The mirror cracked this morning.
No one touched it.
I was brushing my teeth, staring at my reflection, when a tiny snap echoed through the room. A spiderweb fracture appeared across the glass—right across my eyes.
I stepped back.
My heart pounded.
Then I saw it—just for a second.
Not my face in the mirror.
Her.
The woman in white.
I didn't go to school.
I couldn't.
I walked for hours instead, through empty alleys and side streets, trying to make sense of everything. The dreams. The symbol. Jonah. The mark I sometimes feel burning under my skin.
It's like the world is trying to show me something I don't want to see.
Like it's waking me up from a life that was never really mine.
I ended up at the library.
It was quiet. Safe. Familiar.
I started digging—folktales, prophecies, ancient symbols.
One phrase came up again and again:
The Veil Between Worlds.
Some believed there are people who can see past it. People who don't just live in this world, but echo across many.
I don't know why, but that phrase stuck with me.
Maybe because I've always felt like I was standing just outside my own life… watching.
Before I left, I found a book that had a spiral on the cover.
Not exactly the same as Jonah's mark… but close.
I tried to check it out.
The librarian looked up, her eyes wide. "Where did you find this?"
"In the back," I said. "Why?"
She didn't answer—just took it from my hands.
"You shouldn't be reading this," she whispered.
Then she locked the book away.
That night, the dreams returned.
But this time, I wasn't just watching.
I was walking.
Through the silver field. Toward the faceless woman.
And this time, she spoke:
"You have always been chosen. But choice comes with cost."
I asked her what that meant.
But she only raised a hand and touched my chest.
I jolted awake with a gasp.
My hand burned.
And this time, the spiral mark was there.
Glowing.