The bell above the glass door chimed softly as she entered the salon.
Heads turned, conversations halted mid-sentence.
The woman looked… ancient.
Her thin frame trembled as she clutched her faded handbag. Her face, ghostly pale with a bluish tint beneath the skin, seemed drained of life. Wrinkles etched her forehead like deep rivers, and the dark circles beneath her eyes were bruised shadows. Her once-golden hair hung limp and gray, clinging to her temples like tired silk.
The stylists exchanged nervous glances. Even the scent of lavender conditioner couldn’t mask the faint trace of something metallic — something unsettling — that followed her inside.
“Good morning,” said the receptionist, forcing a polite smile. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes,” the woman replied, her voice soft, almost brittle. “For a full transformation. Under the name… Evelyn Harper.”
The Stylist
The senior stylist, Clara, stepped forward. She was used to dramatic makeovers, but something about Evelyn made her uneasy. The way the woman’s eyes lingered on the mirrors, as if she feared her own reflection, sent a small chill through the room.
“Right this way, Mrs. Harper,” Clara said, leading her to the corner station — the one near the big bay window where natural light fell strongest.
Evelyn lowered herself into the chair like someone sitting down after a long journey. “I used to look… different,” she murmured. “I want to look like that again. I need to.”
Clara smiled reassuringly. “We’ll take good care of you.”
As she began applying cleanser to Evelyn’s face, she noticed the bruises. They weren’t random — they formed a faint, almost symmetrical pattern along her temples and jawline.
“Did you fall recently?” Clara asked gently.
Evelyn hesitated. Then whispered, “Not exactly. I woke up like this.”
The Transformation
Hour by hour, Evelyn changed.
Clara’s skilled hands blended foundation, erased shadows, restored color. Each sweep of the brush seemed to peel back time itself. The bluish tint faded, replaced by healthy pink warmth. Her hair, treated and toned, shimmered back to golden life.
By late afternoon, the transformation was astonishing. Evelyn didn’t look eighty anymore—she barely looked fifty.
Even the other clients stopped pretending not to stare.
“She’s glowing,” one of them whispered. “Like she’s been… reborn.”
But Clara noticed something strange: every time Evelyn caught her reflection in the mirror, her expression faltered—like she was seeing something that shouldn’t be there.
And then there was the hum.
At first, it was faint — the buzz of the hair dryer, the shuffle of scissors. But soon Clara realized it wasn’t coming from her tools at all. It came from Evelyn.
A low vibration, deep under her skin, like electricity moving beneath flesh.
“Are you all right?” Clara asked.
Evelyn smiled. “Perfect. I can feel it working.”
The Glow
By early evening, the salon had emptied. The staff packed up for the night, leaving only Clara and Evelyn beneath the golden light.
Clara stepped back, marveling at her work. “You look incredible,” she said sincerely.
Evelyn stood slowly, her reflection shining back like a woman half her age — radiant, alive. “It’s better than I hoped,” she whispered.
Then, softly: “You’ve given me what I needed.”
“What do you mean?” Clara asked, half laughing.
Evelyn’s eyes met hers in the mirror — and for a heartbeat, they flashed metallic silver.
The Mirror
The mirror’s surface rippled.
Clara froze.
Evelyn’s reflection was no longer matching her movements. It was smiling wider. Moving slower.
Then the reflection stepped forward.
A faint cracking sound split the air as the mirror bulged outward, glass bending like liquid.
“Mrs. Harper—” Clara gasped, stumbling backward.
Evelyn turned, her voice suddenly calm and cold. “It’s not Mrs. Harper. Not anymore.”
The reflection’s hand reached through the mirror, pale and luminescent, gripping Evelyn’s arm. And as it did, the bruises reappeared—only now, they glowed, pulsing with white light.
“Please,” Clara whispered. “What’s happening?”
Evelyn’s smile was serene. “You helped restore me. The body was fading, but the reflection remembers everything.”
Her voice changed — layered, echoing like two people speaking at once. “I told you I needed to look like I used to. That’s because I am who I used to be.”
The reflection stepped out completely now — perfect, ageless, glowing with stolen vitality.
The two Evelyns stood side by side — one radiant, one trembling and gray again.
And then the younger one whispered, “Thank you for holding my place.”
The older body collapsed like an empty shell.
The Aftermath
When the police arrived the next morning, they found the salon door unlocked. The lights were still on.
In the middle of the floor lay a frail old woman, lifeless, her skin gray and veined with silver. Her hair—bright gold. Her eyes—open but glassy, reflecting nothing.
The stylists were questioned, but no one had seen anything unusual. The cameras had malfunctioned, showing only static from the time of the appointment until dawn.
The death certificate listed heart failure.
But Clara knew better.
Six Months Later
The salon reopened under a new name: Eterna Beauty.
Business boomed. A glamorous new stylist had taken over the late afternoon shift — a woman named Evelyn Harper.
She was beautiful, youthful, and effortlessly charming. Clients adored her.
But sometimes, when she worked, the lights flickered faintly. And in the mirrors, her reflection didn’t quite move in sync.
Clara watched her one evening, uneasy, as Evelyn styled a client’s hair.
The woman in the chair smiled. “You have such a light touch. I feel younger already.”
Evelyn met her gaze in the mirror. “You will,” she said softly.
Then, under her breath: “Just as I did.”
The lights dimmed for a second — just enough to make the air feel cold.
And Clara could’ve sworn she saw the reflection in the mirror smile…
before Evelyn did.
Epilogue
A month later, flyers appeared around town:
Eterna Beauty – Rejuvenation Package!
“Walk in tired. Walk out timeless.”
The town’s women lined up eagerly.
And inside, Evelyn Harper greeted each new client with the same soft promise:
“Don’t worry,” she’d whisper, running her hand along their cheek. “Age is just something the mirror remembers.”
The lights shimmered. The mirror rippled.
And outside, the sign flickered faintly — letters rearranging for just an instant.
ETERNAL BEAUTY.