The Shattered Mirror

The cathedral grew colder as the light failed. She stood alone at the center of the endless table, holding a black iron scepter that she did not remember lifting. When she looked down, her gown was pure midnight, framed by a collar as white as fresh snow. Then, the air shifted. A shadow bled directly out of her spine, weaving itself into a crown of jagged crimson fire. It leaned in close, its breath smelling of copper and bitter apples.

"Did you really think you could exile me?" the shadow whispered into her own ear, its voice a perfect, twisted echo.

She tried to step away, but their skirts were sewn from the very same darkness. She looked into the red, burning eyes of the Queen, only to find herself looking back.

There were no enemies in the room. There was only the reflection, stepping out to claim the throne.