When Sarah walked into Mirror & Mane, the upscale salon tucked into the corner of an old art deco building, she looked like any woman worn down by life.
Her eyes were dulled by sleepless nights. Her hair, a tangled web of overgrown roots and uneven cuts, clung to her like a reminder of how far she’d fallen out of love with herself. A former marketing executive, now buried under bills, heartbreak, and a desk job she barely tolerated.
But today… something had changed.
She had cashed in an old gift card she found while cleaning out her late aunt’s apartment. “Treat yourself,” the note had read in elegant handwriting. It was the push she needed.
The moment she stepped in, the scent of lavender and eucalyptus wrapped around her like a silk scarf. A warm welcome from the receptionist, soft jazz in the background, and polished mirrors lining the walls made her feel like she was walking into another world.
Her stylist, Elle, greeted her with a wide grin. “Let’s bring you back,” she said, scanning Sarah’s tired reflection with keen eyes.
Sarah chuckled nervously. “I’m not sure I ever was here to begin with.”
Elle didn’t argue. She just placed a gentle hand on Sarah’s shoulder and led her to the chair.
For the next two hours, the salon became a cocoon.
Gone was the dull, heavy hair. Elle sculpted it into a sleek, angled bob with soft layering that skimmed Sarah’s cheekbones. A deep mahogany color with honeyed highlights brought light back to her complexion. The waves Elle coaxed into her hair moved like they had their own story to tell.
But something strange happened as Elle worked.
The mirrors.
They weren’t quite… right.
At first, Sarah thought it was her imagination. But in the reflection—just a flicker—she caught her mirror-self smiling when she wasn’t. Or blinking slower than she had.
“Just tired,” she told herself. “Too much caffeine, too little sleep.”
And yet, the unease grew.
She watched closely as Elle fluffed her hair. And there, again—in the mirror—Sarah’s reflection didn’t follow. A beat too late, like a poorly synced video feed. But this wasn’t digital. This was glass.
Elle noticed her stiffen.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Sarah lied, eyes darting back to her reflection. It was normal again. Perfectly synced. Maybe she was just tired.
The final reveal came. Elle turned the chair toward the mirror. “What do you think?”
Sarah gasped.
She looked… powerful. Elegant. Dangerous, even. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her—but it was her. A version of herself long buried under years of survival.
“I— I love it,” she whispered.
She paid, left a generous tip, and stepped out into the evening air. The city shimmered around her, as though the lights had turned up just for her.
But her mind couldn’t shake the mirror. Or the flicker.
When she got home, Sarah stood before her bathroom mirror. Her new hair glistened under the light. Her skin seemed brighter. Her eyes were wide and alert. But as she leaned in to examine a strand of hair…
Her reflection didn’t move.
She blinked. Her reflection stared back, smiling… just slightly.
A chill prickled across her arms.
Then the reflection did move. Slowly. Deliberately. It tilted its head—not matching her own motion—almost as if amused.
Sarah backed away from the mirror.
Her reflection stepped forward.
She screamed.
The lights flickered. A pulse of cold air flooded the room. The mirror cracked—not shattered—but a long, thin fracture split the glass from corner to corner like a lightning strike.
And then, silence.
Her heart thundered in her chest. She stumbled into the hallway, gasping for air. What the hell had just happened?
She dialed Elle’s number from the salon card. It rang twice—then disconnected. She called again. The number was no longer in service.
Her hands trembled.
She went online to look up Mirror & Mane. No results. No salon by that name. No listing, no reviews, no trace. The gift card? Gone from her purse. Like it had never existed.
“Okay… no,” she muttered. “Nope. I’m just overtired.”
She splashed cold water on her face and forced herself to bed.
But she didn’t sleep.
Because every time she closed her eyes, she felt it—that version of her in the mirror. Watching. Smiling. Waiting.
The next morning, Sarah didn’t show up at work.
Her colleagues were used to her punctuality. By noon, her supervisor called her. No answer.
Concerned, they contacted building security. Her apartment door was unlocked. Coffee half-sipped on the table. Purse still there.
The only strange detail? Every mirror in the apartment was shattered—except for the one in the bathroom. It was pristine. Perfect. Untouched.
And on the mirror, in faint lipstick script, were the words:
“I like it here.”
Inside the glass, just for a moment, a woman’s reflection smiled.
It wasn’t Sarah.
But it looked exactly like her.