Threadless : A growing novel

"Some questions arrive before the answers forget to hide."

Aro didn't tell Rin about the marble.

Not yet.

She hadn't told anyone. Not even herself, not fully. Because the moment she admitted something was real, she'd have to ask what else might be.

Instead, she carried it in her pocket like a tiny secret—like it belonged to someone else who just hadn't come back for it yet.

That morning, Rin woke up and forgot his own reflection.

He brushed his teeth. Washed his face. Looked up—

—and for a second, the mirror showed someone else.

Not a stranger.

Not a monster.

Just a different version of him. One who looked a little older. A little sadder.

Then it blinked. Reset. Showed his real face again.

But Rin didn't move. He just stared, breath held, until the mirror fogged over.

On the edge of the sink, someone had scrawled in the condensation:

"Not yet."

Aro's glitch came later.

She passed the old bookstore downtown—the one that had been closed for years.

Except… now it wasn't.

The door was open. The lights were on. There was a little bell above the frame, gently swaying though the air was still.

Inside: nothing but shelves of blank books.

And at the counter, a young girl with no shadow.

She looked up and smiled like she'd been waiting.

"You're early," the girl said.

Aro opened her mouth to ask what, but no sound came.

Instead, the bell rang again. And the shop was dark. Closed. Dusty.

Like it had always been.

That evening, Rin and Aro sat beneath the old willow tree.

They didn't talk about the mirror. Or the marble. Or the door that shouldn't have opened.

Instead, Rin asked, "Did you feel it?"

Aro nodded.

He didn't ask what. He already knew the answer would sound too normal, and mean too much.

Above them, a crow landed on a branch.

It tilted its head.

Spoke with a voice too human:

"Careful. You're being remembered."

Then flew away.