1951 The mirror sat in the corner below the loft, wrapped in old butcher paper and bound with twine. It had arrived that morning, just before Joseph began his shift, and now it waited, gleaming beneath the amber slant of the setting sun piercing through the window. He paused before peeling back the paper. His fingers traced the rough twine, momentarily caught in the space between hesitation and action. He knew what lay beneath - it had occupied his thoughts for weeks now, a quiet, nagging presence at the edge of his mind. But still, he drew in a breath, steadying himself before finally pulling the string loose. The paper unfurled like shedding skin. A tall standing mirror emerged, its dark wooden frame carved in elaborate spirals - vines that curled and wove themselves in and out of each other like grasping fingers. The glass was smooth as still water and reflected only the dim light of the room, though Joseph swore it felt different now within these walls. Like something had changed. He swallowed and lifted the mirror carefully, moving it toward the center of the large room where the old one had once stood. That one - Heather’s mirror - had been damaged beyond repair. A terrible shame really, though in truth, he hadn’t been entirely honest when he told her it was an accident. He pushed the thought away. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. At least, not in the way that mattered. Joseph stepped back to admire his work. The new mirror fit perfectly in its place, its height just right, its commanding presence somehow unobtrusive. He imagined Heather standing in front of it, adjusting the collar of her dress, running a hand through her dark hair. The thought sent something warm through him. He remembered their days as high school sweethearts - the secret smiles, the tender moments that seemed to promise forever.  Joseph turned his attention back to the mirror itself. She would love it. Of course, she wouldn’t know where it came from. He had considered telling her the truth - that he had gone out of his way to find it, that he had spent hours searching for the right one, for a perfect replacement, a gift just for her - but something stopped him. No, it was better if she didn’t know. She would see it and assume it had always been there, or at least that it had come from someone else. And that was fine. That was how it had to be. Joseph reached out and pressed a hand lightly to the glass. It was cool beneath his fingertips, unnervingly so, as if the surface had yet to absorb the warmth of the room. For a brief moment, he thought he saw a flicker - some kind of ripple in the reflection, but when he blinked, it was gone. A trick of the light. He exhaled, shaking his head at himself. Heather would be home soon. Joseph glanced toward the window, where the last traces of daylight stretched thin against the rooftops of Peril. He had done what he set out to do. The mirror was in its place. And yet, he lingered. Something about it held him there, keeping him standing in the dimming light long after he should have gone. It was as if a silent presence tugged at him from just beneath its smooth surface.  He tore away his gaze and grabbed his coat. As he stepped past the spiral staircase that led to the high loft, he had to force himself not to glance back.  Outside, the wind curled around him as he walked home, carrying the scent of damp leaves and distant chimney smoke. The streets of Peril lay quiet at this hour, the golden glow of street lamps casting long shadows across the pavement. Joseph’s thoughts churned. Would she sense it? Would she feel something different when she looked into it? The possibility sent a coursing thrill through him. As he turned onto his street, his gaze flicked to his own reflection in the darkened windows of the shopfronts. For a moment, just a moment, he thought he saw something move behind his eyes - something unfamiliar. The twin mirror sat waiting in his apartment. Maybe tonight, he’d test it again.