Mirror Poems Novels & Stories

Her back was facing him, and her right arm was moving in a circular motion as if she was stirring something on the electric stove. The profoundness of his footsteps, causing the hard slapping sound of his slippers against the tiled floor alarmed her that made her turn around and face him, her eyes widened in bewilderment for a moment before they curved and imitated the shape of a crescent moon along with her lips forming into a small smile.

Each step left no shadow. In the distance, she could see them—fragments of glass jutting from the earth like the ribs of a fallen god. The Mirror Hall wasn’t a building. It was a ruin suspended between dimensions, half-solid, half-reflection. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “It’s a trap,” Kian replied grimly. “Probably both.”

Her friends said she had become obsessed with “the woman in the mirror.” That evening, as the sun set, I stood in front of the mirror again. This time, I spoke directly to it. “Who are you?” My reflection didn’t move at first. Then it slowly smiled, a smile I had never made. It raised a finger and wrote on the inside of the glass, the letters appearing backward so I could read them: **“I am what’s left when you look away.”** I smashed the mirror with a chair that night. The glass shattered into hundreds of pieces across the floor.

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

Haneul suspected this was happening to LJ, who tend to spend too much time with humans for his own good. "She's here. Just try to focus. You can do it." Haneul told LJ, surveying their surroundings again. They were at a tiny bar somewhere in the outskirts of Munich. If their surveillance were correct, their target would be arriving any minute there to celebrate her birthday. This particular creature is a Mirror, one of the very few born on earth wearing Lilith's biological form. Mirrors were more dangerous than the ordinary Lilim, so they had to bide their time and observe. But it had been about an hour, and there was no sign of the Lilim anywhere.

I pulled the cord and began to climb the ladder. Once I made it to the attic, I began shining the light through the room, but I still didn't see anything. Walking through, I felt something touch the bottom of my foot; it was glass. Why was there glass? I looked up to see a mirror that used to be in my room; I remember it like it was yesterday. Mom and Dad took it out when I was little because I woke up from nightmares; I was six, talking about gruesome things that a six-year-old girl shouldn't know about. I shoved that memory aside and looked back at the mirror then started to leave, but I saw something, a glimpse of something "Hello?" I breathed; my chest was beginning to hurt. I heard the

His eyes sweep the scene: Liora’s bloodied hands, the empty mirror, and the two of us kneeling on the floor. “What happened?” Liora can’t speak. I do it for her. “The mirror took him.” He stares at the glass. His jaw tightens. “Damn it.” “Can you bring him back?” I ask. Kael’s expression flickers from anger, grief, and then resignation. “No one comes back from the mirrors.” “Then what are they for?” My voice cracks. “Just to torture us?” He doesn’t answer. The mirror nearest him ripples faintly, and for a second, I see his reflection move independently, smiling when he isn’t. He notices it too. His eyes darken, and the smile in his reflection vanishes.

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.

I reached out and pressed the radio button on the steering wheel. My voice was cold, cutting through the static. "Mason Vale, do you see a ghost in your mirror?" I said coldly into the radio. Those words pierced straight through Mason's last line of composure. His car hesitated for an obvious instant on the straight. Now. I smashed the throttle down. The car tore through the air and pulled alongside him. Ahead was a chain of fast S-curves. Seeing that I was about to pass, a vicious look flashed through Mason's eyes.

The Mirror of Desires was one of the most revealing rituals of the solstice. In the Hall of Reflections, tall enchanted mirrors lined the walls, showing not only one’s physical form but also flickering visions of deepest, hidden longings. Guests were encouraged to stand before them and confront what their hearts truly craved before the final nights.