The crack is getting weirder.

It started as a barely-there shimmer at the bottom of the mirror—small, harmless, easily ignored. But now? It hums.

Not like a machine. Not like a fridge.
More like… a feeling. A soft vibration under your fur that says, something is watching.

Simba noticed it first, of course. He’s been checking the crack every morning, like it’s a suspicious houseguest that might start stealing silverware. But today, when he approached it, something new happened.

He stopped.

Tilted his head.

Sniffed.

And then froze.

A faint scent drifted through the air. Sweet. Familiar.
Like… pansy petals.

Nobody else noticed. Goori was busy launching himself off furniture in what he called “anti-portal cardio,” and the humans were yelling about a lost sock (again). But Simba’s eyes narrowed.

Pansies.

He hadn’t smelled them in forever. Not since—

No. That wasn’t possible.

He sniffed again. This time, he caught something else—barely there, like the memory of warmth in a forgotten blanket. Something… kind. Something sad. Something he couldn’t name.

Then, a whisper. Not a word. Not even a sound, really.

Just the idea of one. Like the mirror wanted to speak but hadn’t learned how.

Simba backed away slowly. He glanced once over his shoulder at the empty hallway behind him.

It was empty. Of course it was.

Probably.