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But to Mark, her voice was like distant noise. His gaze remained fixed on his reflection. At first, he saw himself as he’d grown used to in recent months: a teenage girl in a school uniform, messy hair, and a slightly embarrassed expression. But then the smooth surface of the mirror began to ripple faintly, like water disturbed by a thrown stone.
The school uniform faded away, as if dissolving into the air, replaced by another outfit—achingly familiar, like a photograph from the past. Her shoulders were now swallowed by his old hoodie, the one in which he had felt invincible. The jeans, which had once fit perfectly, now hung awkwardly, as if they belonged to someone else. Sneakers with worn-out soles, the ones he had worn for years, looked almost absurd on her small feet. The dark-rimmed glasses—his glasses—barely stayed on her slender nose. On this fragile frame, everything looked wrong, as if someone had taken his former life and made a mockery of it.
— What the… — he whispered, unable to look away.
As he stared, a strange pressure gripped his chest. There was something else in the reflection, faint and blurry, like a shadow overlaying her figure. The more he focused, the clearer it became: a tall man with familiar features—the real Mark. His ghostly figure was dressed in Emma’s school uniform. The blouse clung awkwardly to his broad shoulders, the buttons straining to hold, while the skirt, far too short for his height, revealed long legs in nylon stockings.
— What… what is this? — Mark murmured, his voice barely audible as it faltered. His gaze darted between the two images, unable to decide where to settle. The girl in his old clothes looked pitiful, awkward, like a parody of who he used to be, while the man in the skirt and school uniform was grotesque and unsettling.
He could almost feel the two figures vying for his attention. The fragile girl in the oversized clothes grew clearer when he focused on her, only to fade again, giving way to the man in the ridiculous school uniform if he looked at him instead. His breath came in short gasps, his heart tightening with every beat.
— You’re both not me, — he whispered, looking from one to the other. — Not me!
The man smirked mockingly:
— Of course I’m not you. You’ve already given up. You’re weak, pathetic, and cowardly.
The girl abruptly stepped forward, blocking the man from view.
— And her, just look at her. Do you think I deserved this? — her voice, thin and fragile, struck like a hammer.
Mark clenched his fists, his legs trembling.
— Stop it… Just shut up! — his voice broke, echoing through the hall.
— Emma?! — Jessica called out sharply. She grabbed his arm and tugged, pulling him away from the mirror. — What the hell are you shouting about?
Mark turned to look at Jessica, her face full of concern. His heart was still pounding, his ears ringing. He blinked a few times, trying to regain control, and glanced back at the mirror. The two figures were gone. Only Emma remained—a thin, frightened girl, her eyes red from strain and embarrassment. Her reflection looked frail and unreal. “That’s you,” the thought flashed through his mind, but he quickly turned away.
— What’s wrong with you? You’re pale and shaking all over, — Jessica asked, worried.
— Nothing… I’m fine… — he licked his dry lips, feeling a knot tighten inside him.
— You look like you’ve seen a ghost. — Jessica started to say more, but the voice of the museum attendant, who had somehow approached them unnoticed, interrupted her.
— Ladies, I must remind you that loud outbursts are not permitted in the museum. If you need a break, I can show you the visitor’s area.
Mark froze. His heart was still racing, but the word “ladies” struck him like a blow.
— Sorry, she just… got overwhelmed, — Jessica quickly intervened, shooting Mark a warning look. — We’ll go take a break.
The attendant nodded and started to turn away, but Mark suddenly stepped forward and grabbed his wrist with surprising strength.
— Wait! That mirror… — he began, his voice trembling with emotion. — What do you know about it?
The attendant stopped abruptly, staring at the frail girl who, despite her appearance, exuded an inexplicable determination.
— Emma! Are you crazy? — Jessica hissed, trying to pull him back.
— I… I just need to understand! — Mark exclaimed, ignoring her attempts. His eyes darted between the mirror and the attendant.
The man frowned, carefully freeing his arm.
— Young lady, it’s just an old mirror, — the attendant said sternly, straightening and smoothing his sleeve. — Nothing mystical about it.
— Then why… — Mark swallowed hard, his voice shaking but gaining a note of firmness. — Why does it show… things like that?
The attendant frowned, but before he could respond, a sharp voice interrupted from behind:
— Emma Livingston, — the voice of Miss Harper rang out, and Mark felt his stomach twist. — What have you done this time?
Mark slowly turned. The teacher was striding toward them, her steps brisk, with a group of students trailing behind her. Maddie’s laughter echoed like dull thuds, sharp and mocking.