A Mirror Mended Novels & Stories

If he is her mate, then he would surely reject them seeing how ruined and disgusting she was. “Alice! Don't say that. The scars mean nothing. He is meant for us.” Lenore snapped at her. “Alice yelled out loud; as she slammed her fist into the mirror. The glass cracked and shattered but held inside the mirror frame. She looked at the mirror surprised that she had hit it. Surprised that it was still intact. She looked at the mirror and hated it. The mirror was broken but still together. It could never be fixed but it was still together. She gritted her teeth, becoming more and more angry. She was the mirror, damaged, broken, ugly, and never being completely shattered but never being able to be

They exist in sync, complimenting each other by being in the same space. The floor is marble, impossibly smooth, and every step echoes with a soft grandeur as I move toward a mirror standing tall at the far end, and as I step closer, I see my younger self staring back at me. Small and afraid. The boy I once was, before everything changed. Anger rises in me like a tide, seeing that helpless face, and I clench my fist, smashing it against the mirror. Glass shatters, and the pieces scatter, but as I pull my hand back, the shards float and reform. The mirror mends itself, perfect as before, as if nothing happened. Then, a voice drifts toward me, soft as stardust, calling my name. I turn, and she

A ripple in the echo. A name flaring through the Weave. Autumn. Mirabella reached across time—not as a ghost, but as legacy. And she saw her. Crowned. Glowing. Alone—but not. The Mirror did not consume her. It accepted Autumn, weaving her story into its own endless tapestry. The light that once devoured now shone through her, clear and whole. The Mirror chose her. Mirabella smiled—or would have, if she had lips to do so.

Plates, glassware, forgotten files from twenty. I searched and searched for the tea bags and when i thought that all hope was lost. But as i placed my hand behind a stack of legal binders, I find a metal tin. The lid is dented. The label is faded but legible. Earl Grey. Finally. I take the tin. I close the cabinet. My hair has slipped from its clip during the search. My blazer is wrinkled across the back from leaning into shelves. I look disheveled. I look like a woman who fought for something and refused to surrender.

It was old, the frame tarnished silver worked into a pattern of vines, the glass itself dark, like looking into a pool of standing water rather than a mirror. My reflection didn’t show up in it the way it should have. I turned it over in my hands, then carried it over to where Melissa was sleeping. “Melissa.” I touched her shoulder. “Wake up. I think I found something.” Her eyes opened, blinking blearily, and then sharpened the second they landed on the mirror in my hands. She sat up straighter.

Mira made a miserable expression “Can you do it without being caught?” Martin turned to look at Jack, but he couldn’t make heads or tails from Jack’s poker face. “Okay” Martin left the house looking like he had nothing to live for. Mira went back to embroidering Aunt Beth’s cloth. She couldn’t help herself and added embellishments with copper threads.... careful to not draw attention yet enough to add a little magic to the design!

“I’m not here to win, Sarah. I’m here to take back what has always been mine.” Sarah’s gaze shifted to the mirror hanging on the wall. Her face contorted with fury as she drew back her fist and slammed it into the glass. The mirror cracked, fractures spreading across the surface like spider webs. Blood welled on her knuckles where glass had cut skin. I looked at the mirror, seeing my own reflection broken into pieces. Fragmented versions of myself staring back from different angles. Sarah’s voice came out low, dangerous. “That reflection… broken into pieces… that’s how you’ll end in this war.”

The mirror room had been designed to project calm—a clean, symmetrical space with soft lighting and seamless glass meant to promote introspection. But tonight, it felt more like a maze of grief. Every wall reflected a different version of Isabella and Adrian: fractured, weary, straining beneath the weight of what they could no longer unsee or undo.

Although in better conditions than the one I am wearing currently. I stood in front of the mirror, the pentagonal shaped mirror another unique treasure of mine. "Although broken. " The broken things tell a beautiful Story, this mirror tells another story of the broken lives hard to be mended. Waiting for someone to touch and turn all of the ugliness into heaven's delight. My hair was looking like an eagle nest. I quickly got hold of the comb and detangled my hair furiously but these strands are so rigid, stubborn, even after ten minutes of continuous hustle with my comb a single strand rises and comes forward in an ugly position.

Without a doubt, she cried out her heart there while she touched the broken glass piano gently. With every stroke she did on the broken glass piano, the collected pieces on the side began to move. It slowly went to the missing parts of the glass piano and mended the broken side of it. Tears were streaming down, and Mira never left the side of the glass piano while every missing piece was trying to get back to its rightful place. “Hear my voice, Angel. Hear it, please, Hubby.” Mira pleaded as she let her fingertips touch the keys on the glass piano.