Broken Mirrors Novels & Stories

We exchanged a glance, a silent agreement that we were ready to face whatever awaited us. As we advanced further into the chamber, the environment shifted, morphing into a labyrinth of mirrors. Each reflection held a distorted image of ourselves as if mocking our journey and challenging our perception of reality. "Stay focused," I reminded myself, my voice steady despite the disorienting surroundings. "These mirrors are illusions meant to deceive us. We must trust our instincts and look beyond the reflections."

“They have nothing on me.” “Sure, they don't. But, Rena, how exactly do you plan to handle this?” Ada asked, worry bleeding through tone. Mirena tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “The easiest way,” she replied. She merged into traffic smoothly, eyes focused ahead. “Do you know the disadvantage of a house of mirrors?” She asked and basked in the silence that followed afterwards. A smile curved her lips.. “It shatters the moment you throw a rock at it,” she continued. “Every reflection fractures. Every illusion collapses. The beauty people admired becomes something twisted and unrecognizable.”

The entire room was like a small apartment, she thought then she gasped and facepalmed upon remembering that she's actually in an apartment complex. She saw that there was a door beside the wall wardrobe, about a few inches away from it. She sauntered to it, curious what lies behind the mysterious door and she squinted her eyes, lifting her free arm to cover them because of the gloriously gleaming treasures hidden behind the door. It was a bathroom, a dignifiedly neat one, with marble-like restroom fittings and fixtures. Even though she was a few feet away from them and she has quite the bad eyesight, she thought she regained her 20/20 vision and could easily see and recognize all the neat s

I could feel it—its walls vibrating softly, its breath rising in the dust motes around me. And then—I stood. I knew where I needed to go. The mirror room. *** It was just as I remembered. Shattered glass still scattered the floor like frozen stars. The large mirror was gone—exploded in a curse-breaking storm. But along the far wall… stood a smaller one. Unbroken. Framed in tarnished silver. Covered with a thin sheet of white silk. My hands shook as I stepped forward. I hadn’t looked into a mirror since that night.

A long, spindly finger, grey and desiccated, pressed against the glass from the inside of the eighth reflection. I scrambled backward, hitting the wall. The tunnel vanished as I broke the perfect angle of the mirrors. I tore both mirrors off the wall, shattering them against the floor, shards of glass skittering like diamonds across the hardwood. I didn't care about the broken glass; I didn't care about the mess. I just knew that the man had been coming, and he was too close. That was the last time I touched a mirror.

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

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?!

I needed a mirror. ​The Resonance Mirror was not a piece of glass in the traditional sense. It was a localized, high-density field of inverted solar gold, suspended between four pillars of resonant copper I had salvaged from the Iron City’s old telegraph lines. In theory, the mirror would not reflect an image, but a frequency. If the Shadow Thread attempted to mimic Winnie’s voice or her light, the mirror would catch the vibration, flip it, and reveal the jagged, discordant reality underneath. It was a trap designed for a liar. It was a mathematical net for a creature that lived in the gaps between truths.

"This is the official race inspection report issued ten minutes ago. It clearly states there were signs of deliberate damage to the brake line, and that the brake fluid contained a large amount of alcohol. "And this." I pointed at the big screen. The screen suddenly switched to surveillance footage. Although the corner of the garage itself had been a blind spot, Mason had missed one detail. The side mirror of the car parked opposite had clearly reflected him crouching beside my car with the hydraulic cutter in his hand. Looking at himself on the screen, Mason's legs went weak, and he collapsed onto the floor. "No... that's not me... that's fake..." he struggled one last time.

Luna-Shadow's final word hangs in the crystalline air like a death knell, and then, everything collapses. The mirrors don't just crack; they scream. Each reflective surface ripples like disturbed water, distorting our faces into grotesque amalgamations of what we were, what we are, what we might become. The sound is unbearable—a symphony of breaking glass mixed with voices that bleed into one another until I can't tell where one Selene ends and another begins.