Broken Mirrors Book Novels & Stories

The mirror now looked just like an old and cracked one now. A woman had been murdered by multiple people in cold blood. And then someone had bound her spirit, her essence, her very soul to this mirror. The binding is broken. "Why me?" I whispered to the empty corridor. "Why can I see you? What do you want me to do?" But there was no answer. Just my own voice echoing slightly off the stone walls. I needed to leave, needed to get away from this mirror and whatever horrors it contained. Thankfully, my body finally obeyed, my feet stumbling backward, then turning and running.

"What happened? Are you alright, Mira?" "Yes, I will be once you are here. How far away are you?" "I will be there in thirty minutes," he said to me. "Make it twenty." "Whatever," he answered. The link cut. In twenty-five minutes, he arrived in all his glory. "What was the emergency, Mira?" "Here," I said to him, pointing at the burnt corpse on the floor. "Ahhhhhh! What the fuck did you do, Mira? What happened to him?"

The waist-high full-length mirror wobbled for quite a while, capturing the reflection of Candice in its unsteady gaze. The mirror reflected her pale face, a slender neck, and clothes that used to fit well but now appeared loose on her. Candice stared at the seemingly lifeless woman in the mirror, shocked. Her pupils trembled uncontrollably, and she instinctively reached out to touch the reflection in the mirror. Was this really her? Why did she look so terrible? She didn’t feel sick, but she looked awful. Candice stood in front of the mirror for a long time, trying to understand her current appearance and the reasons behind the change.

"If he’s cheating on me, I’ll have her head. I’ll kill them both." "Maria, wait," I said, but she wasn't listening. She was already limping toward the house, her emerald gown torn by the bushes. I looked down at the floor of the gazebo and saw something glinting in the moonlight. I picked it up. It was a small, silver pendant—a mirror-shaped charm. It was exactly like the one Diana wore. My heart dropped. The "Mirror of Malice" wasn't just a name for my marriage. It was a web, and we were all caught in it.

The hot water provided a physical release, relaxing his tense muscles, but his mind remained a cauldron of seething anger. Steam enveloped the bathroom, a visual representation of the heated emotions coursing through Asher. In a fit of rage, he directed his anger towards a decorative mirror on the wall, pounding it again and again. The bathroom echoed with the sounds of shattered glass, a stark contrast to the calm facade Asher usually presented. This was not the person he wanted to be, and the realization fueled his frustration even more. All of this, he believed, was a consequence of Ezra's actions.

After cleaning the broken tray, Mira excused herself earlier than normal. And the moment she stepped outside the chamber doors— She stopped breathing steadily. Her hands trembled violently. No. She knew what she saw. Twice. Not imagination. Not exhaustion. Something inside that mirror had looked back at her. And smiled. --- That night— Mira avoided mirrors completely. But sleep never came. Because every time she closed her eyes— She saw Elian’s reflection whispering silently through the glass. And somehow— Deep down— She felt certain of one terrifying thing.

“Lead the way.” We moved fast, sticking to the high corridors, avoiding the main halls. The observatory was crumbling, it was cracked, the stars bleeding through like silver wounds. Dust coated everything. In the center stood the mirror,tall, black-framed, its surface like still water. I stepped in front of it. “Stay back,” I said. “This might not be safe.” I pressed my palm to the glass. Fire moved through my veins. The mirror cracked. And the.... I saw the crypt.

“I didn’t expect you to be the killer. It wasn’t enough that you killed your parents-in-law. Why did you have to kill my mother too?” I looked at the three of them. They all had the same reaction. I froze for a moment. How was that possible? A mirror was just a mirror. It showed whoever stood in front of it. How could it show my face no matter who looked into it? But their grief did not look fake. What was so strange about that mirror? How could it make my wife, my trainee, and my neighbor all believe I was the killer? “I didn’t kill your mother. It wasn’t me.”

Just the echo of a dream that felt too real. In it, Isabella had been walking down a corridor of mirrors. Each pane reflected a version of her I couldn’t hold—some younger, some older. One bruised. One burning. One laughing with eyes that didn’t match her smile. I tried to follow her, my hands reaching—but every mirror shattered when I touched it. All I could hear was her voice, calling my name through the smoke. Then silence. Now darkness. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to erase what I’d seen. But it clung to me like soot.

I closed my eyes and the memories of that night played back in my mind like I was in a cinema but the difference was that I was watching my life on a screen. It was on a Tuesday morning and I had just finished scrubbing Gerald's bathroom floor when he walked in with his mistress. He tapped her ass and she giggled in response. I looked away and quickly made steps to walk out when he called me. “Mira”. My heartbeat was loud enough for the whole world to hear. I was scared for my life. His voice was terrifying for me,it was my biggest nightmare.