The Late Reflection

She stood before the mirror, a common ritual, a moment of quiet reflection before

the night. But tonight, something felt... different. A subtle,

unsettling shift in the familiar. The glass held a secret, a silent,

creeping dread, an unnatural, slow unfolding. Her own image, twisted,

alien, watching back with hollow, abyssal eyes. Then,

the surface stirred, beckoning, an invisible force pulling it forward. The barrier weakened.

The cold began. It was coming. Slowly, inevitably.