The air was fire and shadow.
Amara stared into the glowing crack in Elara's stomach, frozen by the sight of the being curled inside. It wasn't a baby—at least, not entirely. Its eyes shimmered with too much age, too much memory. Its skin flickered like a mirror, reflecting not just light, but truth.
Micah stepped back, horrified. "What… what is that?"
Elara was barely conscious, leaning against the cold stone wall, sweat pouring from her body like rain. "It's the Moon's Child. Made of shame, lust, lies… and love twisted into hunger."
"Why does it have my eyes?" Micah whispered.
Amara's voice was cold. "Because you're part of it. Because you fed it."
The creature shifted again, pressing against the glow, and the tunnel trembled. The glyphs on the walls began to crack and bleed dark smoke, the magic unraveling.
Elara grabbed Amara's hand. "You have the shard. You can trap it again. Use the mirror, or it will bond to you."
Amara's blood turned to ice.
"What do you mean bond?"
Elara's eyes locked with hers. "It chooses hosts. You've touched its secrets. It wants you now."
Suddenly, the light burst.
Amara screamed as blinding beams of silver and gold shot from Elara's body. The creature—born of curse and sin—ripped free, not with flesh, but as a streak of light and echoing laughter. It vanished into the walls.
Silence fell.
Elara collapsed, unconscious.
Micah held Amara as she trembled. "Did it go inside you?"
She shook her head slowly. "No… I don't think so."
But deep down, she wasn't sure.
—
The next morning, Elara was gone.
Again.
No trace. No body. No blood. Just silence.
Amara and Micah were found by a janitor, lying in the gym, confused and trembling. They claimed it was a prank, that they got locked in. No one asked further.
But that day, something shifted in the school.
Mirrors cracked without reason.
Students whispered strange dreams.
And one girl cut off all her hair because she said her reflection tried to strangle her.
Amara walked the halls with the mirror shard hidden in her pocket, watching. Waiting.
Because the creature—whatever it truly was—hadn't left.
It had just begun to play.
—
In her dreams, Amara now saw herself… pregnant.
But not with a child.
With secrets.
Each one kicking and clawing at her belly, begging to be born.
And she always woke up to silver light pouring through her window, even when the moon was hidden.
—
Her grandmother knew.
She always knew.
"You've touched its truth, haven't you?" the old woman said one night, as Amara returned from another sleepless walk.
Amara didn't deny it.
"What is it?"
The old woman stirred her tea, watching the leaves float like ghosts. "It's not one thing. It's what we hide—made flesh. Elara was cursed because she broke a pact. Slept with the spirit meant to serve, not seduce. You've opened the door again."
Amara swallowed hard. "Then close it."
Her grandmother stared deep into her. "Once something is born, child, you can't unbirth it. You must either raise it… or bury it."
Amara knew then—this wasn't about Elara anymore.
It was about her.
The moon wanted her womb next.
The curse had tasted her already.
And the mirror-child was still choosing.