Fractured Mirrors Novels & Stories

Shattered vases lay in pieces on the floor, the mirrors were cracked, and jewels were scattered across the room, glinting in the light streaming through the windows. Regina ran her hands through her hair in frustration, her perfect coiffure now a messy tangle. She caught sight of her disheveled reflection in a cracked mirror, her usually impeccable appearance marred by smudged makeup and her once-elegant gown now wrinkled and crumpled.

It's not enough to drown out the guilt, not enough to erase the memories. In a fit of rage and despair, my hand curls into a fist. And with every ounce of strength I have left, I punch the mirror in front of me. The impact sends a shockwave up my arm, but it's nothing compared to the emotional torment I'm experiencing. The mirror shatters, splintering into a thousand shards of silvery glass, each piece reflecting a fragment of the monster I've become.

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.

Instead, her hand jerked up, as though grasping for something invisible in the dark. And the mirror in the corner of the room cracked. Not shattered. Just one thin line. Like a spider’s leg drawn across the glass. Yvette stared at it until morning. --- By morning, the crack in the mirror had grown. Not outward like glass breaking, but inward. Deeper. Yvette stood in front of it, touching the cool surface. Behind her reflection, there was movement. Faint. Subtle. Like something pacing just beyond the veil. Not Elias. Not this time.

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.

Glass rained down across the dresser, across the carpet, catching the lamplight in a hundred broken pieces, and I stood there breathing hard, staring at my own fractured reflection multiplied a dozen times over, none of the pieces showing me a whole face anymore. I didn’t stop at the mirror. I swept my arm across the dresser, sending the perfume bottles and jewelry boxes crashing to the floor, my vanity mirror next, the framed photograph of Isaac and me at the engagement party splitting down the middle when it hit the ground. I don’t know how long I stood there afterward. Long enough that my hand had started throbbing where a shard had caught my knuckles. Long enough that the apartment had g

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.

Julian staggered backward, silent. And then.. The figure in the mirror stepped forward. A hand lifted from the glass, distorting the surface. Ripples spread outward. From the other side, paper-thin but undeniably solid, the other Julian pressed a bloodied rose against the glass. “You can’t stop me,” he whispered, voice muffled by the pane. Behind him, the mirror fractured. The reflection cracked, like a shattered conscience. Julian charged. His voice furled in my ear: “Run.”

The Fractured Hall Maeve advanced carefully, shard raised. With every step, shards of mirrors floated around her, spinning, reflecting corridors that didn’t exist. One reflected a memory from her childhood—her parents’ faces smiling at her—but the edges flickered with black tendrils. Another mirrored a prom night she had spent with Cade, their hands brushing, laughter echoing, but shadows clawed at the edges, attempting to corrupt the memory.

"That’s all I ask." He stood up and left the room, leaving me alone with the sleeping baby. I looked in the mirror at my own reflection. The "Mirror of Malice" hadn't shattered at all. It had just grown larger, and now I was the one being asked to play the dirtiest game of all. I looked round and there was Maria peeping through the door hole, probably listening to Alpha Ricardo and I.