The Girl In The Mirror

Sunrays peeked through the light curtains. On the bed, a figure yawned and then stretched lazily, burying herself deep into her pillow as the alarm screamed for the second time.

Still, she didn’t move.

From outside, thundering steps echoed closer, and as the door slammed open, a furious-looking woman appeared,  a spatula in hand, an apron around her waist, and her hair messily tied back.

“Willa!” she screamed, and the figure jolted awake.

“Mo…mom.” Willa stood up, but her steps staggered backward as her body swayed half-sleepily.

“Young lady, how many times have I told you you shouldn’t sleep in on your alarm?”

Willa turned to the side table; the time was only five a.m.

“Mom… It’s too early,” she groaned, but Mrs. Georgina hissed.

“I want you down in five,” her voice echoed as she disappeared behind the tiny hallway.

Willa sighed and fell back on the bed. Life was hard, but waking up early after sleeping late was harder. Sluggishly, she dragged herself to the mirror. Her hands reached up to her hair,  and there, the reflection staring back at her smiled.

“Eh?” Willa staggered backward. She glanced around, but the room was empty. Her hand went up to her chest as she patted herself calmly.

“I need to slow down on the coffee,” she murmured.

She slowly walked back to the mirror, adjusting her hair as she hummed a little tune.

“Wi…lllaa.”

The voice cracked within the mirror. Willa froze. Her body refused to move as her eyes locked on the reflection,  which appeared to be doing more than she was.

“Oh, come on. We’ve been through this… I am you, you are me,” a charming voice cracked from within.

“Ahhh!” Willa gasped, her hands trembling, her eyes wide as she glanced around, hoping someone would come in. But the door remained shut, and the voice continued.

“Welcome to the past, Willa,” the mirage chirped, like it had repeated that line a thousand times.

“No… what are you talking about?” Willa hissed as she bolted toward the door. But before she could reach the doorknob, the house rearranged itself;  the door slid in the opposite direction, and the mirage calmly stepped out, glitching with every movement.

The lights flickered like a scene from a horror movie, and her room seemed to come alive. 

“It’s showtime.”

Its twisted smile crept wider as it dragged Willa out the door.

Willa descended the stairs. The kitchen light was on, as was that of the dining room. Noise echoed from that direction, and she strolled forward. The scene was awfully familiar, but she couldn't bring herself to remember when or why.

“Mom?” she called, but there was no answer. Every step felt like a nightmare. Her mind wanted to believe she was dreaming. Her fingers pinched her so hard, but she couldn’t wake up,  and the nightmare continued.

As Willa turned toward the kitchen, the figure hovering over frying pans, chopped vegetables, and steaming buns was no mother of hers. The figure looked pale, her hair drenched in sweat, and her fingers covered in cuts and burns,  yet she navigated the kitchen with so much enthusiasm.

“This… this is me,” Willa whispered.

And just then, the memories came flooding back. She was only fifteen. While her mates woke up to breakfast made by their parents, she had to wake up, make theirs, prepare food for the family, clean the house, and ensure everything was in order before heading to school.

Willa hated herself for never asking questions. She had never questioned why Amira could sleep and have the best of everything while she toiled like a peasant and still received the bare minimum of everything,  including her parents’ love.

Just then, a pan slammed hard against the floor, and all three jolted. Panic slushed in; their breaths quickened, and their eyes darted toward the stairs.

“Willa!” a groan echoed, followed by thundering footsteps.

Willa stepped forward, her arms reaching for her younger self,  but she passed through her.

“Please… run, he’ll beat you,” she begged desperately, but the fifteen-year-old her stood still like a rock.

“I thought I told you to keep it down,” the man groaned.

“I…it was not intentional, Father,” young Willa cried, tears streaming down her face as she watched her father fold the belt around his fist tightly.

“Being clumsy is no excuse,” he hissed,  and slash! The belt fell on Willa’s fragile skin, the cut from the iron part stinging deep. Her body crumpled to the ground.

“Please… it was a mistake,” she begged, but more lashes fell on her back.

“You should know better,” his words rang in her ears.

Willa watched, tears streaming down her face, her arms reaching forward as she tried to help,  but the belt passed through her.

By the time the beating was over, all three lay on the floor, groaning. For some reason, she had forgotten this part of her past. The beatings, bleeding… and the things they made her do. Willa closed her eyes, her body trembled, and her fist folded. “I can’t die,” she cried desperately.

“You don’t make the rules, sweetheart,” her mirage chirped, its lips curled. “They do,” and just then, thundering echoes of giggles vibrated within the walls. 

Then the system chimed.

[Death Performance ongoing.]

[Score: 5.8 / 10.]

[Complete Door Two.]

Willa's body shuddered. “How twisted is this world?” she pondered, but it was rather unfortunate; only by experience will she get her answers.