The blinding, wildly flashing white strobe explosions gradually subsided, receding back into the dim and calming red glow of the safelight beaming from the darkroom ceiling. The sound of the old camera's internal gear mechanism in the corner ground softly before halting completely, leaving behind a heavy, stifling silence blanketed in a sharp reek of sulfur.

Arya slumped limply against the concrete floor, breathing erratically and gasping like a fish stranded on dry land. His entire body was soaked in cold sweat. His heart thundered wildly within his ribcage, hammering against his bones with a painful rhythm.

He slowly lifted his pale face. With the last remnants of his drained strength and violently shaking hands, Arya crawled forward across the concrete floor, dragging his knees toward a large mirror framed in dull, weathered wood mounted in one corner of the underground lab.

He needed reassurance. He needed to look at his own face to convince himself that he was still an intact human being—that his shadow had not truly been erased like the one he had witnessed on the wall moments earlier.

With bated breath and stinging eyes, Arya straightened his body, pressed both of his bloodied palms against the edges of the mirror frame, and stared straight into the glass reflection.

Yet the very next second, his psychological sanity shattered into pieces, leaving behind no remnants whatsoever. The existential horror striking his soul was far more terrifying than any physical pain in this world.

Inside that large mirror, a figure reflected Arya's form: a young man in a green jacket with eyes dilated wide in terror.

Yet the reality unfolding before his eyes surpassed the limits of human reason. The reflection inside the mirror no longer moved in sync with his actual body.

Arya jolted violently, drawing in a sharp, choked breath. In the real world, he was sobbing hysterically, his lips trembling as he muttered pleas for mercy, and tears streamed profusely down his cheeks.

Yet inside the mirror... his reflection was not crying at all.

Instead, the reflection in the mirror was smiling wide. A smile so broad, terrifying, and completely devoid of human emotion, revealing a row of pristine white teeth gleaming oddly beneath the red illumination. The corners of the reflection's lips pulled upward until they nearly touched both ears, as though it were relishing the absolute suffering experienced by Arya in the real world.

"N-no... that... that's not me..." Arya whimpered in a voice so raspy, choked in his throat. He shook his head frantically in the real world.

Yet inside the mirror, his reflection shook its head in the opposite direction—or rather, did not move at all, maintaining that mocking, wide grin.

An overwhelming existential crisis battered his skull. His mind screamed in chaos amidst paralyzing fear: Which one is real? If that reflection can move on its own, possess its own expressions, and live separately from my body, then what am I? Am I merely a puppet? Have I already become a ghost trapped inside that mirror?!

"Why are you smiling?! What's so funny about my agony?!" Arya growled desperately at his own reflection, his tears flowing even faster. He struck the mirror's glass surface with his fist.

The reflection in the mirror did not answer with a voice. It replied to Arya's inner screams through a physical movement far more horrifying.

Right before Arya's eyes, dilated with horror, the mirror reflection slowly waved a hand gently toward Arya, as though bidding farewell to someone about to be executed.

Before Arya could pull his hand back in shock, the shadow inside the mirror lowered its hand, then slowly reached into the pocket of a tattered coat—an old, frayed black coat belonging to the entity, which he wasn't wearing in the real world, yet now appeared draped perfectly over the body of the mirror reflection.