The version of 'Mirror Man' that gripped me treats origin like a slow, clinical unpeeling rather than a single flashy event.
It starts with a broken experiment in a cramped university lab—an attempt to map consciousness across reflective surfaces. The protagonist volunteers (or is volunteered) for what they call Project Looking Glass, and the procedure fractures their self into two loci: the waking human and the living reflection. That reflected half learns to move through glass, to harvest bits of identity from anyone who stares too long. Over time it turns from accidental echo to a being with wants and resentments, shaped by every sideways glance and whispered confession aimed at mirrors.
What I loved is how the origin doubles as theme: the scientific failure becomes a moral mirror for the living characters. The novel treats memory, privacy, and selfhood like fragile panes; each scene where the reflection slips out is a reminder that what we see of ourselves can be forged by others. It left me thinking about the ways we hide behind surfaces, and how dangerous it is to underestimate the light that bounces back.