Broken Mirrors Book Novels & Stories

And between those columns— Mirrors. Hundreds of them. No two alike. Some were tall and elegant, framed in blackened gold. Others were warped, their surfaces rippling like disturbed water. A few were fractured, split into jagged pieces that still somehow functioned as one. But none of them reflected Hell. They showed the human world. Cities. Streets. Homes. Moments. A woman crying in silence. A man screaming in rage. A child laughing—until the moment twisted into something else. Each mirror held a different scene, a different fragment of humanity.

“He knew before we arrived. If I don’t go, he’ll keep sending signs. Keep sending traps. The only way out… is through.” Tristan cursed, but followed. Cara stepped beside them, silent but steady. They crossed the threshold into the path. And the mirrors closed behind them. --- The field curved downward, like a valley made of broken light. It should have been sharp. Bloody. But the glass didn’t cut them—it welcomed them. Reflections swirled on every surface—memories, faces, things long buried. Cara paused beside a shard. “I know this one.” She knelt and touched it.

I grabbed the fuel, ran out of the building, poured it around the building and set it ablaze. As the flames got higher, the louder the screams of the creatures in the mirrors until the house of dark memories burnt down completely. That was the last time I ever had any nightmare about the mirrors. But I could never stop thinking about my dance with the man in the mirrors, a last dance with the Black Jackson. Somehow, I knew my memory was the thing playing a prank on me and that’s because I really do not believe in the dead finding its way back to life how much more hurting or helping anyone.

So, I am not able to see the one standing behind the mirrors of the room, but they can see me and communicate with me. Four mirror-like walls are enclosing this room: the mirror of reality, the mirror of fear, the mirror of sins and guilt and the mirror of retribution and punishment. The first mirror is the mirror of reality. That one is displaying the true self of the one imprisoned. I looked at that one and… goddamn, do I look like shit, I look like long haired butterfaced ogre, all swollen, with broken bones jutting through my lacerated skin, which was plagued with cuts and bruises. My hair is knotted, sticky, and full of blood and dust. It is matted, dirty and all over the place. I look

The bright light from the doorway faded, and Liora fell into emptiness. Her knees hit a cold, smooth floor, and the journal slipped from her hands, sliding across the surface. She quickly crawled after it, her heart beating fast in the sudden quiet. The air smelled sharp, like frost and metal, and her wrist marks pulsed faintly, warning her of danger. All around her were mirrors, endless, curved walls showing twisted versions of herself, Ash, and Kael. Some showed her wearing a crown of fire; others showed her broken and alone. The reflections didn't copy her movements. Instead, they watched her, their eyes holding secrets.

I hissed. I slammed my hand against the mirror again and cracks split across its surface, spreading like veins. The reflection’s voice turned desperate. “Rory, stop! You’ll destroy me!” “Good,” I whispered. The mirror broke. Pain burst through my armglass tearing my skin, blood spilling across the floor. I fell to my knees, gasping. The broken bits glowed softly, reflecting not Elias, not Selene but me. A thousand versions of me. Crying. Screaming. Laughing.

It was so concentrated that it restored my depleted mana in a few minutes. I felt chilled to the bone, but a strange heat burned inside me like fire trapped beneath ice. At first, I thought the walls were made of black obsidian stones. They shimmered faintly, like they were drinking the light around us instead of reflecting it. But then I realized they weren’t stone at all. They were mirrors. Only, they didn’t show reflections. Just shadows. In the middle of it all, a huge mirror rose from the floor like a living thing. It looked ancient with a frame made of what looked like scorched iron, twisted into sharp, jagged runes. Its surface wasn’t glass. No reflection shimmered back at us. Instead

Let it dry red against the page. Then closed the book and whispered, "Let them pray to fire." ~~~~~~~~~~ UNDISCLOSED LOCATION — THE MIRROR ROOM Elias stood at the edge of a hall made of obsidian. Light flickered across a thousand mirrored panels. Each one showed an image. Luciana’s death. Aria’s face. The Book of Blood. He turned to a figure in the dark. "Release them." A switch was flipped. All across the world, those who had ever shared Moretti and De Rossi blood felt it. A whisper in their skulls.

CHAPTER 179 — THE REFLECTION OF TRUTH MAYA POV Liam’s hand caught my arm before I could touch the mirror. “Don’t,” he said. But my eyes wouldn’t move away from it. The reflection didn’t blink. It just stared back at me with that calm, cold look—the same one Brandy wore when she lied. Behind us, the air hummed. The other mirrors were starting to shimmer too. Each one showed a different me. One smiling. One crying. One bleeding. One standing over Liam’s body.

Become what I couldn’t. Autumn opened her eyes and said aloud: “No.” The pendant flared, and the Book sealed itself shut. Below her, the trees bent toward the house. The blood moon was rising. The mirror stopped smiling first. It had always smiled—a cruel, knowing twist in the silvered glass. A trick of light, or perhaps something older, older than glass or light. Autumn shattered it anyway. The echo rang out like a warning bell.