Chapter Text
Aishwarya’s maid had found an immensely beautiful mirror.
Its frame was carved from silver and set with diamonds so pure that even the smallest flicker of light scattered across its surface like water. The mirror possessed an unnatural allure. The moment one looked into it, it became difficult to look away, as though the object itself desired to be admired.
Unable to resist its pull, the maids carried it back with them and presented it to their mistress, believing there could be no one more deserving of such a treasure.
For Aishwarya was known throughout the land for her beauty.
The maids had never seen another woman like her. Their devotion belonged to her entirely. Her blue eyes could leave a person spellbound, and her long dark hair fell to her waist like silk. There was a softness to her voice that lingered in the mind long after she had spoken.
To them, only Aishwarya was worthy of the mirror.
“Sujatha and Devi… you should not take what belongs to someone else,” Aishwarya said gently, though concern shadowed her face as she examined the mirror more closely. “Whoever owns this must surely be searching for it. It is far too beautiful and valuable to have been abandoned.”
As she spoke, her fingers brushed lightly against the jeweled frame.
The metal was strangely cold.
The mirror unsettled her in a way she could not explain. Its craftsmanship did not resemble that of mortal artisans. The diamonds lining it seemed almost too perfect, and the silver frame carried markings she could not recognize.
It looked ancient.
Powerful.
As though it belonged not to nobles or kings, but to something far greater.
“Forgive us, my lady,” Sujatha said quickly, lowering her head. “We knew it was wrong, yet we could not stop ourselves. It felt as though the mirror had cast some spell upon us. We had to bring it to you.”
“We found it near the old forest road,” Devi added quietly. “No carriage, no guards, nothing nearby. Only the mirror lying there untouched.”
Aishwarya frowned faintly.
The old forest road had long been avoided by travelers after sunset. Too many strange stories surrounded it.
“It is too late tonight,” she finally said. “The palace gates have already been closed. Tomorrow morning, return it to the place where you found it.”
The maids bowed obediently and withdrew from the chamber.
For a while, Aishwarya remained seated before the mirror in silence.
Something about it continued to trouble her.
And yet, despite herself, her eyes kept drifting back toward her reflection.
The glass was impossibly clear.
Clearer than any mirror she had ever seen.
It reflected not only her face, but every detail with unnatural sharpness, as though the mirror watched her just as carefully as she watched herself.
A faint unease settled in her chest.
At last, she rose and prepared for bed.
She sat once more before the mirror, undoing the long braid woven into her hair and combing it slowly over her shoulder. One by one, she removed the jewels from her wrists, ears, and neck, setting them carefully aside upon the table.
Freed from its ornaments, her dark hair spilled down her back in soft waves.
Then she changed from her royal attire into a simple cotton garment meant for sleeping.
The night air was cool against her skin.
After extinguishing the lamps, she slipped beneath the covers of her bed, unaware that far away, someone was watching her.
Deep within the black halls of Khar-Zareth, Vaghran sat upon his throne with the mirror before him.
One of his demons had lost it in the mortal realm days ago. The mirror was among the many enchanted objects forged within his kingdom, bound to dark magic that allowed him to see through it no matter where it was taken.
At first, he had paid little attention to what it showed him.
Only glimpses of roads, forests, wandering merchants.
Then came the voices of two mortal women speaking excitedly of their mistress.
He had almost ignored them.
Across centuries, he had heard endless praises sung for beautiful women. Queens draped in gold, dancers trained to seduce kings, noblewomen whose faces inspired devotion and war alike. He had possessed whatever caught his interest and discarded it once boredom followed.
Beauty no longer surprised him.
But then Aishwarya stepped into the mirror’s reflection.
And Vaghran forgot everything else.
His hand stilled against the armrest of his throne.
The chamber around him fell silent as he watched her.
For a long moment, he did not move at all.
He watched her blue eyes lower toward the mirror.
Watched her loosen the braid from her dark hair.
Watched the faint smile that touched her lips as she adjusted an earring before removing it.
She carried herself with a grace unlike anything he had seen before.
Not merely beautiful.
Divine.
There was warmth in her face, gentleness in her expression, something untouched by the corruption he had spent centuries surrounded by.
It drew him in instantly.
His gaze darkened as the edge of her dupatta slipped slightly from her shoulder while she combed through her hair, entirely unaware that unseen eyes followed her every movement.
The mirror had once seemed to him the most alluring object ever forged.
Now it was nothing compared to the woman reflected within it. His mind was filled with lust.
Something fierce and possessive stirred inside him.
His fingers slowly rose to touch the surface of the glass, tracing the outline of her reflection as though he could already feel her beneath his hand. He wanted to eat her out , touch her everywhere, mark every part of her skin.
The demons standing beside his throne exchanged nervous glances but dared not speak.
They had never seen their king so utterly captivated.
Vaghran’s eyes remained fixed upon the mirror.
“I want her,” he said quietly.
No one answered.
The mirror shimmered faintly beneath his touch.
For it was not merely a tool for sight.
It was a doorway.
And before the night ended, Vaghran intended to step through it.