Crushed Crystal Mirror Novels & Stories

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.

The girl no one wanted. Then the glass moved. I stumbled back as my reflection "smiled"at me—a grin too wide, too knowing. "You don’t belong here, little storm." My breath caught. The room spun. And in the walk-way light, my eyes glowed—violet, just for a second. Then the mirror cracked. I was alone again. But not for long. I swallow hard and walk forward. The path curves ahead, lined with statues of figures cloaked in shadow. Their faces are worn smooth by time, but I swear one of them turns its head as I pass.

I didn’t hesitate. The chamber below was suffocating—lit only by veins of glowing quartz embedded in the walls. At the center stood the mirror. It was not constructed as a normal glass. It was ten feet high and its very edges were of obsidian teeth, and glimmered it did with a silver so deep it seemed to fall. The Mirror of Mercy. I approached it slowly. “What do I give?” “Blood,” Killian whispered behind me, his voice distant. I drew my knife, and cut my hand. When the blood spilt on the bottom of the mirror it became absorbed by the obsidian, just as water settles in the sandy desert.

“Now I can scrutinize myself freely” Mane remarked as he stood within the walls of the relatively large bathroom. There was a bucket of water right next to him, and a large rectangular crystal called a Reflection Crystal bound to the wall that served a similar function to a mirror. Although the image that appeared in the crystal wasn’t as clear as a mirror image, it was pretty good and would serve the purpose for which Mane wanted it to.

I gasp, surprised and confused “But, why?” Walking through the library, heading toward the darkened back, flames light up against the wall as we pass, illuminating our path. “Because of this,” Althea stops, holding up her hand. Both Crimson and I turn to face what she is showing us. “A mirror?” Crimson scoffs, “What makes this mirror special enough to kill and almost wipe out a Pride?” His words die off when his eyes land on the enormous frosted, looking glass. Framed by an unknown dark metal that swirls and bends around the clouded mirror, carved with images of Jaguars, Bears, Wolfs, and humans, all the way to the top. In the center of the frame, sits an emblem of twisted vines and swords t

he repeated. “I will remember your teachings.” Fred leaped to his feet and said, with an impish smile said, “Come with me.” Supporting him by the arm, we descended to his basement store, which had rows of shelves. In storage was his collection of hundreds of artifacts. There were the usual compasses, porcelain, paintings, statues, and rare stones. In the second row, he paused and picked up a mirror. “What is this?” “The Kami Mirror. Or the God's Mirror. It is a mirror encrusted in rare metal.“

EPISODE 1 — THE MIRROR The mirror hangs on the dressing room wall, framed in silver so heavy two men would struggle to move it from its mount. In the coffee shop where Mira’s life ended, the only mirrors were the small, smudged squares above the bathroom sinks — scratched with initials and hearts, reflecting faces tired from work and worry. Here, this glass is perfect, polished to a clarity that shows not just reflections but the faint ghost of what was there before. The silver frame carries cold like a block of ice pulled from winter water, and when she presses her palm against it, the metal leaves white marks on her skin that take seconds to fade.

“Tristan?” Her voice dissolved into the thick, unmoving air. The ritual mirror lay shattered before her, not in pieces—but in slivers, as if the very concept of reflection had been sliced to ribbons. She crawled toward it, hand shaking, and reached for one of the shards. As her fingers brushed the glass, the room flickered. And in the glass— Not her face. Not anymore. She saw Tristan. Strapped to a chair. Bleeding from the mouth. Still alive.

Then I pulled. The heavy fabric fell away in one sweeping motion. Dust exploded through the air. And the mirror— Awakened. I staggered back instinctively. The glass was not normal. Not reflective in any ordinary sense. At first, I saw only myself. Pale. Wide-eyed. Crowned. Frightened. But then— Silver fumes began moving beneath the surface. My blood ran cold. Not on the mirror. Inside it. Like smoke trapped beneath water. Swirling. Curling.

And here it had finally reached its end. I stepped toward the crystal, feeling its hum rise to meet me, warm and vast. It did not judge or choose sides. It simply was — pure, unshaped power, waiting to be understood or misunderstood. "You see it as something to command," I said, turning to Valerius and Elara. "Something to guard, to limit. But it is not a weapon or a treasure locked away. It is a mirror. It shows you exactly what you are. When you came with fear, it built walls. When you came with pride, it built barriers. Now we come with something different."