Novel & Cerita Broken Mirror Hard To Mend

A lump formed in my throat as I ran my fingertips over the raised lines, feeling the texture of something that had once been shattered beyond repair. Jared swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the dim light. “I found seventeen craftsmen. They all told me the same thing—a broken mirror can’t be mended.” His voice turned raw, almost desperate. “But I didn’t believe it, Arielle. I couldn’t believe it. So, I learned glassblowing myself, from the best craftsman in the world. And for the past three years, I’ve tried over and over again to fix this mirror.”

Miranda didn't give him any face, "What's the use of your promise to me? You're not trying to chase me." Westley's breathing became heavy for a moment, and he couldn't be bothered to say anything. He was afraid he would be driven to the edge. However, Miranda didn't plan to stop. "Westley, a broken mirror is hard to mend. Even if you manage to glue the pieces together, the cracks will always remain." "Some things cannot be repaired."

A hairline fracture ran down its center. “Heal a rock?” “You asked the stone to become soft, now ask it to remember being whole.” I approached the stone, placing my palms flat against its sun-warmed surface. It felt inert and dead, I reached for the silver power, my instinct to force, to fix. No. Morwen’s lesson echoed. A mirror. Reflect your intent. I thought of Rafe’s broken ribs after a fight, how the body knits itself back together. I thought of the way a scab forms, a bridge of new cells.

Thin, fragile things that look like they might break with the slightest touch. The mate bond. Actually visible. Some of the threads are dark, broken, frayed at the ends. “That's the damage from the separation,” Maverick murmurs beside me. Clara's hands move over the threads, the golden glow from her palms seeming to feed into them. Slowly, painfully slowly, some of the broken threads start to knit back together. But not all of them. Some are too damaged, too far gone. “Come on,” I whisper. “Please, please work.”

Yet seeing it reminded me of Laila and her stories about the Omega who became Luna. I sighed and made to throw the mirror into the bin beside my table since it was basically useless now anyway. “Ouch!” I let out a pained gasp when a broken shard of the mirror cut through my finger, making me slam the mirror back on the table. I bled from the little and I blew on it, trying to stop it from bleeding even more. I couldn’t bear having any more injuries when I was only just healing from the ones inflicted on me days ago.

The entire room was like a small apartment, she thought then she gasped and facepalmed upon remembering that she's actually in an apartment complex. She saw that there was a door beside the wall wardrobe, about a few inches away from it. She sauntered to it, curious what lies behind the mysterious door and she squinted her eyes, lifting her free arm to cover them because of the gloriously gleaming treasures hidden behind the door. It was a bathroom, a dignifiedly neat one, with marble-like restroom fittings and fixtures. Even though she was a few feet away from them and she has quite the bad eyesight, she thought she regained her 20/20 vision and could easily see and recognize all the neat s

I didn’t hesitate. The chamber below was suffocating—lit only by veins of glowing quartz embedded in the walls. At the center stood the mirror. It was not constructed as a normal glass. It was ten feet high and its very edges were of obsidian teeth, and glimmered it did with a silver so deep it seemed to fall. The Mirror of Mercy. I approached it slowly. “What do I give?” “Blood,” Killian whispered behind me, his voice distant. I drew my knife, and cut my hand. When the blood spilt on the bottom of the mirror it became absorbed by the obsidian, just as water settles in the sandy desert.

I didn't ask for anything that wasn't rightfully mine, but I made damn sure to get everything that was. I glanced at Zachary beside me, he looked completely broken. Anxious. Defeated. Nothing like the confident man I'd married. "Ella, is this really it for us? No second chances?" "That's right. We're done." I studied his face, remembering how nervous he'd been when he first asked me out all those years ago. But I wasn't that starry-eyed girl anymore. A cracked mirror can never reflect a perfect image again. Zachary and I—our story had reached its final page.

Blood smears the surface, distorting my face. Lovely. I grab the mirror by its frame, ignoring the scream of protest in my bones. Muscles strain. And then, with a cry, I hurl it across the room. It crashes against the wall, shattering into a thousand jagged shards. Pieces rain down like broken stars, scattering across the floor. But it’s not enough. It’s not enough.

My voice was painful even for me. "No one can save you," I whispered to my reflection, my voice breaking at the end. My tears just fell without me needing to force them. I smiled faintly, full of despair and resignation. Then, in one breath, I raised my hand and smashed the mirror with my fist. CRACK!! The echo of the impact sound filled the set, and everyone there held their breath. My hand shook, and the mirror in front of me cracked down the center, creating sharp lines that broke my reflection into small, distorted pieces.