They say the mirror in Room 13 was never meant to be there. It wasn’t hung—it arrived. A tall, freestanding thing with a frame like scorched bone and glass that never quite reflects true. Those who look into it see their death. Not once, but again and again, until the image roots itself deep. Until the mirror begins to watch back. It doesn’t show what might be—it shows what will be. And once it’s shown you enough, it takes you.