Chapter 23: Epitaph of Mirrors

The air of the mansion was alive with tension. Each shadow stretched unnaturally long, each flickering light seemed to mock Caelum as he moved through the corridors. The mansion’s labyrinthine interior shifted with every step, rooms rearranging themselves as though anticipating his movements.

Caelum wasn’t walking so much as being drawn forward, each step an act of surrender to the invisible force pulling him deeper into the mansion’s heart. He clenched his fists, sweat slick on his palms, and tried to ignore the whispers slithering around him.

"Do you feel it?" Dante’s voice echoed from somewhere ahead, his tone calm, almost conversational. "The mansion reacts to your every thought. It’s alive in ways you can’t even comprehend."

Caelum stopped and looked around. The walls were now lined with distorted mirrors, their surfaces undulating like liquid. His reflections within them were grotesque parodies, their faces split into jagged fragments, their eyes filled with accusations.

"Why are you doing this?" Caelum demanded, his voice hoarse.

Dante emerged from the shadows, his mask gleaming like a crescent moon. The sight of him made Caelum’s chest tighten. Dante was both a haunting and a lure, his very presence steeped in contradiction.

"I’m not doing anything," Dante said. "This is all you. The mansion simply reveals what you refuse to see."

The mirrors lining the corridor began to ripple, their reflections shifting. Caelum saw fragments of his past: a child’s hand clutching a broken toy, a teenager alone in a classroom, an adult standing before an open grave. The images flickered like film reels, too fast to process, yet their weight pressed down on him.

"What are these?" Caelum asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dante stepped closer, his movements unnervingly smooth. "Pieces of you. The moments you’ve hidden, denied, or forgotten. The mansion feeds on them, grows from them. And you’ve fed it well."

Caelum turned to face him, anger flaring. "And what about you? What does it feed on from you?"

Dante’s mask tilted slightly, catching the dim light. "I’ve already made my peace with the mansion. I’ve given it everything I am. That’s why it doesn’t haunt me as it does you."

"You’re lying," Caelum snapped.

Dante’s laughter was soft, almost pitying. "Believe what you will. But you can’t deny what’s in front of you."

The corridor opened into a vast chamber, its walls lined with towering bookshelves and flickering lanterns. At the center stood a massive, intricately carved mirror. Unlike the others, its surface was perfectly still, reflecting the chamber with unsettling clarity.

Dante gestured toward it. "This is what you came for, isn’t it? The truth. Or are you still afraid to look?"

Caelum hesitated, his breath catching. The mirror seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, as if aware of his presence. He stepped closer, drawn to it despite the fear gnawing at his gut.

"Go on," Dante urged. "Ask it your questions. See if you’re ready for the answers."

Caelum stared into the mirror, his reflection gazing back with an intensity that felt almost alive. The room around him dissolved, leaving only the mirror and the infinite void within it.

Dante’s voice broke the silence, low and contemplative. "Do you know why I wear this mask?"

Caelum glanced at him, his reflection shifting in the mirror as he moved. "To hide who you are."

"Not quite," Dante said. "The mask isn’t a hiding place—it’s a reminder. A reminder that identity is fluid, a story we tell ourselves to make sense of chaos."

"And what story are you telling?" Caelum shot back.

Dante’s mask seemed to smile, though his voice carried a rare edge of vulnerability. "That I’m more than the sum of my fears. That I’m free from the prison of a single self."

For a moment, Caelum saw something in Dante’s eyes—a flicker of pain, of longing. It was fleeting but undeniable, leaving Caelum with an uncomfortable mix of anger and pity.

"You think you’re free," Caelum said. "But you’re just as trapped as I am."

Dante’s laughter echoed, hollow and sharp. "Perhaps. But at least I know the walls of my prison. Do you?"

The mirror began to ripple, its surface transforming into a swirling vortex of light and shadow. Images emerged, vivid and haunting:

Caelum staggered back, the weight of the memories threatening to crush him. "No...this isn’t me."

"It is," Dante said, his voice calm but unyielding. "These are the pieces you’ve buried, the truths you’ve refused to face. The mansion is forcing you to confront them."

Two doors appeared on either side of the mirror, their frames glowing with an eerie light. One pulsed with a warm, inviting glow; the other radiated cold, oppressive darkness.

"One leads to safety," Dante said. "The other leads to truth. Choose."

Caelum turned to him, desperation in his eyes. "Why are you doing this? What do you gain?"

Dante’s mask tilted, his voice softening. "Because I want to see if you’re stronger than me. If you can break the cycle I couldn’t."

Caelum looked at the doors, his mind racing. The voices in his head screamed conflicting advice, and the mansion itself seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, he stepped toward the door of darkness, his heart pounding.

Dante’s voice followed him, a whisper filled with both admiration and sorrow. "Good luck, Caelum. You’ll need it."