The Door Between

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No one ever truly sees Liminal at first. It is a flicker at the corner of your eye, a whisper of movement where there should be none. It appears where two realities touch—a doorway left ajar, a reflection in glass that lingers just a moment too long, a shadow that does not belong to anyone.

For most, it is an unconscious thing. A fleeting moment dismissed with a shake of the head. But for those who notice, truly notice, the feeling begins to grow. Like a thread caught on a nail, tugging ever so slightly as if some unseen force is trying to unravel them.

Liminal does not haunt in the way spirits do. It does not rattle chains or whisper names in the dark. It does not belong to the world of the dead, nor does it fully exist in the realm of the living. It is something else entirely—a presence caught between, a doorway that never fully closes.

It begins with the mirrors.

At first, it is barely perceptible—a distortion in the reflection, a feeling that something is just slightly off. But soon, the changes become undeniable. Your reflection does not match your movements exactly. The blink that comes a second too late, the tilt of your head that never happened, the eyes that seem just a little too deep, as if something else is looking through them.

And then, Liminal begins to appear elsewhere. Not just in glass or polished surfaces, but in places where two worlds touch—a darkened hallway stretching just a bit too far, a doorframe where the air seems thinner, a staircase that feels longer than it should.

It is not a ghost. It is not an entity to be exorcised. It is simply there, existing across two planes, waiting at the threshold of perception.

There have been stories, whispered accounts of those who stepped too close to Liminal, who reached out to touch its presence. They do not simply vanish. There are no cries of terror, no desperate scrabbling at the walls.

They simply... drift.

Their voices become echoes in empty rooms, their forms smudged into glass and reflections, their steps always just one floor away, one turn beyond sight. Those who knew them speak of a feeling of absence, as if the missing never truly left but now exist elsewhere, just out of reach.

Liminal is not a creature. It is not a being to be reasoned with. It is the space between, the threshold neither shut nor fully open. And it is waiting.

You will see it soon. A figure just beyond the corner of your vision, a door that is open when you swear you closed it, a shadow where there should be none.

You will dismiss it at first. That is what everyone does.

But Liminal does not go away.

It waits.

And one day, you will realize it has always been there, lingering at the edge of your world, inviting you to step through and see what lies beyond the door between.