Broken Mirrors Book Novels & Stories

He could also see that reflection from the full length mirror that stood in front of him against the wall. It was probably his third eye acting up again but what did this mean? His eyes, still fixated on the mirror, moved from the patch on the floor to the bed where he noticed something about the book. He stood up, approaching the mirror and that's when he saw it. The mirror gave a reflection of the book, showing it in reverse imaging thus Jake could see the pentacle in its upright position in the mirror. He turned away from the mirror to the book and grabbed it, slowly turning it the other way as the pentacle now appeared in its original position in the upright form.

It looked as though it were made of silver, but it was too dirty and tarnished to really see. Rori bit her lip as curiosity whispered in her ear, she found herself suddenly clutching part of the sheet and rubbing a clear spot in the center of the mirror. As she peered into the somewhat reflective surface, she was shocked to discover not her own reflection, but the smiling face of her forgotten best friend. Kristi’s piercing blue eyes were almost looking directly at Rori and the young girl gasped as she noticed more movement behind the dirty mirror. Rori feverishly scrubbed the surface clean, and as she dropped the now grimy sheet, she saw not just Kristi but Mason and Max. Rori didn’t recog

And then the bond burns. Not with his pain this time—but something else. Something vast and watching. I freeze. Slowly turn. A mirror stands at the end of the street. Except there’s no street. Just—black water where cobblestones should be, rippling without sound. And the mirror’s frame is made of bone. I take one step toward it—don’t even know why— —and the reflection moves before I do. It smiles. And I realize it’s not me. Not really. Come closer, it whispers.

“Give your blood to the mirror. Let the darkness turn to the light. Your heart will answer your question. But there is a price you have to pay if you fail. Your soul will be mine forever.” She immediately put the book on the table and took the paper-knife and cut her palm. It startled her as she dripped her blood onto the mirror. Every drop of her blood gets absorbed into the mirror and turns it clear. She then held the book in her hands. She couldn’t blink with her eyes wide open as she looked into the mirror. She saw a naked girl smiling at her and her face was just like hers. “Her heart is as beautiful as her face. The book has got what it wants. She has broken the seal. We are all free n

A mirror, unremarkable in shape, its surface dark and still despite the dim light in the room, and beside it, a leather journal so weathered its cover had nearly disintegrated entirely. "Careful," Rhys said, catching her wrist gently before she could reach for either. "Lysander said this place still holds old magic. Whatever that mirror is, it might not be safe to touch blind." "I have to know." She eased her wrist free, not unkindly, and reached for the journal instead of the mirror, the more familiar danger of the two. The moment her fingers closed around the cracked leather, something in the room shifted, subtle at first, a change in air pressure Wren felt more than heard.

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 did a good job, too, because it lay hidden there until my sophomore year when one phone call stripped those masks away, laying bare the Truth so I could see myself for what I was. *** As maybe you can imagine I avoid mirrors as much as possible. Can’t be managed all the time, obviously. I do have to shave, comb my hair and brush my teeth occasionally. There’s also the rear-view mirror in my cab, too. That’s somehow the worst. It focuses on my eyes. Everyone’s heard it by now. It’s used in countless stories, poems and movies when someone wants to sound insightful. Eyes are the windows to the soul. Cliché, but remarkably apt. I hate looking into my eyes. They’re dead and flat, which spooks m

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

Haneul suspected this was happening to LJ, who tend to spend too much time with humans for his own good. "She's here. Just try to focus. You can do it." Haneul told LJ, surveying their surroundings again. They were at a tiny bar somewhere in the outskirts of Munich. If their surveillance were correct, their target would be arriving any minute there to celebrate her birthday. This particular creature is a Mirror, one of the very few born on earth wearing Lilith's biological form. Mirrors were more dangerous than the ordinary Lilim, so they had to bide their time and observe. But it had been about an hour, and there was no sign of the Lilim anywhere.

EPISODE 1 — THE MIRROR The mirror hangs on the dressing room wall, framed in silver so heavy two men would struggle to move it from its mount. In the coffee shop where Mira’s life ended, the only mirrors were the small, smudged squares above the bathroom sinks — scratched with initials and hearts, reflecting faces tired from work and worry. Here, this glass is perfect, polished to a clarity that shows not just reflections but the faint ghost of what was there before. The silver frame carries cold like a block of ice pulled from winter water, and when she presses her palm against it, the metal leaves white marks on her skin that take seconds to fade.