Reflection A Twisted Tale Novels & Stories

But no matter how much ever I did not want to cry, the tears fell. My vocal cavity hurt like hell. I tried to limp into the tiny bathroom inside the dark room that I was in and I looked at the mirror, staring at my reflection. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I wondered how damaged I was. This was going to leave a scar that will haunt me forever. Just as I was about to leave, something caught my eyes. I moved closer to the mirror and saw another writing. I could remember the man piercing me with cold metal and I shredded at the memory.

she could not feel anything when she was touching herself. She got scared and begin to look around if she could find something. She was sure if she could hear that voice again, she would be able to find its source and maybe it would lead her to the exit. Desperate, Nia shouted back and asked," Who are you? And..... where am I right now? What is this place? Sorry..... but I cannot see you. Can you tell me where are you?" When there was no reply, she tried one more time and said," I know you must be a nice person.... but i cannot talk like this when i cannot see you. I am confused... please, tell me where i am? Where is this place? "

Whispers of forbidden love and clandestine alliances painted a mosaic on the walls, and the very air seemed to vibrate with the essence of unresolved stories. The figure gestured toward an ornate mirror, its surface shimmering like a portal to another realm. "Reflections can be deceptive, yet they hold the key to unraveling the web of time," they murmured. As I approached, the mirror revealed glimpses of faces—my own, and others unknown. Each reflection hinted at a chapter in the saga, and the figure guided me through the reflections, unraveling the intricate knots of the narrative.

Victor’s voice (aged, recognizable resonates from all directions and nowhere at once: “There are no together anymore. Only the wager.” Versions of ourselves emerge from the darkness (merciless clad in the attire we donned the evening we believed we triumphed). Reflection-Elena in her bridal gown. Reflection-Alexander bearing the crimson crowbar merged to his arm. Reflection-Mamá, youthful and untouched by cancer, scalpel fingers oozing. Reflection-Rosa, eyes machetes dyed red. Reflection-Lila, Etienne alive, by her side. Reflection-me, crown unbroken scars red.

One Kael turned his head, staring directly at them, then smiled, wrong, too wide, the glass rippled. “Kael,” Lira said. “It’s moving.” “I see it.” Before he could react, the reflection stepped out of the mirror, its form solidifying into flesh and bone. Its eyes were silver, glowing faintly. “I’m what’s left,” the reflection said, voice low and steady. “The part you buried when you ran from her death.” Kael drew his blade, pulse spiking. “You’re not real.” The reflection tilted its head. “Then why do you bleed when I do this?”

They are so full of that impossible tenderness that makes my heart ache. I can’t breathe. Kael appears between us, sword drawn. The reflection laughs. “How long until she tells you the truth?” it hisses at him. “How long until she admits she was never meant for you, but bound to you nonetheless?” Kael’s jaw clenches. “You talk too much.” The shadow lunges. He meets it head-on, blade flashing. But when steel meets glass, the reflection doesn’t break; it splits, becoming two, then four, circling us.