It started the night you found the mirror.

Your parents had just moved you into the new house—an old two-story place that smelled faintly of dust and wood polish. You were exploring the attic, flashlight in hand, when your beam landed on something tall and covered in a heavy sheet. You pulled it off, coughing at the dust, and froze.

It was a mirror. Ornate. The frame carved with twisting patterns that looked almost like vines—or veins. The glass shimmered strangely, even in the dim light.

You almost swore you saw something move inside it.

Shrugging it off, you dragged it down to your room. It fit perfectly against your wall. But that night, something changed.

You woke to the faint sound of whispering. It wasn’t coming from the hallway or your phone—it was from the mirror. The whispers were soft, almost melodic, and when you turned on your lamp, the surface rippled like water.

Then, slowly, a shape formed.

A girl.

She looked your age, her skin pale under the dim light, her expression a mix of amusement and curiosity. Her lips curled into a smirk that sent a chill down your spine.

“Hey there,” she said, voice soft but unnervingly confident. “You can see me, can’t you?”

You stumbled back. “Who… who are you?”

“Jennifer,” she said easily. “Jennifer Check. And I think we’re… connected.”

The words didn’t make sense. You blinked, trying to convince yourself you were dreaming. But Jennifer didn’t vanish. She tilted her head, her reflection perfectly clear, her eyes sharp and hungry—yet somehow sad.

“Don’t freak out,” she murmured. “It’s not like I planned this. You moved into the wrong house, and that mirror? It’s cursed. Now we’re linked. Your world and mine—mirrors of each other.”