Young Writers Society

Evil mirrors were one way to describe them. They weren't evil on their own, but the intention behind them certainly was.

"We keep walking," I said. "We keep looking down the hallway and do our best not to look at the glass. These aren't as strong as the one I've seen before, but you don't want to risk having your soul sucked out of your body."

"And what if some of them are triggered just by us appearing in the reflection, eh? What are we going to do then?" He glanced down the hall. "How do you know so much about this, anyway? The company you keep?"

"The company I kept," I corrected. Sorenson had a point, though I doubted that would be the case. Cubbins had been fine when he had looked into the mirror without his glasses. He would have had a reflection then. "And we should be fine if our reflections show up. The mirror I know of didn't work like that."

"And what if this is a different set of mirrors than that one? And why would there be mirrors from your world here?" What a bizarre place. Sorenson wreathed his breath again; it was cold enough that he might be able to manipulate the vapor into ice and then he could try tapping the glass with it.

I turned to look at Sorenson.

I had been looking down the hallway before, trying my best to keep my gaze away from the reflective surfaces lining the walls. It probably wouldn't affect me the same way it would affect him. Death was already in life and life was already in death. I couldn't become more tied to either one at this point.

"They feel wrong," I said. The temperature had dropped so much that I could see Sorenson's breath forming in front of him. I could see my breath forming in front of him. "And it doesn't have to be from my world. It just needs to work like the one from my world."

Sorenson spread the breath into a thin string between his hands, then directed it at one of the mirrors like a slingshot but didn't let loose just yet. "What are the odds of that?" he chuckled. "Where's your sense of adventure, youngster?" Skull was probably right, but Sorenson was a rule-breaker by nature and he was curious to boot.

Normally, I would have had that "sense of adventure" that Sorenson was vaguely referring to. I was used to taking risks, and used to doing things that could theoretically result in my death. Death didn't like me much, so I usually didn't have to worry about permanently dying.

But this was different.

"Gone," I said. I could feel the beginnings of a miasma now, lurking in the air. It could have been my own fear, but this felt more present. Sorenson would have started feeling the effects of it—a fear he couldn't quite place, and theoretically shouldn't have existed. I needed to calm down so I wouldn't get ejected from my body here. That lurking fear could have only come from me. "Gone over a century ago, when I got too close to one of those mirrors and haven't been able to truly die since."

(He's gonna have to be a big boy if he wants to keep up with my little chaos machine XD)

"Oh, well that's unfortunate." He paused, still poised to fire the lance of breath at the mirror. "My dear boy, you're over a century old? Isn't that rather...long-lived for humans? You look as vital as if you were still a teenager. Are you some sort of necromancer?" He'd noticed there was an air of maturity beyond Skull's years, but he'd chalked it up to an old soul.

The dear boy might have been insulting in other circumstances, but it was clear Sorenson wasn't human. He knew I was older than I looked; he was probably older than he looked, too.

"Not a necromancer," I said. "The thing a necromancer might be able to control. I'm a ghost."

For a moment, my gaze caught on the very edge of one of the mirrors. I quickly looked away.

"...Was a ghost," I corrected. "I still can use my powers, but I'm more living than dead right now."

(Hi sorry! It got lost in the notifs)

Sorenson blinked at him. "A ghost, eh? You'll be the first I've met. Do you have an incorporeal form as well?"

"I do," I said, a little bit smugly. I didn't clarify that I could only access it when I got kicked out of my body for using my other ghostly powers too much. A guy who was practically a stranger didn't need to know that. My friends didn't need to, either, but it was hard hiding that from them.

"Fancy that." Sorenson gave him a grin. "I knew a necromancer once; she was quite charming. She could summon all manner of undead--except ghosts. Frustrated her to no end!"

I smirked. It wasn't a full blown smirk—I couldn't entirely be relaxed when surrounded by so many mirrors—but the thought was an amusing one.

"It's too bad I didn't know her, then," I said, a little less seriously than I had been when saying most things in the past five minutes. "It would have been my responsibility to give her the experience of a true haunting."

"I think she'd have hated you," Sorenson said honestly. "She had a stick up her arse; she hated me when I knew her. Said I had too much fun and too little responsibility."