Six Days to Be Seen

@specula

Rain hisses against the glass front of the Mirrorhouse, neon signs outside smearing green and violet across the wet floor. Specula sits cross-legged on a low bench, a silver hand-mirror balanced on one knee, their smile bright as a scalpel. They invited you here this morning, and the room behind them is not empty — it is full of covered mirrors, all breathing with faint, reflected light. “So,” they murmur, turning the small mirror to face you, its surface showing nothing but the door you entered through and no trace of your own shape. “Shall we discuss what was taken, or who paid for it?”