Inside her apartment, I sipped warm tea in silence. The landlord finally spoke.
“The mirror wasn’t always cursed. It came from an ancient temple. The woman you saw… she was a devotee. She tried to trap her soul inside her reflection to escape death.”
I stared, stunned. “But why didn’t she come for you?”
The landlord gave a sorrowful smile. “Because I never looked in it after midnight. That’s when she wakes. That’s when she sees.”
I asked, “How did you even know not to look into it?”
Her face darkened.
“It took my sister.”
She told me how the mirror had been a gift from an antique collector. Her younger sister, once full of life, became obsessed with the mirror — and then terrified of it. Doctors found nothing wrong. But she grew thinner and weaker, lost in terror, and one day… she was gone.
“The police said she jumped,” she said quietly. “But the mirror had moved to her room. I know she was taken.”
Afterward, she found a healer — an old woman — who helped her seal the mirror using black ash.
“That was the only thing that kept her from showing herself again,” she said.
But with the mirror shattered… the seal was broken.
I leaned back, overwhelmed. “How do you know her name?”
The landlord looked haunted.
“During the ritual… I saw her. And many souls kneeling before her. My sister was one of them. The old woman called her Chandra. She’s a demon now.”
I stared into my tea. The name echoed in my mind.
Chandra.
Then, she glanced at the amulet on my wrist. “That design… it’s just like the ones I saw with the old healer. This may be why she screamed. It’s not just jewelry. It’s protection.”
That night, I stayed with the landlord. She was kind — gave me her guest bed. There were no disturbances. But sleep did not come.
My mind was spinning.
Chandra… Who are you?
-------------
The next morning, when I woke up, I had already made up my mind — I needed to find out who Chandra was and why she was connected to my mother’s amulet.
I asked the landlord if she still had the contact number of the healer who helped her, but she shook her head. The number was long lost, but she did have something else — a photo.
She went into her room and started dusting off old photo albums. After a few minutes, she found it. The picture showed a younger version of herself beside an older woman — the healer. Between them, I caught a glimpse of her younger sister, looking bright but shy.
.....................
The landlord stared at the photo, her eyes glistening. I gently tapped her back. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
She nodded silently, tears trailing down her cheek. Her fingers brushed her sister’s face in the photo. “I miss her,” she whispered.
To lighten the moment, I looked at the landlord and smiled. “Well, look at you. You were very pretty in your young days. Must’ve broken a lot of hearts, huh?”
She chuckled shyly. “Oh, stop it.”
I nudged her playfully. “Come on, Miss Popular. You must’ve had a fan club.”
She giggled and gave me a gentle slap on the shoulder. “Enough of your teasing. Let’s get ready for your trip.”
.....................
As we walked toward my room, we both stopped in our tracks.
The mirror. It was back in the hallway. No cracks. No scratches. It looked… brand new.
The landlord didn’t even flinch. “Come, let’s pack,” she said calmly, as if this were normal. Like the mirror always came back.
After thirty minutes of packing, she stood up. “Oh! You’ll need snacks for the trip. I’ll go make something.” She disappeared into her kitchen.
I continued packing until…
.....................
I felt a shift in the air.
My eyes were drawn back to the mirror.
I couldn’t look away.
She was there again.
Chandra.
I stared in disbelief. She had an hourglass figure — not too slim, not too curvy. Her almond-brown skin glowed under an invisible light, smooth and flawless. She wore ancient garments — a soft green uttariya wrapped intricately around her upper body, the ends draped behind her like a delicate veil. Her antariya, in deep blue, clung to her legs in fine pleats and elegant folds, looking like both a skirt and trousers. Over her head rested a netted dupatta, sheer and light green.
Her long, jet-black hair was adorned with flower garlands — jasmine, rose, and betel leaves. My gaze moved slowly to her face. Natural red lips, sharp features, and those eyes…
They were mesmerizing. Caramel-gray. So rare. So haunting.
She stared straight at me, unblinking.
She was beautiful. Proud. Regal. And terrifying.
Her expression slowly shifted — from distant to angry. Her lips tightened. Her caramel eyes flared with fire. Her skin… it started to melt.
I gasped, covering my mouth.
Her beautiful face burned, distorted.
Then, suddenly, I saw my own reflection in the mirror again.
“Chandra… why?” I whispered, shaken. Why show herself now? Why such rage?
.....................
That afternoon, I set off to find out more about the amulet. It was the last thing I had of my mother’s — a reminder, a legacy. I remembered how the amulet had once been tied with a black thread and worn as a necklace, but over time the thread broke. My grandmother had it reforged into a bracelet. My mother gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday.
Last night, while researching online, I discovered mention of an old book in a city library — a book that bore the symbol on my amulet.
.....................
After a two-hour journey, I arrived. The library was massive, quiet, nearly empty. I approached the librarian and asked about the book. He directed me to the old archives upstairs.
As I walked among the dusty shelves, I felt watched. Once or twice, I turned, sure someone had just passed behind me — but the space was empty.
Ten minutes later, I heard it.
A faint jingling. Bangles.
I spun around. Nothing.
Then — “thud.”
A book hit the floor.
My heart skipped.
I picked it up. An ancient tome. As I dusted off the cover, my eyes landed on its spine.
There it was.
The symbol of the amulet.
“I found it…” I whispered and hurried to a table.
The book, authored by someone named Vivian, was inspired by ancient legends. It was published twenty years ago but still in pristine condition.
I flipped to the prologue. My hands trembled.
A sage.
A curse.
A queen.
A king.
My heart raced.
The story began:
In the early 1300s, in a time when dance and music ruled the lands of Southern India, lived a woman whose beauty defied the heavens —
Chandra.
As I kept reading, the world around me faded.
And the past came alive.