Bare Reflections Novels & Stories

Her hands reached upward, breaking the surface once, twice, before slipping below once more. Above, Petra watched, her chest heaving, but she didn’t flinch. When Lisa’s struggles slowed, when the water stilled into ripples, Petra finally turned away. She moved with purpose, her heels clicking against the marble. She knew the estate’s layout well. She spotted the camera near the pool and, with practiced ease, tugged the wires free. Darkness consumed the lens. By the time she slipped out, her expression was calm, as if she had merely attended a party.

A row of glass vials stands sentinel on a rickety shelf—each containing a unique essence: wolfsbane, moonflower, etc. But my purpose lies beyond these trinkets. I seek the “Mirror of Truth,” a fabled artifact said to reveal the soul’s darkest depths. It is wrapped in a red cloth, hidden beneath a stack of yellowed parchments. The cloth bears stains—perhaps blood, perhaps tears. I unwind it carefully, revealing the mirror’s polished surface. Its edges are jagged, as if it has been shattered and painstakingly pieced back together. As I gaze into the mirror, my reflection wavers. The room behind me blurs, replaced by a moonlit forest. The mirror does not merely reflect; it conjures memories. I

Ashborn crucified in mirrors. Sirelia smiling with no mouth. And the God Below whispering, “Reflection is the first betrayal.” She stumbles back. The vision fades. But her palm still smokes. Later that night, Emberhold holds silence. Not mourning. Listening. Because something in the fire has changed. And not all the dead are resting. Not anymore.

A shockwave rippled outward, washing over the Vale. When the light cleared, the survivors gasped. The crater was gone. In its place stood a single, perfect mirror. Seven feet tall. Silent. Waiting. Kael stared, blood running cold. His reflection didn’t move. Then it blinked. And whispered, “Come find me.” Far beyond the mountains, where the dawn was splitting itself apart, a different light flickered. Not sunlight. Not magic. Reflection. A figure stepped forward into a world made of mirrors — endless, shifting, alive. His shadow stretched across a fractured horizon, long and patient.

“We will also be able to sense each other a whole lot better. Know if we are in danger, or upset… A lot will improve.” I sat up and stared down at the lake. Tiny diamonds were reflected on the water. The moon was further to my right. The crescent image was not so clear but it was not hard to tell what it was. It swam at one spot and gave the lake some color in the dark. A crescent moon reflection. The moon was out here listening to our screwed up stories and wondering how we were going to fix it. I had no clue. But I was very sure that we were going to pull through. If what it takes is us moving mountains, then mountains we will move.

Finrir's hand acted as a visor, allowing him to gaze around at the awe-inspiring sight before them. Tritan couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions seeing Finrir react to the dazzling light. His admiration for Finrir's resilience grew even stronger as he observed his determination to overcome the temporary blindness caused by the intense brightness. Tritan's own appreciation for the simulated sun and the thriving environment filled with rows of magnificent Pinna nobilis and living coral reefs was magnified through Finrir's reaction.

The figure beside me gestured towards the mirror, its eyes holding mine. "Look within, Layla," it whispered, its voice like a gentle breeze. "Search for the truth that lies beneath the surface. You know the answers" As I looked into the mirror, my own reflection stared back at me. But it wasn't just a reflection of my physical self – it was a reflection of my journey, my growth, and my determination. The mirror showed me the moments of doubt, the challenges overcome, and the bonds forged. It was a reflection of my strength, a reminder that even in the face of adversity, I had found the power within myself to lead, to unite, and to inspire. And at the end of the apparition was Brad, an annoyi

“The North didn't just steal the land. They stole the blood. They are the parasites of the Moon.” The image began to distort. The black fog from the vision started to bleed out of the Obsidian Mirror, swirling around my wrists like oily snakes. The "Feedback" was starting. The Mirror began to vibrate, a high-pitched shriek of stone against stone. "Elara, pull back!" Malachi’s voice sounded miles away.

“You're wondering whether this is real.” Elara slowly stepped backward. “What are you?” The reflection smiled. “You already know.” “No.” “Yes.” The reflection lifted its hand and placed its palm against the glass. “I am the part of you that remembers.” Elara's heart began pounding. “The Shadow?” “No.” “Then who?” The reflection's eyes changed. For a brief second, Elara saw silver. Then black. Then a color she couldn't name. “I am the memory you buried.” Elara swallowed. “What memory?”

The Price of Reflection Friday, August 20, 2027 – 11:47 p.m. I’m in the skatepark bowl alone, trying to outrun the feeling that something is breathing down my neck. The floodlights are off. The only light is the bloodstone glowing soft crimson under my bangs and the moon reflecting in every puddle from yesterday’s rain. I drop in, grind the coping, pop a heelflip— and land wrong because the reflection in the puddle lands half a second late.