Romans & histoires Mirrored Poetry

Everything seemed intact. But the note… The spy wasn’t coming from the outside. They were already here. Inside the warded tent, Mira moved toward the potion cache when she felt it. A shift. A breath that didn’t belong. She spun around—dagger drawn. But she was alone. Or so it seemed. Then her reflection blinked. And smiled. The mimic stepped from the shadows—a perfect copy of Mira, every freckle and line mirrored. But the eyes were wrong. Just a little too dark.

So, I am not able to see the one standing behind the mirrors of the room, but they can see me and communicate with me. Four mirror-like walls are enclosing this room: the mirror of reality, the mirror of fear, the mirror of sins and guilt and the mirror of retribution and punishment. The first mirror is the mirror of reality. That one is displaying the true self of the one imprisoned. I looked at that one and… goddamn, do I look like shit, I look like long haired butterfaced ogre, all swollen, with broken bones jutting through my lacerated skin, which was plagued with cuts and bruises. My hair is knotted, sticky, and full of blood and dust. It is matted, dirty and all over the place. I look

Elara stood at the center, wires snaking from her back into the walls, feeding, growing, glowing. “You’re not real,” Mira said. Elara tilted her head. “Neither are you. Not completely.” “I made peace with that. You’re just a program. An echo.” “I’m a mirror,” Elara corrected. “And every mirror longs to become the original.” She lunged. The fight wasn’t physical. It was code against code. Light clashed in pulses. Memory threads snapped and rewrote mid-combat. Each blow Mira landed distorted Elara’s face—glitching it from Ophelia to Carl to her own.

The shattering of the mirrors did not bring silence; it brought a deafening, harmonic resonance that vibrated through the very marrow of Cattleya”s bones. Each shard of glass, suspended in the air by the force of the energy she had unleashed, began to rotate, spinning like a miniature, razor-edged turbine.

Liora, always the thinker, pondered, "It's about choices. We need to make a collective decision that brings balance." The mirror responded to our intent. The stormy side showcased scenes of power and dominance, while the sunny side revealed peace and unity. "We need both," Seraphina concluded. "Power to protect and unity to thrive." Taking a deep breath, we joined hands, focusing our energies on the mirror. The contrasting images began to merge, the stormy clouds parting to let in rays of sunshine, the divisions fading to create a harmonious Meranthia. The mirror then shattered, but instead of falling apart, it transformed into a portal, revealing the familiar landscape of Meranthia, its bea

The luminous air here vibrated differently—slow, viscous, like water under moonlight. “We’re close,” she said. The emissary nodded. “Very.” The fog parted, and the Ruined Mirrors appeared. The ruins were enormous. Shattered stone pillars rose like broken teeth from the ground. Silver pools reflected images that weren’t correct—mountains moved, shadows walked, and stars reversed. Crystal shards floated in the air, rotating slowly like pieces of a broken constellation. The ground itself glowed with faint runes—old, ancient, and cracked. Kade gulped. “This place feels… wrong.”

​The Forest of Mirrors was dying. The ink-black fluid spilling from Sarah’s mirror didn’t just coat the obsidian ground; it ate through the reflection of reality itself, turning the majestic, silvered trees into brittle, charcoal husks. The psychic weight of the collapse was suffocating. Every cracked pane of glass shrieked as it disintegrated, releasing the trapped whispers of a thousand stolen moments. ​Sarah stood amidst the ruins, untouched by the decay. She watched Laura and Dave with a gaze that held the clinical detachment of a mapmaker surveying a doomed border.

'The Iridescent Stars; mmh… Typical of tonight. Nneoma read the poem, her voice smooth and steady. I gaze up the night sky What meet my gaze? Myriads of shinning stars They shine like iridescent diamonds Diamonds of sublime beauty They twinkle and shine, twinkle and shine. Giving light to all nocturnal creatures The brilliant stars tell me Tales of life yonder They tell me of great meadows With yew trees, yew trees with amber Fruits, of azure rivers ever flowing Of golden fishes ever swimming

The voice started to wonder as it asks her that one-word question. “Why?” Gladly recognizing, she replies. "The same, but split into two. The time that runs in between, but the other is in reverse. It is just the same, to clear and only falls into that one corner and left thing? An image of the other that’s running and living in an alternate time and dimension, is own that is called a mirror.” Laughing once more with amusement and glee unlike it ever did as far as this game is going through. The voice suddenly stops as an eerie silence takes place, and after a moment it once more asks her, but this time it wants the name of the holder.

Always give the blade a reason. I also left an open room for awe. Awe is a corridor through which allegiance marches without chains. I quoted poetry in the garden and pretended I believed in fate the way humans do, like weather, not architecture. Meanwhile, in the wings, my engineers finished the mirror-room. The mirror-room is a Stage-II theater: walls of silvered glass with their mercury buried beneath ash and salt, edges caulked with beeswax stolen from hives that nest in church domes, a floor mapped with a nine-pointed star that does not announce itself to the careless eye.