Mirror-mirror Fruit Novels & Stories

“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.”

“Do either of you remember our conversation about my choices from less than a day ago?” “Yes,” Killian replied. “I choose to hate this one in advance.” Jordan almost smiled, but his eyes dropped to the final sentence and the amusement disappeared. “What does it say?” I asked. Jordan slowly lowered the note. “Silas says the Mirror bloodline from my mother's letter is already inside the packhouse.” Reef frowned and asked, “What does a Mirror do?” Vale closed his eyes, and the fear on his face answered before his voice did. “A Mirror doesn't add a new power to the convergence,” Vale said. “It copies the Anchor, and if Jordan dies at moonrise, the Mirror becomes him.”

The cave was dark, and the sound of trickling water echoed from within. "We're going in," Siron said. They turned on their flashlights and entered one by one. The cave was narrow at first, then widened into a large chamber with a ceiling of stalactites. In the center of the room stood a large mirror with an old silver frame, perched atop a stone pedestal. The mirror didn't reflect them, but showed shifting images, beautiful landscapes, faces of loved ones, treasures. "The Mirror of Desires," Stefan whispered. Siron drew near. In the mirror, he saw a vision of another self, becoming a respected leader, with Morat and Lyra in full physical form beside him, and Kit...

I munched the strawberries happily but I could see a look of reluctance fixed on Harper's face. “You don't like strawberries?” I asked shortly. I was being like Harper too, meddling it business that shouldn't be my concern. “No, that's not it… I'm a big fan of strawberries!” Harper replied. She picked one delicately and threw it inside her mouth. She was obviously not munching. “You don't have to eat it if you don't like it, baby,” Olivia seemed to have noticed too. “Someone once told me strawberries weren't as sweet as they looked. He didn't like it because of that.”

The mirror towered before her, its surface swirling with an otherworldly energy. Taking a steadying breath, Amelia stepped forward, her reflection mirroring her movements in perfect synchronization. As she approached the mirror, the surface rippled like water, revealing scenes from her past, present, and possible futures. Each reflection showed a different path, a different outcome, but only one was the truth she sought.

A row of glass vials stands sentinel on a rickety shelf—each containing a unique essence: wolfsbane, moonflower, etc. But my purpose lies beyond these trinkets. I seek the “Mirror of Truth,” a fabled artifact said to reveal the soul’s darkest depths. It is wrapped in a red cloth, hidden beneath a stack of yellowed parchments. The cloth bears stains—perhaps blood, perhaps tears. I unwind it carefully, revealing the mirror’s polished surface. Its edges are jagged, as if it has been shattered and painstakingly pieced back together. As I gaze into the mirror, my reflection wavers. The room behind me blurs, replaced by a moonlit forest. The mirror does not merely reflect; it conjures memories. I

It was old, the frame tarnished silver worked into a pattern of vines, the glass itself dark, like looking into a pool of standing water rather than a mirror. My reflection didn’t show up in it the way it should have. I turned it over in my hands, then carried it over to where Melissa was sleeping. “Melissa.” I touched her shoulder. “Wake up. I think I found something.” Her eyes opened, blinking blearily, and then sharpened the second they landed on the mirror in my hands. She sat up straighter.

This mirror had no reflection unless it was commanded to show one. I pressed my palm against its surface. It was cold. “Sumatra,” I whispered. The word was old. Older than my crown. Older than my name. I repeated it slowly this time. My voice sank into the mirror, pulled downward as though swallowed by a deep water. The silver veins ignited, glowing faintly, then brighter, until the surface of the mirror darkened entirely. Then it moved. The blackness peeled back, revealing stone, and roots. I recognized it instantly.

The mirror flickered, and the image was gone. Mira stumbled backward, heart pounding. “Adrian! AD—” He was already there, rushing in from the hall. “What happened?” She pointed, trembling slightly. “It—it talked back.” “The mirror?” > “No. Me. From the mirror. Future me, or cursed me, or some deranged version of me. She said not to trust the heart.” Adrian frowned, stepping closer to the glass. “The curse is merging reflections with memory. It’s creating possible outcomes.”

One of the girls asked. “In three days time, one of you will meet your destined mate. The other will have to be more patient to see hers". The mirror answered. “Thank you mirror. Have some fruits" The girls brought out a fruit basket to give to the mirror but the mirror refused to take it. The girls thanked the mirror again and walked away happily. “How come you did not demand anything from the girls but you demanded from me?". I asked the mirror with so much anger that I was unable to control.