Chapter 8: The Shattered Reflection

The darkness was thicker than before, pressing against Caelum’s skin with a suffocating weight. Their chest heaved in shallow breaths, struggling to fill their lungs as the air felt increasingly foreign. There was no escape from it—not now. Not when the figure had shown them what they had become.

They should have known, really. The mansion was never meant to be a refuge. It was a mirror, reflecting the chaos they had buried inside for so long. But this was different now. The mansion felt alive, as if it had become the embodiment of their own crumbling mind, every shift in its walls, every groan of the floorboards, a consequence of their own breaking.

The light was dim here, sparse and flickering. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the floor, bending and warping, reaching out toward Caelum as if they were calling them home. The mirrors that lined the hallways, once insignificant, now felt charged, their surfaces rippling like the surface of water, distorting the room beyond them. Each reflection was an ugly parody of themselves, a grotesque mockery that stared back at them with empty eyes.

They wanted to look away, but they couldn’t. The whispers were louder now, curling around them like smoke, biting at the edges of their thoughts. It was the voice. The thing that had been guiding them all this time, urging them forward, now a force so palpable that it seemed to drip from the walls.

“Do you understand now?”

The words resonated deep within Caelum, the weight of their meaning sinking into their bones. What they had feared, what they had run from—was staring back at them from every mirror.

“You cannot outrun the truth. It is a part of you.”

The mirrors vibrated, their surface rippling like a thin sheet of glass, each one a different angle of their fractured self. The figure had been right. They had tried to escape, to bury the parts of themselves they hated. But now, the mansion had brought everything to the surface. Every broken piece. Every lie. Every fear.

Their reflection—no, reflections—stared back at them in a dozen different ways. The Caelum they wanted to see, confident, unafraid, untouched by the darkness of their own thoughts. And then, there were the others. The versions of themselves they had hidden from: the child, the failure, the broken soul they had tried to forget.

Each version of them seemed to whisper in its own voice, each one a bitter reminder of their past. "You can never be whole again." "This is who you are."

The urge to flee was overwhelming, but the mansion wouldn't let them. They had tried running from themselves for so long, and now, there was nowhere left to go.

A reflection caught their eye—the one that hadn't spoken yet. The one that was still. The one that had been silent all this time. It was just standing there, a mirror of them, still and quiet, but with eyes that held something Caelum couldn’t quite place.

A familiar, hollow feeling settled in their chest as they stepped closer, drawn to the quiet version of themselves. The rest of the reflections faded into the periphery, their whispers turning into a dull hum. This one, though—this one was different.

As Caelum’s fingers grazed the glass, the reflection shifted. Slowly, the stillness in the mirror cracked, and the figure within stepped forward, its form fluid and wavering. It wasn’t like the others—no mocking sneer, no judgmental gaze. This one looked like them, but… not quite.

It was them, yet it was not. It held their gaze with a familiarity that caused the walls of the mansion to tremble, as if the very fabric of reality was shaking beneath the weight of the truth.

A voice, not the voice they had been hearing, but their own—soft, fragile—whispered from within.

“You’ve always known this.”

Caelum’s hand fell away from the mirror, trembling. Their reflection didn’t move, didn’t speak. It simply stared at them, its presence filling the room with an oppressive heaviness.

The mansion around them seemed to hold its breath.

“You’ve always known that you are not what you appear.”

Caelum stumbled back, the realization striking like a blade to the chest. It was true. They had been running from themselves, hiding in a shell they had created. They had told themselves they were stronger than this, that they could overcome the darkness, but they hadn’t. They had merely buried it. Built this house of lies to keep it contained.

The mansion groaned, the walls bending in response, and the voice—this new, softer voice—echoed through their thoughts. “You cannot escape who you are. The truth is not something you can outrun.”

Caelum’s mind reeled. This wasn’t the first time they’d heard these words. This wasn’t the first time they’d felt this feeling—the recognition of their own brokenness. But it was different now. The walls of the mansion were no longer a distant, abstract concept. They were Caelum's own walls. The mirrors were not just objects in a house, but gateways into the deepest parts of their psyche.

They turned away from the reflection, eyes wild, heart racing. The mansion shifted again, but now, it was no longer an abstract manifestation of their fears. It had become a living thing, a physical, oppressive presence that seemed to pulse in time with their own breath.

“You cannot run,” the voice whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”

The mansion loomed in the distance, but this time, Caelum didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to flee. They felt something else—something they hadn’t felt before. Acceptance.

Not in the way they thought. Not in a way that absolved them of their guilt. But in a way that felt like the first step toward understanding. To truly accept themselves. Not to escape, but to face it. To face the truth that had been hiding behind every mirror, behind every reflection.

They weren’t whole. They might never be. But maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

“You are not broken,” the voice intoned, soft and sure. “You are whole in your imperfection.”

The words echoed, resounding in the deepest corners of their mind, settling in the cracks. And for the first time, the mansion felt less like a prison and more like a sanctuary—a place to finally confront who they were.