When Lena Raines pushed open the door to Studio Aurora, the sharp scent of bleach and shampoo wrapped around her like a new beginning. She had been planning this for months—new hair, new job, new life.
“Ready to reinvent yourself?” asked Marco, the stylist, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was a tall man with streaks of silver in his hair and a calm confidence that made everyone trust him. His salon was famous for its “transformations”—makeovers so complete that clients walked out feeling reborn.
Lena smiled nervously. “Completely ready.”
“Perfect,” he said, leading her to the chair. “Let’s find the color that changes everything.”
Lena’s life had been stuck in gray tones—both literally and metaphorically. She had spent years in an office that smelled of burnt coffee and regret, living a routine so predictable it dulled her soul. Her boyfriend had left her six months ago, muttering something about her being “invisible.”
So she decided to stop being invisible.
Marco draped a black cape over her shoulders and studied her reflection. “You’ve got the kind of face that can take risks,” he murmured. “How do you feel about something… bold?”
“What do you suggest?”
He smiled faintly. “Let’s say—something that will make even you not recognize yourself.”
Two hours later, Lena stared into the mirror, stunned.
Her hair—once a dull chestnut—was now a deep, iridescent black with subtle blue undertones that shimmered like ink in sunlight. It framed her face in a way that made her skin glow, her eyes look sharper, almost unfamiliar.
She gasped softly. “It’s like I’m a different person.”
Marco’s eyes reflected the deep shade of her hair as he leaned closer. “That’s the point.”
She laughed, but something about the way he said it made her shiver.
Over the next few days, Lena noticed changes beyond her reflection.
People treated her differently. Strangers looked twice. Her boss, who barely remembered her name before, complimented her presentation. Her confidence surged—until strange things began to happen.
Her reflection lingered in mirrors half a second too long. When she turned her head, she sometimes caught a flicker of motion—her reflection moving slightly before she did.
At first, she brushed it off as imagination. Lack of sleep, maybe. But one night, as she brushed her hair before bed, she noticed something that made her freeze.
Her reflection smiled.
She hadn’t.
The brush clattered to the floor. “What the hell…” she whispered.
Her reflection tilted its head, eyes glinting. Then it mouthed something she couldn’t hear.
A single word.
“Mine.”
The next morning, she stormed into Studio Aurora.
Marco greeted her with his usual calmness. “Back so soon? Miss your old self already?”
“What did you do to me?” she demanded.
He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“My reflection—it’s… wrong. It moves on its own.”
He didn’t laugh, which somehow made it worse. Instead, he sighed and locked the salon door.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice so soon,” he said quietly.
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you know why my clients say my makeovers change their lives?” His tone was almost mournful. “Because they do. I give them what they want—confidence, beauty, freedom—but nothing comes free.”
Lena backed away. “You’re insane.”
He stepped closer, eyes darkening. “You wanted to stop being invisible. I gave you that. But transformations like yours require balance. For you to be reborn, something else had to take your place.”
“You mean—my reflection?”
Marco smiled faintly. “She’s what you left behind.”
Lena ran. Out the door, down the street, not stopping until she reached her apartment. She slammed the door and pressed her back against it, panting.
She went straight to the mirror.
Her reflection was waiting.
This time, it didn’t mimic her. It stood perfectly still, smiling that same knowing smile Marco had.
Lena whispered, “You’re not me.”
The reflection tilted its head. “No,” it said clearly this time. “You’re not me anymore.”
Then, before Lena could move, her reflection reached out—from inside the mirror.
The glass rippled like water.
Lena screamed and stumbled backward as a cold hand grabbed her wrist. She pulled, but the reflection’s grip was iron.
In one last, desperate move, she grabbed a nearby lamp and swung it at the mirror. It shattered. The shards exploded across the floor, slicing her palms.
When she looked up, the reflection was gone.
Only her pale, trembling face stared back from the broken pieces.
For days, she refused to look in any reflective surface—mirrors, windows, even her phone screen. She wore sunglasses indoors. At work, she told people she was sick.
Then one night, she got a message.
Unknown number: You still owe her.
Her phone screen flickered, showing a black-haired woman’s faint reflection behind her—smiling.
Lena dropped the phone.
She smashed every mirror in the apartment, but it didn’t matter. Wherever there was reflection—spilled water, dark glass, even her shadow—she saw the other her, closer every time.
Desperate, she returned to the salon. Studio Aurora was closed. The sign on the door read:
FOR LEASE — INQUIRE WITH LANDLORD.
She found the landlord two buildings over.
“That place?” he said, frowning. “Hasn’t been open in years. The man who owned it—Marco Devereux—died in 2009. Gas leak, they said. Tragic.”
Lena’s knees buckled. “No… no, that’s impossible. I was just there last week!”
The landlord looked at her pityingly. “Miss, that place has been empty for more than a decade.”
That night, Lena sat in the dark, clutching the shattered locket she’d found on her doorstep—one she didn’t remember owning. Inside was a single strand of hair.
Black. Iridescent.
She dropped it.
The next morning, her neighbors called the police after hearing glass break and a woman screaming.
They found Lena’s apartment empty. The mirrors shattered. No sign of struggle.
Only one thing remained untouched—a full-length mirror leaning against the wall.
And in it, reflected perfectly, stood Lena.