.
Later, when she sat shaking in her dorm room, she pulled open her school file again.
There was a new page.
She hadn't written it.
It was handwritten. Jagged. Ink bleeding through the paper.
"SHE'S THE ORIGINAL.
YOU ARE THE COPY.
THE FIRE DIDN'T KILL HER.
IT KILLED YOU."
At the bottom, a name scrawled in red:
Satsuki