She wasn’t chasing trends, just wiping down her bathroom mirror with a rag and some spray. No camera, no music — just the hum of her house at night.

But the curse didn’t care about TikTok.

The moment the rag cleared a streak across the glass, the shimmer hit. He slipped in.

Her body tensed as his mind took over. Suddenly he was standing in her skin, breasts heavy under the loose t-shirt she’d been cleaning in, hips shifting as he breathed her air. She froze, unable to move, her reflection glitching for just two seconds. Instead of her familiar face, the mirror flashed his — bearded, out of place, staring back from a woman’s body.

The rag dropped to the floor. The shimmer snapped. She stumbled back into herself, heart racing, hands clutching at her chest like it had betrayed her. The mirror looked normal again, but she knew what she saw.

And he knew too.

He didn’t need the trend anymore.

Any wipe of a mirror — anywhere — could let him in.