Crushed Crystal Mirror Novels & Stories

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.

The reflection reached out, long claw like hands. “Don’t move,” I yelled, stepping forward. The reflection’s mouth opened like it wanted to scream, but the sound came out backwards. Then it recoiled like it wanted to escape. It screamed a word that wasn’t a word but sounded like one. “ON!” Then it ran back into the glass like hell itself was chasing it. The mirror cracked down the center and went still. The same weird scream echoed from all the mirrors then they broke too. Bree looked terrified. “What the actual froshk was that?”

(LACRIMOSA) LOCK and imprisoned, yet a glass wall away from each other. Tears fall and escape within the Princess's eyes, like worry, hate, and desperation across the Prince’s face. Trap in glass imprisonment as a thick wall of clear mirror separates the both of them. Everything shattered outside and around them, as glass shards of the mirror are falling with each piece that are reflecting the memories of the past and what they both hold near and dear unto their hearts.

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

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

But the older witches long for this time when they will once again be able to see and experience the grandure of how it was before the reign of the black witches. Mira suddenly felt a feeling of belongingness and unaware that tears are steaming from her eyes washing the stain in the mother crystal a tear that was like magic spreads and cleanse the years of oppression and bad deeds. Then when the mother crystal was totally cleaned and clear of any stain, Mira was envelope with incandescent reflection. An apparition appeared in front of her, glowing with equally bright reflection. The eyewitness ot what is happening was in awe. 'Mira my daughter I have been waiting for a long time for you

The crystal warmed on my chest, pulled from the box, its hum syncing with our gasps. Climax crashed—hers first, walls milking me, my cum spilling hot inside her. But as we peaked, the crystal shattered with a crack like thunder, shards flying. A wail filled the room, spectral—Mira, solidifying from mist, eyes wild. 'Forgive... protect...'

The Watcher's smile turns predatory as he produces something that shouldn't exist—a mirror crafted from obsidian so pure it seems to absorb light itself, its surface rippling with veins of silver fire that pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat. The frame appears to be carved from crystallized starlight, edges sharp enough to cut reality itself, and when I look at it, my reflection doesn't show. Instead, the surface writhes with possibilities, showing glimpses of futures and pasts that exist in the spaces between what is and what could be.

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.

These carvings pulsed with the sorrow of centuries. At the room’s heart stood the Mirror Cradle: a basin hewn from black stone and wrought iron, filled not with water but with reflective ink, tainted by the blood and memories of prophets sacrificed to seal away unthinkable power. Around its rim, glyphs carved in the language before language throbbed softly, responding to her heartbeat, marking her as both heir and herald of Dustborn wrath.