Three weeks after Ellie moved to her own flat in London, serving as her home and her home office, Ellie installed the mirror.

It was a grand, three-panel mirror, a lucky find at a secondhand shop. She mounted it on her dresser and marveled at the effect it had on the room. Brighter. More vibrant.

The mirror served her well for a while. The angled side mirrors proved invaluable to her designs. In the three slanted panels, the light seemed to fall subtly on the areas that troubled her, seeming to suggest slight alterations that miraculously tied the pieces together. And when she donned the adjusted garments, her reflection seemed to shift subtly. Her face was fuller, her hair just a shade brighter. Just a trick of the lighting, she mused.

It took her an embarrassingly long time to realize what was happening, though she never thought that her demons could leave that cursed flat. When at last she stood before the mirror one night, her own face staring out from the center and Sandie's face staring back from the left, she gasped out loud.

"You-you. . ." Ellie stammered.

"Hello, Helicopter. I can still call you that, can I?" Sandie's reflection said to her.

"I don't un-understand. The house. . . ."

"Oh yes, it burned down," Sandie confirmed.

"B-but I thought. . ." Ellie trailed off, dazed.

"The spirits? Oh no, they're not tied to 8 Goodge Place. That's simply where the boundary between the worlds is thinnest," Sandie said. "I burned up in that house, I did. But I hadn't ever lived my dream, have I? So I followed."

"You're not. . . you're not going to hurt me, are you?"

"Oh no, Ellie. What can I do? I'm just a spirit. A ghost. I can hardly even talk to you. No, what could I ever do to hurt you?"

- O -

The days that followed passed in a blur. At first, it was simply a few minutes at a time. She'd blink at the deli counter and find herself seated at the booth with a sandwich she hadn't ordered. She'd startle awake in her office and find scattered sketches she had no memory of making. It was just a few minutes at a time, here and there. But gradually, the intervals grew.

Frightened, Ellie threw a tablecloth over the left mirror. And for a while, the episodes seemed to abate. Gradually, she settled into a comfortable rhythm: designing during the day, and a call to John over dinner.

Then, the blank periods returned. Dinner would whirl by in a flash. Holding her breath, she waited for the vanished time to expand, but for now, Sandie seemed content to claim her dinners, and with them, her calls.

One terrifying night, Ellie blinked into being in a pub somewhere—she couldn't tell where, or if she was even still in London—and found herself seated at the bar. Strangers surrounded her, clapping her on the back and congratulating her. "What a stunning voice," one said admiringly. "Where can I find a sweet young thing like you?" another asked with a leer. Terrified, Ellie fled and hailed a cab.

Once safely back in her flat, she fumbled out her phone and dialed John, and. . . she couldn't remember. She didn't know what she'd said. When she next blinked awake, it was morning, and her phone bore a single message from John. I will always love you, but you broke my heart. I will have to block your number for the time being. I'm sorry, be well. And though she dialed his number a hundred times, true to his words, her calls went directly to voicemail.

"No," Ellie gasped, collapsing into sobs at her dresser. When she had cried her eyes raw, and sobbed her voice hoarse, she turned deliberately turned to the left side mirror. "What do you want from me?" she demanded.

"Just my hopes and dreams," Sandie answered innocently.

Ellie drew in a ragged breath. "And you, you'll take it from mine," she cried. "You'll use my body to sing in the pub and, and attract the attention of lecherous men, and you'll disappear when they come to t-take me away—"

"Oh no, no, no, my dear. I would never."

Something about the way she said it. . . Ellie understood in a flash of horror. She reached into her back pocket and felt the handle of a long-bladed knife.

"No," she gasped.

"I find I've grown quite fond of you," Sandie continued. "You're a precious little thing, aren't you? I'll show you the ways of your body, and I'll keep you safe from. . . men who've lost themselves."

Of her own accord, her hands began to move, to roam over her body. Gentle fingers trailed delicately over her chest and down her legs. Ellie let out a soft, hiccupping sob. She closed her eyes and resigned herself.

"Stop!" A voice rang out from the mirror, and both Ellie's in the center panel and Sandie's on the left turned as one. Together, the looked to the rightmost panel where a silver-haired gentleman glared out at them.

"Sandie, love, you were my one greatest regret," Lindsey said mournfully.

"What are you doing here?" Sandie demanded using Ellie's voice.

"I followed her," he said simply. "I followed her back to your bedsit, where I broke through. As you have. Sandie, you brought it on yourself."

"Do be quiet," Sandie snapped. "I didn't deserve what those men did to me. No one did."

"No, you did not," Lindsey agreed heavily. "But neither does Ellie here. Listen, love. My greatest regret was failing to save you. I won't fail Ellie here."

"Ellie isn't your project!" Sandie growled.

"She's not your puppet," Lindsey countered. Turning, he looked directly at Ellie and held out his hand. "Ellie, love. Come with me. Sandie's not worth your life, love."

Across from him, Sandie held out her hand too. "Help me, Helicopter. We'll be truly grand together."

Gulping, Ellie looked back and forth, the words swirling in her head and blending into the lonely days and the horrible nightmares, the cruelty, and the injustice.

She turned to Lindsey. "I'm sorry," she said.

She closed her eyes, reached to the left, and her fingertips touched Sandie's.