La Otra Mirada Novels & Stories

Gone. I stood there, rooted in place, drenched and trembling, unable to breathe. I had seen a mirror, a living, breathing mirror, not just someone who looked like me. This was me, and she had seen me first. I couldn’t move. I felt frozen. The rain kept pouring, running into my eyes and trickling down my neck, but I remained still, staring at the boutique’s glowing door long after it had closed behind her. My breath came in shallow gasps, each one trembling as if the air itself had turned heavy. It wasn’t just shock. It felt deeper. Something primal. When her gaze locked with mine, a connection formed between us. I sensed that this was more than just a coincidence.

When she arrived at the ward that day, all she had seen was the aftermath of a fight, so her first reaction had been to blame me. Now another possibility hit her. What if I was never in the wrong? That thought made her heart sink. Then she suddenly remembered that there was a surveillance camera in the corridor facing Delilah's ward. That camera must have captured everything. She went to the hospital and checked that day's footage. The voices were faint, so she could not clearly hear my conversation with Delilah. But the video was clear enough. Delilah had not been angry at me at all. Then Henry showed up.

“I didn’t expect you to be the killer. It wasn’t enough that you killed your parents-in-law. Why did you have to kill my mother too?” I looked at the three of them. They all had the same reaction. I froze for a moment. How was that possible? A mirror was just a mirror. It showed whoever stood in front of it. How could it show my face no matter who looked into it? But their grief did not look fake. What was so strange about that mirror? How could it make my wife, my trainee, and my neighbor all believe I was the killer? “I didn’t kill your mother. It wasn’t me.”

The air felt different now, crisp and clean, as if the weight of the past had finally lifted, leaving space for something new. Elara stood in front of the mirror in her apartment, studying her reflection with quiet contemplation. The woman looking back at her was both familiar and foreign—familiar in the sense that it was her own face, but foreign because she was seeing herself, truly seeing herself, for the first time in years. This was the face of a woman who had reclaimed her life, her identity, and her sense of self after years of betrayal, manipulation, and pain. This was the face of someone who had been broken but had learned how to piece herself back together, stronger than before.

"If you don't want me to say it, then don't proceed with the donation." "Alright," I answered. Jordan's expression soured. "Hazel, what the hell do you mean?" I smiled weakly. "I still want to behold the world with my eyes. Can't I do that?" Pursing his lips, Jordan stared at me with a gaze as deep as the abyss. "Say that again." "I don't want to give her my eyes." Without a moment of hesitation, Jordan slapped me harshly.

“You saw the way I healed myself. I can do the same to you if you promise me that" I fucked all the pain I was feeling and sat up from my bed. "Yes I saw that and that didn't appear natural to me at all” I looked him straight in the eyes." And I'll only let you heal me if you tell me what you are” I said and watched as his eyes softened. He parted his lips to speak."I am a hybrid Mirabel" he blurted out and my mouth dropped. How did I not notice? I was certain he was a Werewolf, but what was his other side?

I gripped the sides of the vanity, leaning in close until my breath fogged the glass. For a moment, all I saw was myself, wild black hair tangled around my shoulders, gold-flecked eyes wide with terror, lips trembling from words left unspoken. Then my vision flickered. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the sudden haze that clouded my sight. But the fog didn’t disappear. Instead, the reflection staring back at me… changed. It was still me. But it wasn’t. “Mira…” I whispered. She tilted her head slightly, studying me with a gaze so sharp it felt like knives scraping across my skin. Her expression was familiar and foreign all at once, like a half-remembered dream morphing into a nightmare.

Some younger, some are older, some twisted beyond recognition. In one reflection, Kael’s eyes were black, veins crawling up his neck. In another, Lira’s face was streaked with blood, her dagger buried in his chest. Lira exhaled sharply. “What the hell…” “They’re possibilities,” Kael murmured. “Versions of what could’ve been.” As they passed the mirrors, the reflections began to move on their own. One Kael turned his head, staring directly at them, then smiled, wrong, too wide, the glass rippled.

Then, softly: “To understand.” --- In that moment, the resonance synchronized between La Paz and Quito. Elena gasped as her vision blurred—her mind flooded with flashes of unfamiliar places. She saw Sophia standing before the mirror, Raven beside her, Elise shouting something she couldn’t hear. And in the reflection—she saw herself. In La Paz, Sophia froze. “It’s projecting—someone’s image!” Elise stared. “That’s—Elena.” The mirror pulsed once more, and their two reflections overlapped entirely, forming one shimmering image that neither belonged wholly to Sophia nor Elena.

Her heart hammered in her chest, but her body seemed to betray her, urging her closer to the cracked surface. Suddenly, there was a sharp sound, like a door creaking open. Anna stopped in her tracks. The reflection in the mirror shifted, showing not just Anna, but an alternate version of her—a version with wild, dark eyes and a twisted grin. "You’re not alone," the reflection whispered, its voice a distorted mockery of her own. Anna stumbled back, her mind racing. What is happening? But before she could react, the reflection stepped out of the mirror, a shadowy figure that loomed over her, its eyes locked on hers with an intensity that sent chills down her spine.