Reflections Lyrics Misterwives Novels & Stories

As we moved deeper, the reflections morphed, revealing alternate paths and pivotal moments. "Look closely," the Keeper urged. "Observe the echoes of your past, for they hold the key to your future." I approached a mirror where my reflection stood before a crossroad, torn between two choices. The scene played out, and I listened to the echoes of my past self's thoughts, the words tinged with regret and uncertainty. "I should have trusted my instincts," I murmured, lost in the haunting echoes. A companion stepped forward, their reflection showing a moment of sacrifice and redemption. They watched with a mixture of sorrow and acceptance.

Her hands still not stopping, she rubbed Jack’s hands vigorously. “Here.” The old master threw the parchment at Mira’s face. Blood seeped through the cut caused by the edge of the paper. Cain didn’t know why, but he winched as he saw blood seeping out of the cut made by the paper on her delicate face. Mira was not affected by the small cut. She took the parchment and read before lifting her head with a ridiculing smile “Check with your office if my husband owes you any money.” “Lady…”

Warm. “Lyran?” I gasped, stepping toward the sound. One mirror rippled. Inside it, I saw him — bloodied, chained, but alive. His eyes glowed with pain and fire. “Prese,” his reflection said, lips moving with the same words I felt in my chest. “Don’t listen to Berra.” Tears filled my eyes. “I can’t… I don’t know what’s real anymore!” “You know me,” the reflection said firmly. “You know my voice. You know my strength. Trust that.”

All at once, Duncan stands and flips me toward the tile. He lifts my hands to eye level, splaying my fingers. “Hold on. Don’t let go.” I do as he says, my fingernails clawing for traction. His deep voice continues. “Keep your eyes open, Kimbra. Look at yourself. Look how fucking gorgeous you are.” Look at myself? And then I see our reflection in the large mirror beyond the glass door. It's an erotic film playing before me, the soundtrack is an assortment of moans and whimpers with the beat of the shower's spray keeping time.

A phrase someone always said. A lesson passed down. A habit copied without realizing it. A kindness repeated years later. The ripples left behind. Mira stood among the lights, smiling softly. The grieving being stared upward in disbelief. Its ancient sorrow trembling. "I thought they vanished." Mira looked at the drifting lights. "They did." The being flinched. But Mira continued. "They vanished from one place." A pause. "Not every place." The silver ocean shimmered. The lights reflected in its surface.

As experience. The fingers push farther through the wall. Translucent. Reaching. Dylan moves fast. He pulls me back hard, away from the wall. The contact breaks instantly. The membrane snaps back into solidity. The reflection jerks, distortion flashing across her features. The blue light pulses violently. Anger. That feels like anger. “You do not get her,” Dylan says, voice steady but edged with steel. The reflection straightens. Her face smooths. Then she smiles again. Not soft.

They slid down my cheeks, hot and relentless, mixing with the remnants of the rain. I wanted to scream. I wanted to break something. I hoped to claw my way out of this life and into hers. But all I could do was sit there, trembling in the dark, staring at my reflection in the rain-streaked glass. Whispering the question, I couldn’t be silent. Who is going to die first?

She felt him in her stomach, and her eyes watered at how unrelenting he was. “You think I'm weak, don’t you? You look at me and think I'm a weak willed man, a coward who loves fucking other women that are not his wife. Right? I see the way you look at me. Like I am a fucking prey. But I am not. I might be a jerk, but I will never ever cheat on my wife. Not like this. Not with you,” he grunted, his voice hard and almost unrecognisable as desire flushed through him. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed her into a kneeling position, rutting her so hard that Trisha’s legs started to shake.

“She’s free.” No. She’s not. I pace until the carpet wears under my shoes, until sweat streaks my collar. My reflection in the window looks like a stranger—hair wild, eyes bloodshot, shirt open like I’ve been dragged through the night. I press my palm to the glass. “You’re still here,” I whisper to the reflection. “You still love me. You always will.” The reflection doesn’t argue. ********************************** The knock comes after dark. Heavy. Official. Police.

I prepared a taco and handed it to him. “Freshly made. My treat. “My husband has recently been keeping a little mistress,” I added. “I’m worried he doesn’t give her enough pocket money. “You know how young girls are—never satisfied, always wanting more.” I spoke with restraint, but when I replayed the interview footage later, I hated myself for not being vicious enough. Any sense of conscience had long since been ground into dust by Monica’s daily displays of feigned concern. The second time I set up my stand, Joseph sent the city enforcement officers to confiscate it.