The Mirror Test

The test was mandatory. These days, everyone had to take it, no exceptions.

Sofia sat in the sterile white room, as the doctor reviewed her results. The Mirror Test was simple—look into the machine, let it scan you, and wait for confirmation. Human. That’s what it was supposed to say. 100% human.

The doctor wasn’t speaking. His face had gone slack.

“Something wrong?” asked Sofia.

The doctor’s eyes flicked up to her, hesitant. “It’s… probably just an error.”

He tapped at the screen, then hesitated.

“Could you look in the mirror for me?” he asked. His voice was too careful, too neutral.

There was a large mirror on the wall opposite her seat. It ran from the floor to the ceiling, wide enough to reflect the entire room. She had already glanced at it before. It was just her, sitting in an empty chair.

Still, she turned her head.

The mirror was empty.

Her chair was there. The table, the lights, the doctor standing there—his face pale, his breath uneven.

But she wasn’t there.

Sofia looked down at her hands, flexed her fingers. She touched her face, felt the warmth of her own skin. She was here. She was real.

The doctor’s eyes were darting toward the door. His gaze was terrified, looking around her instead of at her.

Then, too softly, he whispered, “What the hell are you?”

A sharp click came from the door behind her. Locking.

Then the lights flickered out. The doctor screamed.

Sofia always felt more comfortable in the dark.