Saint Briella's Academy – 4:00 p.m.
Founders' Day smelled like polished floors, stale jollof, and lies.
Every year, we paraded around in our best uniforms while the board of governors clapped, pretending not to notice the cracks in the walls—or the names that had vanished from the class register.
The choir sang. The principal made a speech. And behind every smile, I felt it.
The pulse of something old, something buried, waking up.
Zina found me just before the evening assembly, her face pale.
"She's getting stronger," she said, barely above a whisper. "I can hear her when I blink."
We'd spent the morning decoding the last pages of Eniola's journal. There was a ritual—one that could sever the soul-binding. But it came with a cost.
Something had to be given up.
Something living.
We returned to the chapel at dusk, both of us holding candles, both of us trembling.
"Do you trust me?" I asked.
"I remember your face," she said. "In the last life, I didn't save you. This time, I will."
We took our places before the mirror.
The journal said the veil between life and death would be thinnest when the school bell tolled at sunset on Founders' Day.
So we waited.
The moment the bell rang, the mirror rippled.
Smoke filled the room. The candles blew out.
And she stepped through.
Not a ghost anymore.
Eniola.
Real. Flesh-like. Wearing my skin again—but this time, half-decayed. Hair singed. One eye missing.
"Finally," she rasped. "I only need one of you."
She lunged.
Zina screamed and threw the vial of salt we'd prepared, but it passed through her. Eniola reached for me—and everything went white.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in the chapel.
I was in the mirror.
A twisted version of Saint Briella's stretched around me—bleeding walls, silent classrooms, pictures of girls who'd never graduated.
And in the center, Tiwa.
She looked just like the photo in the file. Eyes wide. Sad. Waiting.
"You came," she said.
"I think I'm dreaming."
"You're remembering. You always come back here… just before the end."
Back in the real world, Zina was kneeling beside my body, sobbing.
Eniola hovered over me, preparing to slip in. To take me fully.
Inside the mirror, Tiwa held my hand.
"You can still stop her. But you must choose."
"Choose what?"
"To leave the mirror behind… and take my place."
I understood then. Tiwa wasn't trapped. She was guarding the gate. Holding Eniola back, alone, for decades.
If I stayed… the mirror would stay sealed.
But I'd never see the real world again.
If I left… Eniola would win.
So I did what she never got the chance to do.
I grabbed her hand. Pulled her out with me.
Tiwa surged forward like fire—her spirit pouring through the mirror, not to haunt—but to burn Eniola out.
The chapel exploded with light.
Then silence.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my body. Zina beside me.
The mirror?
Shattered. For real this time.
Only one name remained etched in the largest piece.
Tiwa.
She'd gone home.
That night, the wind didn't howl.
The walls didn't whisper.
The lake was still.
Saint Briella's had finally gone quiet.
But I knew it wasn't the end.
Because sometimes, when I look in the new chapel's mirror...
I still see Eniola