They gathered around me quickly, concern clear on their faces.

“Cynthia,” Iris said, scanning my face like she could read it. “You look pale.”

“Paler than usual,” Cedric teased, gently elbowing Oswald. “You sure she’s not haunted?”

Veronica narrowed her eyes. “Be serious. Something’s wrong.”

I looked from one face to another, my thoughts spiraling. “He, Samuel, he was taken. I saw it. The Festival of Shadows, don’t you remember? The masks, the black robes, the eclipsed sun banner, Umbrovultus.”

They all stared.

Samuel blinked. “Taken? What do you mean?”

“You disappeared. Right in front of me,” I whispered. “There was a ritual, and the sky—everything was dark. This place was twisted. Cold. You wore black cloaks. Your parents… everything was different.”

Veronica stepped closer, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. “Cynthia, we’ve never had a Festival of Shadows. There’s only the Luminary Festival. It’s always been about welcoming the light.”

Cedric frowned. “Okay, but, what if she’s not wrong?”

Oswald tilted his head. “You mean like… she slipped into another world?”

“A shadow version of this one,” Iris said, nodding slowly. “It sounds like a perfect inversion. The names, the clothes, the way she describes it…”

“Everything was darker,” I said. “Colder. My mother was harsh and distant. My father barely spoke to me unless it was to bark orders. And you—” I turned to Samuel, my throat tightening. “You died. You were taken by some… shadow god. Umbrovultus. It almost got me, too.”

They all looked shaken now. Even Cedric had gone still.

“But you’re here now,” Harold said quietly. “You’re safe.”

“For now,” I replied. “But it’s happened twice already. The shift. And it’s always in that room, the one with the motif on the floor. Every time I go in, something pulls me under.”

Iris crossed her arms, thinking hard. “That sounds like a ritual space. A gateway maybe?”

Cedric nodded. “Could be. Maybe the room is a veil between the two realities.”

Veronica looked directly into my eyes. “Then the question becomes: how do you keep yourself from slipping again?”

Samuel spoke gently. “Or… if it happens again, how do we bring you back?”

The thought terrified me, but it was better than thinking no one could.

“I don’t know if I can stop it,” I said honestly. “But I think it’s trying to teach me something. Or warn me.”

“Or consume you,” muttered Harold.

“I won’t let that happen,” Iris said, voice steel.

Cedric clapped a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. If there’s a shadow version of this place… then there might be a light version of you there. That could be the key.”

I managed a faint smile. “Thanks. All of you.”

The music swelled behind us, signaling the start of the Luminary procession. The festival had begun—but now it felt more like a countdown.

A race between light and dark.

And I was the only one who’d seen both.

The Luminary Festival stretched into the late afternoon, all gleaming banquets and radiant music echoing through the halls. Everywhere I turned, light shimmered on porcelain and gold, laughter rang in the high-vaulted ceilings, and nothing felt real.

Because I didn’t feel real anymore.

Not since last night. Not since Umbrovultus.

I wandered through the ballroom, where paper sunbursts spun from the chandeliers and noble children danced in pale silks and embroidered linen. I smiled when I had to, answered polite questions, and nodded through conversations I barely registered.

And then I saw her.

Across the ballroom, framed between two glowing columns of amber glass and lilac banners, stood… me.

But not me.

Her hair was the same length, same shape—but darker, pulled into a loose braid trailing over one shoulder. Her dress was black velvet threaded with silver vines, with long lace sleeves like tendrils. Her skin looked a shade paler than mine, her eyes ringed with smoky shadow. Her lips were tinted like dried rose petals.

We locked eyes.

She flinched.

I didn’t hesitate.

I strode across the ballroom without a word, ignoring the startled glances of nobles and the concerned calls of Oswald and Iris. My hand closed around her wrist before she could vanish, and I pulled her gently but firmly down the hall, away from the music, the laughter, the lie.

We stopped beneath a sunlit archway.

“Who are you?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

She looked away, her voice soft and distant. “I think you know.”

“You’re me,” I whispered. “From the other world. The Adumbral world.”

She nodded, eyes not quite meeting mine. “And you’re me. From the one with light and gardens and people who… smile like they mean it.”

Her voice was laced with a sadness that clung to the walls like old smoke.

“What’s happening to us?” I asked. “Are we real? Are either of us real?”

“I don’t know,” she said, clutching the folds of her dress. “All I know is I woke up in your world once. And it felt… wrong. Too soft. Too warm. I didn’t belong. But then I woke up again, and everything was dark again. And the pain came back. The silence. The rules.”

“I’ve been waking up in your world,” I said. “Everything is harsh and heavy there. The worst part is I didn’t even remember this place until just now. Until you.”

She finally looked at me, and for a moment, it was like staring into a mirror cracked by a thunderstorm. Her eyes were the same shape—but heavier, like she hadn’t slept in years.

“Do you remember which world you came from?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. That’s the worst part. I don’t know which of us is real. Which of us is dreaming? Or if we’re just… echoes of the same soul stretched between two dying stars.”

I looked down at my hands. Perfectly manicured. Sunlight catches the soft shimmer of my gown’s golden trim. How had I ended up in the Adumbral world first? Why couldn’t I remember anything before then? Was that my real life—or was it a shadow of this one?

“I thought I was the original,” I said quietly. “But now… I’m not sure either of us is.”

The dark version of me—Dark Cynthia, I realized—wrapped her arms around herself.

“I think the veil between the worlds is thinning,” she said. “And we’re slipping.”

I swallowed, my mouth dry. “What happens if we slip too far?”

She met my eyes. “Then maybe neither of us comes back.”

We stood there in the quiet hall, the sounds of the festival echoing faintly behind us, as if from another lifetime.

And for the first time, I realized.

Maybe we weren’t two people.

Maybe we were one soul split across a mirror.

And the cracks were beginning to show.