Broken Mirrors Book Novels & Stories

I glared at him. "I need time. Please, don't waste your time coming here? I want---" I didn't finish my line when my head suddenly throbs. My eyes became blurry and my stomach is in pain again. "Are you okay? Lucy, wake up!" The only voice I heard before I lost my consciousness. --- Eloisa POV

“There are others. Old ones. The place was full of mirrors when we found it. We smashed some.” Elsie’s gaze sharpened. “Some?” “Not all.” “Show me.” He led her down the scarred hallway, past rooms that still smelled faintly of ash, to the door at the end. “Here.” He eased it open. The mirror room breathed damp and cold. Charred boards curled like claws. The bed frame slumped in a black husk. In the corner, tall and ornate, another mirror waited—its frame bone-white, its singed glass webbed in hairline cracks like frost.

I couldn't stop thinking about how Jack called me a slut and how Aubrey just completely left me for dead out there. It’s not like any of this was really even my fault. After what felt like hours of more crying, I finally managed to fall asleep. ~3 hours later~ The sound of something banging against my window catches me by surprise, having me immediately jolt awake as fear begins to engulf me. What the fuck was that? I grow still against my sheets as the sound repeats itself, this time sounding more like a sequence of patterns. Is somebody here? Slowly, I make my way over to my window before slowly pushing open my blinds. Jack?!

Just a matte-black surface with an embossed emblem: a mirror, cracked through the center. Isolde moved slowly. She opened the book again, The Widow of the Glass House. The page with the hidden red ink. Her eyes scanned the bottom margin. There… a nursery rhyme. Written in Vivienne’s looping script, but underlined twice. “Say the name that has no sound, Where mirrors break and truth is bound.” She said it aloud. The room didn’t move. Penelope frowned. “That’s not a lockphrase.” Isolde kept reading. “Speak it only once at night,

Cold and welcoming, but just a bit too cold for my liking. Slowly, I closed the window, feeling the coldness of the glass against my palm, and suddenly realizing that I had been mistaken all along. Surprisingly, all this was real, as much as it seemed to be a dream, and as unbelievable as it seemed to me. "It's a mistake," I said out loud.

"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.

“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.