La Otra Mirada Novels & Stories

As she turned the sink’s faucet on, stuck her hands under the water (dammit if he couldn’t hear the water trickling over her hands, against the porcelain), she froze, gazing into the mirror over the sink, entranced by something only she could see. The voices in Andrew’s head kept screaming and the water from the faucet kept trickling into the sink, though the video feed made no sound . . . *** For a moment Deyquan forgot they were watching recorded footage, tempted to yell at Lizzy Tillman: Get the fuck out! Run! Freaky-ass kid’s getting closer! Get your ass out of there, now..! The video flickered. Rippling with static. The mirror’s glass melted and formed liquid hands—the best Deyquan coul

The door was shut, no one was there, so WHO-- The bright colors of paint seemed to glow in the dark, and Ben found himself staring directly at the vanity. The yellow and bleak shadows of his garage, reflected back at him from the mirror like an eerie memoire of his world. The little hearts drawn on the glass, little comfort when his focus zeroed in even further on the mirror. Yellow lights, the sway of shadows. And Ben watched in horror as the lights melded into a firm set of bright gold eyes. Slits, the pupils, staring directly at him as Ben froze in place.

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

She raised a hand—and three of her mirror copies lunged forward. Carl intercepted one, blade humming. Ophelia ducked the second, slamming her palm against its head and activating her memory disruptor. Tobias scrambled for cover, launching a neuro-blast that flickered through the air like lightning. But Mira didn’t move. She just watched. And smiled. “You’re not ready for what’s coming,” she said. “None of you are.” Then her body turned to light—and vanished. The remaining mirror copies fell to the ground like broken puppets.