The Mirror Room

The mansion’s hallways stretched endlessly, swallowing the echoes of their footsteps. The livestream chat was still racing—

......................

“What was that glitch??”

“Why is Tae’s reflection not blinking?”

“Pause the stream, something’s off!”

......................

But Jungkook didn’t pause. He couldn’t. The camera lens felt like a lifeline, a barrier between him and whatever shadows were whispering through the wallpaper.

“Let’s check upstairs,” Taehyung said, his voice smooth, calm—too calm.

Jin groaned, “Why do you always go toward the creepy stuff?”

“Because,” Taehyung replied, flashing that mischievous grin, “fear deserves an audience.”

The staircase moaned under their weight. Candlelight flickered, revealing the faint outline of portraits along the walls—faces blurred, eyes missing, frames crooked like they’d been pushed.

Namjoon tripped on a loose tile.

“Okay,” Yoongi muttered, “if the ghosts don’t kill us, RM will.”

They reached a long corridor lined with closed doors. Dust hung like fog in the air. Taehyung stopped at the third one from the left—its handle cold, almost wet to the touch.

When he pushed it open, the camera light reflected off something smooth.

A mirror.

No—a dozen of them. Different sizes, shapes, all facing inward, forming a circle. The center held a single ornate chair. The air smelled faintly of iron and lavender.

Jimin whispered, “This is giving witchcraft-core.”

Taehyung stepped in first, boots clicking against marble. His reflection multiplied infinitely, each copy slightly delayed, slightly off. Jungkook followed with the camera, capturing every angle.

“Say hi to the fans,” Jungkook said, forcing a grin.

Taehyung looked into one mirror and whispered, “Hi.”

But in the footage—the reflection didn’t move its lips. It just smiled back, a fraction too late.

“Did you see that?” Jungkook whispered.

“See what?” Taehyung asked, eyes fixed on his own reflection.

On the livestream, comments exploded:

......................

“Tae’s reflection isn’t matching.”

“Mirror Tae blinked twice.”

“Jungkook, get out of there NOW.”

......................

Namjoon walked in, checking the mirrors with a scientist’s curiosity. “They’re antique. Probably warped glass.”

Yoongi frowned. “Or not glass at all.”

Taehyung reached toward his reflection. His fingertips touched the mirror’s surface—then sank through it, like the glass was liquid.

“Hyung!” Jungkook grabbed his wrist, pulling him back. The surface rippled violently, and for a moment Jungkook saw something inside:

A dark figure standing where Taehyung’s reflection should’ve been.

Its smile—his smile—was wrong.

The candles went out.

Screams. Footsteps. The sound of shattering glass.

The livestream crackled, static flashing.

When the lights came back on, the mirrors were all broken. Shards scattered like fallen stars. Taehyung stood in the middle, breathing hard. Jungkook’s hands were shaking.

Jimin whispered, “What just happened?”

Taehyung turned slowly. His reflection—visible in a single unbroken shard—was still smiling.

And then, faintly, it whispered through the livestream audio:

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...

“You shouldn’t have come back.”

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...

...****************...

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