This is the newest draft of the 3rd Chapter of a larger story The Mirror.
Her name was not always Abbie. Once, long ago, she had a human name—a name spoken in love and laughter, though now it was lost like smoke in the void. All she remembered was her father’s face, the way he smiled when he called her his clever little girl.
The attic had been her sanctuary. She played there among the forgotten trunks and dust-laden memories of her old New England home. Books, her constant companions, were scattered like treasures. It was in one of these moments of quiet curiosity that she found the book—a tome unlike any she had seen before, with a cover marked in strange, swirling symbols.
She wasn’t supposed to take things from her father’s study, but the book called to her in a way she couldn’t ignore. Its leather binding was cool to the touch, and the weight of it felt important, as though it held secrets older than the house itself. She carried it upstairs, heart fluttering with anticipation.
Sitting cross-legged in the attic’s dim light, she opened the book. Its pages crackled, and the faint scent of decay rose from the parchment. Strange words danced before her eyes, their meanings tantalizingly out of reach. Still, she read aloud, syllable by alien syllable. Her voice trembled, the air in the attic growing heavy and still.
When she finished the incantation, the attic seemed to exhale. Dust swirled in sudden drafts, and a mirror in the corner—a mirror she swore had not been there before—caught her eye. Its frame was ornate, gilded with curling vines that seemed to twist and writhe like living things.
She approached it cautiously, her reflection shimmering like water disturbed by an unseen hand. The mirror pulsed, and her breath caught in her throat. Before she could turn away, it pulled her in, and the world fell away.
The mirror consumed her, dragging her through an endless void of whirling shadows. The sensation of falling stretched infinitely, her screams swallowed by the oppressive silence around her. At first, she clawed at the air, her small hands flailing in panic, but there was nothing to grasp—nothing but darkness that clung to her like a second skin.
The wind roared, slicing at her as if made of jagged glass. Her voice gave out, her throat raw and bloody, but still, she fell. Her skin burned as if stripped away by the sheer force of her descent. A terrible, mocking laughter echoed faintly in the void, growing louder as her pain deepened. She wanted to close her eyes, but the darkness was already there. She wanted to pray, but she couldn’t remember how.
When she finally hit the ground, it was as if the world itself rose to meet her. The impact sent shockwaves through her body, shattering bones and rending flesh. She could feel the grit beneath her—a jagged carpet of insect husks and cracked exoskeletons—but her limbs refused to move. Pain surged through her in waves, each worse than the last.
Abbie’s vision flickered as she stared into the choking gloom. The ground itself seemed alive, crawling with creatures that scuttled and clicked, their alien forms glistening in the faint, sickly light. One by one, they turned their many eyes toward her broken body. Hunger burned in their gazes, and they descended upon her.
She tried to scream as the creatures devoured her, but no sound came. They tore into her flesh with serrated mandibles, burrowing into her body, stripping her muscles down to the bone. Their foul excrement filled the wounds, their acidic saliva sizzling against her exposed nerves. Still, she didn’t die. Her body healed just enough to sustain the cycle, over and over, an unending torment.
Days, years—she had no way to measure the passage of time. All she knew was the pain, unyielding and eternal. Somewhere, deep within the recesses of her mind, a voice began to whisper. It was faint at first, drowned out by her suffering, but it grew louder with each cycle. The voice was her own.
They will never stop. They will always take from you. You must take it back.
At first, she ignored it. The little girl she had been couldn’t fathom such thoughts. But the voice persisted, relentless, feeding on her pain and anger. It reminded her of every unfairness, every wrong, every wound the world had inflicted upon her.
The change was slow, almost imperceptible. The creatures noticed it before she did—how the flesh they tore into had grown tougher, how her bones no longer cracked so easily. Abbie became aware of the shift when, for the first time in what felt like centuries, she moved. Her fingers twitched, then clenched into fists. Her mangled body began to mend, not merely to sustain her torment but to rebuild her. Her skin grew tougher, her muscles coiled with newfound strength.
When one of the insectoid creatures lunged for her, she struck back, her hand darting out like a viper. Her fingers pierced its carapace, tearing it apart with a strength that surprised even her. The creature shrieked as she devoured it, the sour taste of its flesh filling her mouth. She felt something shift within her—a dark, primal satisfaction.
Her tongue lengthened, twisting and coiling like a serpent. It lashed out, catching another creature and dragging it to her mouth. She consumed it with the same savage hunger, feeling her body grow stronger with each bite. The voice in her mind laughed, triumphant.
More. Take more. Become more.
Abbie rose, her form grotesque and inhuman. Her legs grew longer, bent at unnatural angles, and her arms twisted into sinewy, clawed limbs. Bat-like wings unfurled from her back, dripping with black ichor. She was no longer prey. She was the predator.
As her strength grew, so did her hatred. The pit that had once been her prison was now her hunting ground. She slaughtered the creatures that had tormented her, relishing their screams. Their bodies fed her, transforming her into something monstrous, something unstoppable.
But the pit was finite. The walls, slick with filth and decay, loomed above her like a taunt. She spread her wings, testing them, and with a powerful leap, she took flight. Her ascent was slow at first, each beat of her wings laborious, but she rose, driven by a hatred so fierce it burned hotter than the fires of hell.
As she climbed, the air grew thicker with the sounds of violence. Snarls and shrieks echoed in the darkness, and she soon saw the source: titanic demons locked in eternal battle, their colossal forms silhouetted against the faint, blood-red glow of the sky. Below them, smaller demons waged their own wars, clawing and tearing at one another in a frenzy of brutality.
Abbie watched them with a cold, calculating gaze. This was not chaos—it was a hierarchy, a system of torment and dominance. And she intended to rise to its apex.
Abbie descended upon the battlefield like a vengeful storm, her wings casting shadows that consumed the warring hordes below. The smaller demons barely noticed her arrival, too engrossed in their savage brawl, but they quickly became aware of her presence when she struck.
Her whip-like tongue lashed out, wrapping around the neck of one demon and snapping it with a single tug. The others turned, snarling, but it was already too late. She tore through them with claws and teeth, their blood and flesh fueling her ever-growing form. She reveled in their agony, each scream a symphony that drowned out the echoes of her own suffering.
The larger demons began to take notice. One, a towering creature with burning eyes and jagged horns, roared and charged at her. Abbie stood her ground, her body thrumming with dark power. As the demon’s massive claw swung toward her, she caught it midair, her grip crushing the bones within. With a guttural roar, she tore the creature apart, its blood raining down like a baptism of carnage.
In the aftermath, the remaining demons knelt before her, their heads bowed in submission. Abbie felt a flicker of satisfaction—this was what she had become, what she had been forged to be. A queen of torment, a predator in a land of predators.
Her ascension was swift. Word of her strength spread, and hordes of demons flocked to her, swearing fealty in exchange for survival. Abbie took no allies, only subordinates. She demanded obedience, and those who defied her met agonizing ends. Her army grew, a writhing tide of malice and hunger, and soon she stood as a rival to the great titans that once ignored her.
It was inevitable that her rise would draw the attention of the one who ruled over all—a being known only as the Demon with no name. He was the architect of this realm, the source of its endless suffering, and he regarded Abbie as both an anomaly and a threat.
The summons came without warning. A rift opened before her, a tear in the fabric of the void that crackled with malevolent energy. From it emerged a voice, deep and commanding, that echoed in her mind.
"Abbie. You will come to me."
She obeyed, not out of fear but curiosity. Her journey to his domain was fraught with resistance; rival factions attempted to ambush her, hoping to weaken her before her audience with their master. Each attempt ended in failure, her attackers left broken and discarded in her wake.
When she arrived, she found herself in a vast chamber carved from black stone, its walls pulsating with a sickly red light. The Demon with no name stood at its center, his form impossibly large and shrouded in shadow. His eyes burned like twin suns, and his presence pressed against her like a weight she could barely withstand.
"You have risen far, little one," he said, his voice reverberating through the chamber. "Too far."
Abbie stared up at him, her body tense but unyielding. "I am what you made me," she replied, her voice guttural and raw from centuries of silence.
The Demon tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "And yet, you speak a name that should not be spoken. Hanbi. Where did you learn it?"
The name had surfaced in her mind unbidden, whispered by a force she could not name. Now, it seemed to echo around her, growing louder with each repetition. She met his gaze, defiance flickering in her own.
"It came to me," she said. "As if it has always been there, waiting."
The Demon moved with impossible speed, his massive hand seizing her and slamming her against the wall. Pain shot through her, sharper than anything she had felt since her fall. He leaned close, his fiery eyes boring into hers.
"You have tampered with forces beyond your comprehension," he growled. "For that, you will suffer as no one has suffered before."
A dark tentacle emerged from the shadows, coiling around her like a serpent. She thrashed against it, but its grip was unbreakable. The Demon with no name whispered a single command, and the tentacle hurled her into the depths of the void.
Abbie fell once more, the blackness swallowing her whole. The pain was familiar, almost comforting in its inevitability. She braced herself for another eternity of torment, but then a light appeared—a faint, shimmering glow that grew brighter as she plummeted toward it.
Out of the light emerged a figure, its form both alien and familiar. It had four arms, each outstretched, and its upper body shone with a radiant warmth that was utterly foreign to this realm. Its face was obscured, but its voice was clear, resonant with an otherworldly authority.
"Abbie," it said, "your time here is over. Take my hand."
For the first time in centuries, she hesitated. The creature radiated something she could not name, something that stirred memories long buried beneath her hatred. It was not fear but hope, fragile and unwelcome.
The tentacles of darkness reached for her, dragging her back into the abyss. The creature extended two of its hands further, its voice urgent. "You must choose now. Come with me, or remain here forever."
Abbie reached out, her claws brushing against the creature’s fingers. In that moment, the light engulfed her, and the void fell away.
