Mirror Sylvia Plath Novels & Stories

he muttered, stepping toward it. Sophia followed cautiously, her heart racing as the candle’s light seemed to draw them toward a massive, dusty mirror leaning against the wall. The glass was so dark and smudged that they could barely make out their reflections. “What is this?” Ethan asked, his voice low, but before Sophia could respond, the surface of the mirror rippled, like water disturbed by a pebble. They both froze. From the depths of the mirror, a figure began to emerge—first faint, then clearer—a reflection of Sophia, but not quite her. This version of Sophia wore an old-fashioned gown, her face pale, her eyes hollow with sadness.

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

The silence accompanying was like a devil whispering to his ears with a scratchy voice saying that he would forever be miserable. He stared at his now-empty teacup, then to Carylle, who was back looking outdoors, admiring her beautiful face, before following her gaze. He found himself looking at the refreshing view outside again. It made him recall the picture he'd seen when he was smoking on the rooftop. The city looked awfully depressing, while this side was utterly charming. They were like a picturesque definition of the perspectives of life. It was like him and her. He was stuck on the negative side of his past action, while she enlightened him that there would be some way to fix it. The

“World’s still turning, barely. Same lame bullshit , dumb drama, guys thinking grunting louder makes them smarter.” I lifted my arm just enough to side-eye her. Her phone buzzed. Loud. She glanced at it, eyebrows shooting up. “Speak of the devil,” she muttered, thumbing accept. “Sylv? What’s… ” I sat up so fast the springs squeaked like they were personally offended. Mira’s face went from casual to oh-shit in half a second. She listened, nodding, mouth half-open like she couldn’t decide whether to interrupt or just let Sylvia ramble.

Sylvia suggest softly. Needing privacy from the curious eyes, her pieces of memory come alive, and she goes and stands in the shadows of her living room. She looks at Sylvia but she wasn’t really seeing her. Slowly she allows the images to emerge from their hiding place. “Firstly, when I wake, I look, but I can’t see anything. Everything is in darkness, but when I blinked, a man appears. He is in a blazing inferno, right in front of me. I can see the silhouette of people in the house.” She paused, trying to comprehend her tale.

> “Yes. She dreamed of music and never sang aloud. Until you came.” Her throat closed. “Why are you showing me this?” > “Because the heart remembers what the mind denies.” The reflection smiled sadly. “You’re not her. But her soul echoes through you.” --- Mira spent the entire day silent — unnervingly so. Adrian noticed by noon. > “You’re quiet. That’s either a miracle or a warning.” She didn’t answer. Just stared out the window at the snow. Finally, she said softly, “The mirror told me her name.”

Sylvia held her breath, waiting for his verdict. "Open your eyes," he said. Slowly, Sylvia opened her eyes and looked at the mirror. For a moment, she didn't recognize herself. The woman in the mirror was stunning, with flawless skin, sparkling eyes, and luscious lips. It was as if she had been transformed into a completely different person. Sylvia couldn't help but gasp at the sight, her hand reaching up to touch her face. She felt the softness of her skin, the fullness of her lips, and the fluttering of her lashes. It was a surreal experience, like stepping into a dream.

“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.”

Unlike the previous challenging and disdainful gaze, this time it seemed more exploratory. Even Angela couldn’t help but ask when she came to visit Candice at lunch, "Is there something wrong with Sonia’s eyes? I feel like she's been staring at you." Candice shook her head and replied, "I don't know." While talking with Angela and walking outside, Candice saw Sawyer waiting for her, but she tried to pretend she didn't notice. Sawyer approached her, his expression serious. "Candice, Old Mr. Elysian has come to Solaris. He's already at the hotel." Sawyer seemed to hesitate after speaking.

She was completely haggard, hopeless, and alone; there was nothing left of the proud woman he used to know. "How did you end up like this?" Ethan asked, his voice carrying genuine concern. "You were never like this before." Sylvia’s shoulders began to shake as a chilling chuckle escaped her lips. "He's asking why I'm here. Can you believe it?" she whispered to the floor. While her face was hidden, her hand moved subtly beneath her gown, her fingers locking around a sharp shard of broken glass from the floor. An evil smile spread across her face. "I'll show you!" she shrieked.