Some lies wear velvet and lace. Others wear your face.
We found the theatre just after dusk.
The forest gave way to crumbled stone steps, half-covered in ivy and dirt. The remains of a marble sign lay cracked at the base, its letters worn by time and weather. Only two words were still readable:
MIRROR COURT.
It rose before us like a mausoleum — the husk of an old opera house tucked between cliffs, its walls scorched with smoke, its roof long gone. Inside, moonlight spilled through broken beams, casting silver pools on the shattered tiles below.
James whistled low. "Place looks like it got bombed."
Arisa brushed dust from the cracked red doors. "Or buried in secrets."
Alice didn't say anything. She just stepped inside like she already knew the path.
We followed her.
The inside was worse. Rows of chairs were either rotten or missing, and the grand chandelier lay twisted in the center aisle, its crystals scattered like frozen tears. The stage was still intact — barely. A torn curtain hung in limp folds, scorched at the edges.
Candles lined the stage, but none were lit.
Until we stepped closer.
One by one, the flames flickered to life — upside down. The wicks burned from the bottom up, wax crawling upward instead of dripping down.
"Okay," James said slowly. "That's not normal."
Arisa frowned. "Neither are we."
Alice walked to the front row and sat, hands folded in her lap. "It begins when you lie."
"What does?" I asked.
"The music."
No sooner had she said it than a soft piano note echoed through the theatre.
Low. Minor. Sad.
I looked around. No pianist. No orchestra. Just that one lonely note reverberating like a warning.
"Someone just lied," Alice said, not looking at any of us.
James took a step back. "I didn't say anything."
"You don't have to," she said. "Some lies are buried so deep, they hum through your bones."
The piano continued, notes slowly building — still no source. Just a melody unfolding in the shadows.
I stepped forward onto the stage.
The moment my feet touched the wood, the curtain behind me rippled. A mirror rose from the floor — tall, cracked, rimmed in gold and ash. And in it…
My reflection blinked.
But I hadn't.
It stepped forward. I didn't.
Then it smiled.
"Hello, liar," it whispered.
Its voice was mine — only not. Sharper. Slick with knowing. And its eyes glowed faintly with something ancient.
"You wear your truths like armor," it said, stepping closer to the glass. "But your lies — those are skin."
I tried to look away. Couldn't.
It lifted a hand.
So did I.
But not in sync. Not mirrored.
Opposite.
Then it stepped through the mirror.
The glass didn't break. It simply parted — like water, like breath — and the thing that looked like me walked onto the stage.
James cursed. Arisa stepped back. Alice didn't move.
The doppelgänger walked right up to me and whispered, "You don't get the next stone until you face me."
Then it vanished.
In its place was a mask — lying at my feet.
Porcelain. Cracked. Smiling.
The second stone.
Mimicite.
I picked it up. It was cold. And it hummed with something deep and strange — not truth, like Aurumglass. But performance. Layers. Secrets.
The theatre grew silent again. The candles snuffed out in reverse — smoke curling down into the wax.
And from behind the curtain, we heard one last piano chord.
Dissonant. Final.
Like an ending we didn't understand yet.
We had two stones.
One left to find.
And the forest outside was no longer quiet.