Polishing The Mirror Novels & Stories

EPISODE 1 — THE MIRROR The mirror hangs on the dressing room wall, framed in silver so heavy two men would struggle to move it from its mount. In the coffee shop where Mira’s life ended, the only mirrors were the small, smudged squares above the bathroom sinks — scratched with initials and hearts, reflecting faces tired from work and worry. Here, this glass is perfect, polished to a clarity that shows not just reflections but the faint ghost of what was there before. The silver frame carries cold like a block of ice pulled from winter water, and when she presses her palm against it, the metal leaves white marks on her skin that take seconds to fade.

"And as soon as I break this mirror, you won't even have that." "Break it, then," Subject Zero challenged, her white eyes glowing with a manic, ancient glee. "Break every mirror in the city. Shatter every window. Drain every well. It won't matter. The resonance has reached the upper atmosphere. The ice in the clouds is already forming into a perfect, celestial lens. By sunset, the sky will be a single, flawless mirror, and the Mother will step through to claim her garden." "Not if I kill you first," Nomo roared, swinging the hammer with all his might.

There was nobody behind it anymore, but she instantly understood. She whipped around to stare at me, her eyes practically bulging out of their sockets as her entire body trembled. "Tobias… you… you replaced the mirror? You set me up?" I slipped my hands into my pockets and smiled brightly. "Ms. Sutton, that's an odd thing to say. I only wanted to make it easier for the two of you to admire each other's beautiful figures. How was I supposed to know you'd be so impatient that you'd start handing out employee benefits in broad daylight? No need to thank me. Just doing my job."

“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.”

The possessive has become a fact, a stone in the foundation of this world. I am sitting at the vanity, the one he had installed in the first month. A piece of antique mahogany furniture, with a large three-panel mirror. I am brushing my hair. Fifty brush strokes, every evening. A routine he appreciates. He likes to see me do it. He says it makes me serene. I look at my reflection in the glass. The face is paler, the features smoother, as if polished by constant wear. The eyes have lost that flame of acute panic. They are calm. Deep. A dormant lake under a winter sky.

The room didn't just turn amber; it turned "Cold." From the Mirror, a figure began to emerge—not an Architect, but a "Reflection." It was a man who looked exactly like Silas Thorne, but his eyes were two solid pools of liquid silver. "The Mirror is not a looking glass," the reflection said. "It is a 'Peer Review'."

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.

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.

Afraid to look away, I watch her face, deceptively peaceful, knowing that if I don't watch her she might break into a thousand pieces and blow away like dandelion fluff on the breeze. In the corner of the room is a tall, full-length silver mirror, polished brightly to a shine. Fueled by adrenaline and fear, Devona's muscles ripple as she lifts it deftly, hauling it to the other side of the room more quickly than I would have thought possible. Placing it down next to us, I can see the reflections of all three of us on the imperfect surface, a peaceful-looking mockery of our current situation.

She rose from her seat with her walking stick in her right hand to support her already bending back. Nimue took the mirror but almost dropped it when she felt the heat emanating from it. "It doesn't accept me" She muttered. The mirror was picky. Having sensed that it was taken out of the place it was kept for a long time, it took out it's defense mechanism. "So what are you going to do about that?" Bellona questioned. Nimue didn't give her a response, rather she went in and seconds later, she came out with some sort of liquid and sprinkled on the mirror which calmed it down. Bellona just sat, watching her intently.