Mirror Poetry Novels & Stories

The forest path grew narrow as Anastasia followed the trail Matif had etched into her memory twisting through ferns and weeping willows until the trees parted into a clearing blanketed in eerie stillness. A crescent-shaped basin of water shimmered at the center, still as glass, rimmed with blue petals and glowing moss. The Mirror Pool. It was older than the kingdom itself spoken of in whispers, used only by those whose fates balanced on the edge of life and ruin.

It was like staring at a perfect reflection, one man mirroring the other. Please like, comment and follow. Xx

I didn’t hesitate. The chamber below was suffocating—lit only by veins of glowing quartz embedded in the walls. At the center stood the mirror. It was not constructed as a normal glass. It was ten feet high and its very edges were of obsidian teeth, and glimmered it did with a silver so deep it seemed to fall. The Mirror of Mercy. I approached it slowly. “What do I give?” “Blood,” Killian whispered behind me, his voice distant. I drew my knife, and cut my hand. When the blood spilt on the bottom of the mirror it became absorbed by the obsidian, just as water settles in the sandy desert.

The mirror came back in pieces and remembered itself wrong before it slid into place. The penlight clicked off. The afterimage burned behind my eyes, a rectangle of white floating over her face. “They didn’t just take your time,” she said, voice a little hoarse. “They made a copy while you were under. Not code. Weight and timing. Muscle memory. They cloned your rhythms and wrote them into someone else. A mirror you. They called this place the mirror cell because they were proud of it.” I sank back onto the bench. The bench complained; my knees did not. That bothered me more than anything.

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—”

But in that warped glass, I saw petals falling—not from the scar, but from the mirror itself. Like a tree blooming in reverse. The petals didn’t fall to the ground. They hovered. Then began swirling, forming a circle behind my reflection. I stepped closer. And my reflection... did not follow. --- It stayed still. Watching me. And then—it smiled. A smile that didn’t belong to me. Didn’t belong to anyone living. “You shouldn’t have freed her,” the reflection said softly. My lips didn’t move. But I heard the voice in my own throat.

And then replied: > “Only if it means someone else gets to speak.” Mirrorwall (resonance) There was no echo when her voice touched the stone. But it left shape. A soft ripple. And a glint. Not reflection. Recognition. The kind a mirror holds when it no longer shows what was. Only what is still arriving.

“You seek freedom, but you are still chained.” “I broke the bond,” I hissed, though even I didn’t believe it anymore. “I paid in blood.” The shadows thickened. A mirror rose from the floor. Not glass—liquid obsidian that shimmered and curled. It showed me not myself, but Leofric. Not now, but a future. His mouth open in a scream, chest pierced by a bone-white spear. “No,” I breathed. “That’s not real.” The mirror twisted, showing me the battlefield. Fire consuming the horizon. Wolves falling. A robed figure laughing, her face obscured but her voice unmistakable.

Lucien flickers in and out of torchlight, a blade in each hand, ghosting through mirrors before they fully form. Seren burns. But even her flame hesitates. Because mirrors do not fear fire. They feed on it. “Fall back!” she calls. “They drink identity, don’t speak your names! Don’t remember too loudly!” Too late. A young hybrid screams for his sister. The mirror echoes him, perfectly. And then eviscerates him with a smile. By the third hour, the ground is a slick mosaic of blood and glass dust. The mirrors crack under force, but never stop smiling. They do not speak.

Not pressing my mind on that matter I tried to think of what else to do with this image as I remembered the word dagger in eth song and leaning down to trace the weapon that had been glowing I almost felt like I had touch something warm and unearthly when suddenly the picture lost all its shine and from where the dagger had been the floor board moved and from under it came a small space that was dark although it looked to be a small and shallow spot. Wondering if I should put my hand in I hesitated and then put it inside to feel something cold brush against my fingers and picking up the object I pulled into the light of the moonlight to find that it was in fact an old mirror. “Mirror?” I cou