Mirrorgate Wraith

Mara stepped into a mirror standing alone in the cornfield. Her reflected image had been waiting half a breath behind her. Now a tall, unfinished Wraith came out, silver at its edges. It raised her reflected arm. The blow she'd imagined struck her from the other side.

I tried to pull her back. Another me was already braced inside the gate to resist. We approached again without agreement. One walked backward. Another sang. The lantern carrier refused to look ahead. The gate could return each intention, but couldn't fit them together. It split down the center. We went through between the answers.

Intent produces the reply. Violence is returned, concealment makes a hidden double, and rescue calls up resistance in the rescuer's shape. A group's shared purpose makes a clean reflection. Honest, incompatible intentions blur it; pretending randomness is still a legible strategy.

The Wraith never pursues beyond sight of its gate. Covering the mirror helps only if every reflective fragment is hidden. It is difficult to cross without imagining what comes next, but that can be safer than certainty.