Mirror Image By Lena Coakley Novels & Stories

Later that night, as darkness enveloped the Mirabella Estate, Autumn found herself transfixed by her reflection in the antique mirror hanging in her room. The glass fogged gently around the edges, but her reflection remained clear and sharp, an eerie contrast. Just as the image began to wane, it revealed a chilling sight—a smile, wide and inexplicable, unfurled across her mirrored self.

She trailed off, sliding a small photograph across the desk. It was blurry, old, and oddly stained, but in the image, Mira stood outside the estate’s greenhouse, staring up at something or someone out of frame . “I don’t know if it means anything,” Rachel said. “But Mira didn’t like that greenhouse. She always avoided it. Said it reminded her of someone.” Alex took the photo, inspecting it. “It’s not clear enough. Could be anything. Could be nothing.” Leah frowned, leaning over his shoulder. “Is that… Victoria’s coat in the corner?”

Patricia spoke. “Me too,” Amanda replied, looking out of the window. Back in the basement, Cohen couldn’t take his eyes off from the painting hanging on the wall. His fingers trembled as he reached for the painting. The person inside the painting looked like Mira but there were differences. The hair was blonde. The eyes were violet. “How is this possible?” Cohen said to himself just a moment before an excruciating pain shot in his heart. In seconds, he lost control of his wolf.

Lining the walls were over forty large-scale, high-definition photographs, each mounted in a sleek, matte-black frame. Lena had kept her promise flawlessly. There was not a single recognizable face in the entire collection. The anonymity was absolute, but the profound, earth-shattering intimacy of the images was completely uncompromised. She had focused entirely on the visceral, heavy mechanics of the power exchange, utilizing her voyeuristic eye to capture the exact, fleeting micro-seconds where dominance and submission collided. Victor and I stopped in front of the first piece.

I painted for hours, lost in the work, letting all the fear and confusion pour out through my brush. When I finally stepped back, I realized I had created something terrifying. A woman stood in the center of the canvas, surrounded by mirrors. But each reflection showed something different. One was trapped, one was free, one was screaming, one was peaceful. The woman in the center looked lost, unable to tell which reflection was real. "That is powerful," Alex said from the doorway. I had not heard him come in. "Is that how you feel? Like you do not know which version of yourself is real?"

The wolves exchanged uneasy glances, then followed. At the far end, the great mirror—the one that had hung above the council dais for generations—had cracked down the center. Its surface shimmered faintly, catching reflections that didn’t belong. In it, Kaelen’s image wavered and multiplied, shifting in and out of focus. He reached out, fingertips brushing the cold glass. The reflection flinched back—then steadied, staring at him with eyes that glowed faintly silver. Mireya swore under her breath. “Kaelen—”

The mirror in Lila's attic room was cracked in one corner. She had learned to angle her face just so... letting the fracture line fall across her left cheekbone like deliberate stage makeup, the kind a costume designer might paint on for a period drama. It was a small private joke she had never shared with anyone.

Whose print was the extra one? Could the killer from fifteen years ago be someone else? I searched carefully. In a gap under the coffee table, I found a few half-burned family photos. In the photos, Warren and his mother looked close and affectionate with each other. I took out the mirror. I followed what Warren said earlier. I tried to set it upright. I wanted to use the reflection to see if anyone was approaching from outside. There was nothing on the windowsill to support it. If I leaned it at an angle, I still could not see the outside clearly.

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.

He burned his brows to remember that woman's face. He would never forget that woman's face structure that seemed to be etched by a master artist to dedicate to a goddess of unfathomable beauty. A wonderfully structured face, pinkish lips and cheeks, and most especially her remarkable doe-like eyes that held her irises he likened to a void. Yes, the woman looked just like her. She looked like Cary... "Adler…? Adler!"