La Otra Mirada Novels & Stories

HANNAH'S POV: I sat with that. "The name Mirada," Maya said carefully, "is in four languages on the trending lists right now and it's not the brand or the collection but the name itself. Mirada.” The name itself. I pressed the paper a little tighter in my hand. "She is everywhere," I said quietly. "Yes," Maya said. "She is." * * * * * * * 3RD POV: On a different side of the world, in an apartment in a city with grey evening light coming through windows that overlooked a street he had walked every day for thirty years, a man sat in front of a screen.

The room didn't just turn amber; it turned "Cold." From the Mirror, a figure began to emerge—not an Architect, but a "Reflection." It was a man who looked exactly like Silas Thorne, but his eyes were two solid pools of liquid silver. "The Mirror is not a looking glass," the reflection said. "It is a 'Peer Review'."

Suddenly, she seemed to think of something, and a glint appeared in her eye. "I'm not just spouting nonsense. Sophie was cursing me in her mind just now. She said that I'm hideous now that I've been disfigured by the accident." Before Anthony and Callum could answer, Eliana covered her face with her hands and started sobbing. She sounded as if she had suffered some terrible treatment. However, she did not notice the probing look in the men's eyes. I looked down at Kyra, whose eyes were wide. I sighed but couldn't resist telling her. "Eliana isn't the only one who can hear our thoughts. Callum and Anthony can too, so—"

The air inside felt heavy and close, thick with the scent of candle wax and wine. When the last pin came loose, I sat down by the mirror. My reflection looked different. Not because of the gown or the jewels. Because of the look in my eyes the faint, flicker of someone who didn’t know whether she had just been elevated or exposed. Mira stood behind me, silent. After a moment, she spoke softly. “He made them see you.” I met her gaze through the mirror. “He made them see me as his.” Her silence said enough.

She only loved herself. Ironically, the first time I became the example Mom held up was at this moment. A vicious glint flashed in Suri’s eyes. She didn’t cry or make a scene at the door. She knew Mom would never let her back in, and she wasn’t strong enough to fight her. Suri turned and left again. No one knew where her next meal would come from or where she would sleep that night. As Mira told me all this, she watched my face closely, afraid I might show even a trace of pity, but when she saw me calmly sipping my coffee, still wearing a faint smile, she finally relaxed.

So, I am not able to see the one standing behind the mirrors of the room, but they can see me and communicate with me. Four mirror-like walls are enclosing this room: the mirror of reality, the mirror of fear, the mirror of sins and guilt and the mirror of retribution and punishment. The first mirror is the mirror of reality. That one is displaying the true self of the one imprisoned. I looked at that one and… goddamn, do I look like shit, I look like long haired butterfaced ogre, all swollen, with broken bones jutting through my lacerated skin, which was plagued with cuts and bruises. My hair is knotted, sticky, and full of blood and dust. It is matted, dirty and all over the place. I look

"I’ll make it simple for you, Lena." His fingers brushed my throat, trailing down, featherlight. "Give yourself to me. Completely. Body, mind, soul." His grip tightened. Not enough to choke, but enough to make me shudder. "Or," he purred, "you can watch your dear Mira break." I gasped as the mirror twisted, rippling like disturbed water. Mira appeared on the other side. She was curled on the floor of my apartment—or at least, a version of it.

Luna walked forward, her small hand reaching for the crystal. The moment she touched it, everything changed. The mirrors showed visions—possible futures, probable pasts, hidden truths. I saw myself dying in childbirth, Luna never born. I saw Dante rejecting me permanently, our bond severed forever. I saw the pack destroyed, wolves scattered, everything we'd built in ashes. But these weren't my visions. They were Luna's. I looked at my daughter and saw her face twisted in anguish, tears streaming down her cheeks as the mirrors forced her to watch every possible tragedy, every hidden truth, every painful reality.

Her mouth watered, her throat tightened, and before she could stop it, she was stumbling toward the bathroom, her hands shaking as she braced herself against the sink. The cold tile against her knees grounded her as she hunched over the toilet, her body heaving. Nothing came up, but the nausea clung to her, a heavy, relentless weight. She pressed her forehead against the cool porcelain, her breaths shallow and ragged. Her hands trembled as she splashed water on her face, the droplets clinging to her eyelashes. She caught her reflection in the mirror pale, almost ghostly, her brown eyes wide and glassy. She barely recognized herself. The woman staring back looked fragile, like she might shatt

It knew her name. And it knew she’d be back. The moment she stepped into the chamber, the mirror lit up. Its surface didn’t ripple. It shone. Silver and violet, with strands of gold threading through its center like veins in crystal. And there—waiting in the glass—was the other version of her. Not older this time. Not grieving. Just still. Alive in a way that didn’t require movement. Eyes that had seen lifetimes. A mouth that hadn’t forgotten how to be silent.