Smoke In Mirrors Novels & Stories

The mirror. It was always there, lurking, a reflection of a reflection. It wasn’t mine anymore. The version of me in the glass, grinning back at me with black eyes and lips twisted in a cruel smile, made me want to vomit. It was like I had been hollowed out, replaced by something dark and wrong. Mira’s voice cut through the murky fog of my thoughts. “Lena, listen to me. Focus. I need you to stay with me. Let me pull him out.”

She raised a hand—and three of her mirror copies lunged forward. Carl intercepted one, blade humming. Ophelia ducked the second, slamming her palm against its head and activating her memory disruptor. Tobias scrambled for cover, launching a neuro-blast that flickered through the air like lightning. But Mira didn’t move. She just watched. And smiled. “You’re not ready for what’s coming,” she said. “None of you are.” Then her body turned to light—and vanished. The remaining mirror copies fell to the ground like broken puppets.

Morwenna's POV Smoke curled from the cracked window, tinged with the scent of blood and burnt parchment. I sat cross-legged on the cold marble, the shard pulsing between my palms like a heartbeat I didn’t trust. The curse had grown louder since the mirror shattered. My reflection no longer mimicked me. It waited. Sabine had warded my chamber with runes older than the kingdom. But I could still feel her, the older version of me lingering just behind the veil. Watching.

Lucien flickers in and out of torchlight, a blade in each hand, ghosting through mirrors before they fully form. Seren burns. But even her flame hesitates. Because mirrors do not fear fire. They feed on it. “Fall back!” she calls. “They drink identity, don’t speak your names! Don’t remember too loudly!” Too late. A young hybrid screams for his sister. The mirror echoes him, perfectly. And then eviscerates him with a smile. By the third hour, the ground is a slick mosaic of blood and glass dust. The mirrors crack under force, but never stop smiling. They do not speak.

“That’s right.” “Then,” Miriam pressed, her lips twitching into a small smile, “I can choose my own path?” “Yes.” Miriam’s smile widened, brittle at the edges. “Scandals can make someone famous too, can’t they?” Serena’s brows pinched together, but she didn’t answer right away. Instead, she watched Miriam pull a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket. The first drag was clumsy; she coughed, exhaled a shaky puff of smoke that dissolved into the stale air.

But we knew it wouldn’t last. Luca was smart. Too smart. By the time the moon reached its peak, the real battle had begun. ⸻ It started with the scent of smoke. I stiffened, nostrils flaring. “Do you smell that?” Mira whispered. Damien cursed under his breath. “They’re smoking us out.” Flames crackled in the distance, licking at the abandoned structures. A thick haze began to spread through the ruins, and with it came the shadows of approaching figures.

He shoved it open. [POV 2 — Maeve] Smoke filled the observation deck. She coughed, waving it away, eyes stinging. The containment chamber was gone. In its place hung a single mirror—oval, ornate, surface rippling like disturbed water. Cade’s reflection stood inside it, pounding his fists against the other side. “Let me out!” he shouted. “It’s closing!” Maeve stepped closer. “If I open it, what comes through with you?”

“Mira...” Mira looked up. Her laugh was sharp, broken,“Oh. You’re here?” Her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed red. “Of course you are. You always fucking are.” Scarlet’s chest tightened. “You shouldn’t be drinking like this. Or smoking. Or whatever the hell you’re trying to do to yourself.” Mira barked a laugh and staggered toward the desk, grabbing a cigarette. “You think I’m smoking?” She struck a lighter, flame flaring too close to her fingers. “Cute. I light them and shove them down my throat.”

Swallowing torchlight at its edges without reflecting back. Burnt myrrh and dark resin flood my sinuses. She steps backward into it. One uneven stride favoring her wounded side. The rift folds shut. Gone. My claws close on empty air. Jaw locks so hard my teeth ache. Breath stuck behind my sternum. Fingers still hooked, useless at my sides. Shame burns hotter than the fire ever could. Where she stood, something clatters against stone. A mirror. Obsidian, cracked down its center. Framed in tarnished silver. Blood-red smoke threads from the fissure, slow and rhythmic.

“Let’s see if you manage to roast it without turning it into charcoal this time, Camimi.” “Heyyy. That was five years ago, and it was an accident,” I defended myself, laughing. “An accident?” James cut in. “You almost caused a forest fire.” Laughter erupted instantly, bouncing between the trees and the fire pit. “That’s not true—you’re exaggerating!” I protested with the most theatrical indignation I could manage. Michael shook his head, serious as a judge. “Cams, you have many talents, but roasting marshmallows isn’t one of them. You’re dangerous.”