In the heart of the ancient woods, where the gnarled trees twisted skyward and the underbrush teemed with secrets, there lay an abandoned manor known as Hollowden Hall. It had become a place of whisper and folktale, a cautionary plot woven into the fabric of the surrounding village. Its weathered exterior, once a gleaming testament to opulence, had succumbed to the grasp of time, vines snaking up the sides like sinister fingers. The windows, now devoid of glass, stood as hollow sockets that gazed emptily upon the forest, watching silently as the world outside changed around it.
Locals spoke in hushed tones of the Beast that resided within the manor, trapped behind walls steeped in darkness and regret. They claimed the creature was an incarnation of the despair and malice that had permeated the hall during its years of grandeur; its reflective form an eerie mosaic of anguish. Mothers advised their children never to wander too close, lest they entice the Beast out into the world.
It was on a restless autumn evening that I, a young writer named Benjamin, found it necessary to confront the tales that had so profoundly enraptured my imagination. Drawn by an insatiable curiosity and armed with little more than a flickering lantern, I ventured into the forest, guided by the whispers of the wind and the distant shadows cast by the dying sun.
The air grew thicker as I approached the manor, the once-vibrant colours of the foliage fading into shades of grey. Twisted branches reached out as if to ensnare my progress, but I pressed on, driven by the promise of inspiration. Hollowden Hall loomed before me, its entrance gaping like a ravenous maw. I stepped over the threshold, the wooden door creaking ominously behind me.
Inside, the atmosphere was stifling, laden with memories long since faded. Dust danced in the weak light filtering through the doorframe, and the air clung to my skin with a damp chill. The once-grand ballroom lay before me, the remnants of a chandelier dangling precariously overhead. Mould has claimed the corners, and the once-bright maroon drapes hung like ghosts in the corners, whispering secrets of a time when laughter echoed within these walls.
As I explored the hall, I stumbled upon a gallery of portraits lining the walls, their subjects peering out with eyes that seemed to follow my every movement. Each painting was of a wealthy patron, their expressions a tapestry of pride and sorrow. But in the centre of the room hung a much larger portrait, the brushstrokes swirling with an unsettling darkness. It depicted a man, perhaps a lord, his features majestic yet twisted, a wicked smile curling his lips, and his eyes glinting with a malevolence that felt palpable.
Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught my attention. My heart raced; I turned to find myself looking into a cracked mirror leaning against the wall. In its depths, I saw not only my reflection but something lurking just beyond my own visage. It lurked in the shadows, an indistinct shape that melted into the gloom. Caution tinged with dread urged me to step back, yet an insatiable pull drew me closer.
With each quiet step, I noticed the room’s temperature drop, breath fogging before me in the chill. The blurred outline within the mirror began to take shape. It was then that I understood that I was gazing at the true visage of the Beast, its reflection contorting in a way that defied the laws of nature. The creature appeared both familiar and grotesque; it was a distorted echo of humanity, eyes like dark pools of despair, framed by a crown of twisted branches that fanned out like the very roots of the forest itself.
As I stared deeper into the glassy surface, the Beast mirrored my movements with unnerving accuracy, its grotesque smile widening in synchrony, revealing teeth that appeared sharp enough to rend flesh. My heart hammered against my ribs, both in fear and a strange sense of yearning for connection as the creature’s gaze bore into my soul, beckoning me closer.
I could feel an inexplicable sorrow emanating from the Beast, as though it was sharing the weight of countless lifetimes of despair. It was trapped—trapped by the very curses of this world, imprisoned behind layers of vanished laughter and unfulfilled promises. Its reflection began to flicker, contorting as though it were attempting to speak, to convey a story lost to time.
“Why do you linger, Benjamin?” the voice echoed, resonating not from the room but from deep within the recesses of my mind. It was like a memory stirring to life, tainted by the bittersweet essence of despair.
“Who… what are you?” I stammered, consumed by an overwhelming mix of fear and curiosity.
“I am the reflection of humanity’s failings,” it said, its voice warped, as though spoken through water. “I am the embodiment of all that you shun—the anger, the pain, the regret.”
“Why are you trapped here?” I pressed, entranced by its presence.
“I was born from the darkness that entrenches this hall, a reflection of those who lost themselves to their desires. As the hall fell to ruin, so too did I. I dwell in this mirror, waiting for someone brave enough to face me—to confront what they fear.”
A knot tightened in my stomach as I felt the gravity of its words press down upon me. “But I am just a writer, searching for stories. I am not brave.”
“Bravery is not the absence of fear, Benjamin, but the courage to confront it,” the Beast replied, shifting in the depths of the mirror. “You sense your own darkness, hidden beneath the façade of your life. You yearn for understanding, for meaning.”
As the creature spoke, images flashed through my mind—horrors from my past, failures, and regrets, clashing like dark waves crashing against a rocky shore. It was true; I had fled from my own shadows, crafting tales in hopes of escaping the very essence of who I was.
Compelled by an unknown force, I stepped closer to the mirror, reaching out as the cold darkness of the Beast enveloped my fingers. In that moment, I could feel everything—the sorrow that seeped from its existence, the laughter of lost souls echoing through the halls and the unrelenting desire to break free from the chains of anguish. I felt my reflection merge with the Beast’s, and for a horrifying second, I saw the world burn, the forest wilting under the weight of despair.
Terror twisted in my gut, yet beneath it lay a strange understanding. “I can’t bear this weight alone,” I whispered as realisation struck me.
The Beast’s expression shifted, the sorrow morphing into something akin to hope. “Then do not. Share this burden. Face the darkness together.”
Trembling, I caught my breath and took a step back, and the reflection wavered, withdrawing from my grasp. The haunting figure within the mirror faded into obscurity. In that instant, I understood: it was not merely the Beast that was trapped within these walls, but the essence of what it meant to be human.
No longer could I deny the reflections of my own beastly nature, the parts of myself I wished to hide. This tale is one of communion—an acceptance of the shadows lurking beneath the surface. It was a secretary’s gradual acceptance that the shadows must share space with light.
As the lantern’s flicker dwindled, I stumbled back from the mirror, emboldened, my heart heavy yet lighter than before. I turned to leave Hollowden Hall, a new narrative etched into my soul. Outside, the world awaited, the forest no longer menacing, but a space of understanding.
I had encountered the Beast, and while it may remain a part of me, its reflection would no longer be something to fear. With newfound courage, I embraced the beauty and darkness within, ready to weave stories stirred from the depths of my soul—a dance between light and shadow. As the door of Hollowden Hall creaked closed behind me, I stepped into a world anew, forever changed by a reflection.
