Broken Mirrors Novels & Stories

She held up an obsidian mirror, its surface rippling like liquid, revealing distorted visions of Meranthia's landscapes being engulfed in darkness and chaos. As they watched in horror, the mirror's edge expanded, its dark expanse stretching out towards them, threatening to swallow them whole. Nocturna's laughter, cold and mocking, rang out as the world around the guardians began to crumble, plunging them into the abyss of the unknown.

Panic clawed at my throat. I stumbled back, looking around. Taking a shaky breath, I blinked, hoping it was just a trick of the light, that she would appear, but she didn't. The mirror remained empty. Suddenly, the mirror shattered, exploding outwards in a shower of glass shards. I flinched, instinctively raising my arms to shield myself from the flying debris. My vision blurred as a wave of dizziness washed over me. When I recovered my bearings, a gasp escaped my lips. Each of the mirrors started to explode into a shower of glass around me. My bed vanished, and I was left in an endless darkness again.

A broken typewriter sat on the desk beside a cracked mirror. Lucas grabbed a flashlight. “We’ll stay here till morning. She can’t reach us without power lines or signals.” Natasha didn’t reply. She was staring at the mirror, her own reflection staring back, trembling, drenched, terrified. But then… her reflection blinked twice. Out of sync. Natasha froze. “Lucas…” He turned, shining the light toward her. “What is it?” The reflection smiled, a cruel, knowing smile, before the mirror shattered into a web of cracks.

And now, she wasn’t sure if there was anything left to save. With a shaky breath, Cassia rose from the couch and made her way to the large mirror that hung on the wall. She stared at her reflection, at the woman she had become. Her once flawless appearance was now marred by the toll of sleepless nights and endless worry. Her eyes, once bright with confidence, were now hollow and tired. She barely recognized herself. And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to feel the full weight of her remorse.

Ivy whispered. They reached a set of double doors clad in tarnished silver. Ivy pushed them open. The hinges didn't scream; they let out a long, metallic sigh. The room beyond was a dressing chamber frozen in mid-breath. Dust motes danced in the candlelight like tiny, falling stars. But it was the mirrors that dominated the space—vast, towering sheets of mercury glass that lined every wall. Mercury glass, unlike modern mirrors, had a dark, liquid depth to it, a shimmering instability that made every reflection look like it was underwater.

Her reflection stared back. Becky leaned closer, eyes narrowing. The woman in the mirror leaned closer too, lips parting. For a second—just a second—Becky thought she saw water bead along the reflection’s hairline. Thought she saw silver light flicker beneath the skin. She screamed. With a violent motion, she ripped the mirror from the wall. Glass shattered as it hit the floor, shards exploding outward. Becky stumbled back, chest heaving, staring at the broken pieces scattered at her feet. Each fragment reflected her face at a different angle—twisted, fractured, multiplied.

“And is it working? I met his gaze, “Should it be working?” Before I could respond, a knock interrupted us. Sharp, urgent. “Enter” I called. One of the younger guards, Marcus, stepped inside, his face pale. “Alpha, there has been an incident in the east wing.” “What kind of incident?” “The…the mirrors in the packhouse they are all cracking. All of them.” The east wing’s hallway stretched before us like a tomb. Every single mirror on the walls bore the same pattern that looks like hairline fractures spreading from a central point. It was like something had tried to break through from the other side.

Miranda walked into the maid's room and positioned herself in front of the mirror that hung on the wall. It was an old, vintage piece with intricate designs etched into its golden frame. It was a full-length mirror, standing tall and proud against the wall. The glass itself was slightly warped, adding a subtle distortion to the reflection it cast.

His eyes sweep the scene: Liora’s bloodied hands, the empty mirror, and the two of us kneeling on the floor. “What happened?” Liora can’t speak. I do it for her. “The mirror took him.” He stares at the glass. His jaw tightens. “Damn it.” “Can you bring him back?” I ask. Kael’s expression flickers from anger, grief, and then resignation. “No one comes back from the mirrors.” “Then what are they for?” My voice cracks. “Just to torture us?” He doesn’t answer. The mirror nearest him ripples faintly, and for a second, I see his reflection move independently, smiling when he isn’t. He notices it too. His eyes darken, and the smile in his reflection vanishes.

“Can you?” Alessio’s mouth found him again. “Not tonight.” The light flickered once more. And when it came back fully the mirror was cracked. A single line through the center. Like a warning. Like a countdown.