Smoke In Mirrors Novels & Stories

A large, beautiful vase of dried pampas grass stood beside the marble sink, and the air smelled subtly of lavender. I sat down to pee, taking it all in. My gaze drifted across the walls. A framed, vintage picture of Jim Morrison, shirtless and brooding, looked down on me with poetic intensity. And then I saw it, right below his iconic gaze: the small, ornate hand mirror we’d used for snorting coke last night. It was still on the edge of the bathtub, and beside it, a dusting of white powder glittered in the morning light. There must have been a whole gram left, a careless, generous fortune. I looked up at Jim Morrison’s smouldering, reckless face, then back down at the mirror. A slow, wicked

The smoke curls up, bitter and grounding, cutting through the copper tang still clinging to my senses. Maereth hates when I smoke. That alone makes it worth it. I drag in slowly, let the burn settle my nerves, and glance at the cracked mirror over the wash basin. My reflection looks like it always does—like it’s daring someone to comment. Dark hair, long and wild, falling down my back like I lost a fight with a brush and gave up. Skin pale, but not corpse-pale. One eye red as old wine. One gold like molten coin. No glamour tonight. I don’t have the energy for lies.

Mirrors. A dome of fractured mirrors, pieces tilting and grinding, reflecting the city and the castle and us in a thousand broken angles. Ink rained from those shards in slow, heavy drops—black streaks falling upward and downward at once, some splashing against the invisible barrier of the dome and smearing, others vanish before they hit anything. The air smelled wrong. A mix of burnt ozone from half‑rendered glitch sparks, wet stone, and the metallic tang of ink. Every now and then, a gust carried up the salt‑rot scent of the black water below, threaded with stale popcorn and blood.

My mother, Aileen Stuart, leaves me a bronze mirror upon her death. One day, I suddenly hear its thoughts. It says exasperatedly, "My naive child, Zara hid her brooch and blamed you for stealing it. And your stepmother? Her tricks are so banal. She rubbed pollen on your clothes, hoping you'd have an allergic reaction and become disfigured. They really are the perfect pair in household scheming. "Dead mother, philandering father, vicious stepmother, wicked idiot of a sister… What an unfortunate deck of cards you have been dealt with." With the mirror's guidance, I manage to carve out a place for myself in this household. One midnight, it wakes me from my sleep. "Jemima, your chance to

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.

Right in the large mirrors in front of me, a black cloud of smoke forms unexpectedly as the lights begin to blink repeatedly. The black cloud explodes into dark purple light and a figure forms itself in the mirror, his familiar purple eyes glimmering back at me. I find myself too sunken to even find it as frightful as before. “Child.” He mutters with an unearthly echo in his voice. “Sup.” I greet lifelessly and resume packing my shit up. “Vibrant as ever.” He teases sarcastically, smiling a little too brightly. “Can we make this quick before Xena walks in and finds me talking to my reflection? Not in the best mental state to think up some bizarre excuse on why this is logical.”

He said caressing my cheeks which infuriated me. "Get away from me" I said almost in a whisper, too tired to talk. He withdrew his hand immediately bringing out a cigarette from his pocket lighting it with a lighter. The smell from the flicker's of smoke filled the air. It almost choked me as I started to cough. I was not asthmatic but I was allergic to anything like smoke. I started to cough and my throat hurt so badly. "Ohh, does it disturb you, sorry man" He said mockingly and continued with what he was doing.

she said. The one wearing a plain white Polo shirt answered her, still looking at her intently. Actually,by the time that she reach the kitchen,the orders are halfway made. She's wearing a concealed camera that allows the chef to see what has been written down on the paper. That way,the food processing would be faster considering they are in the VIP room. As soon as she enters the kitchen again her friend is shrieking. And she doesn't have any idea why,so she frowned at her.

Laundry answers with a smirk. “We both know she isn’t your mother.” I smirk back. “You fucking Bitch!!” He jumps up from the table to lunge at me. BOOOM!!! The sound of the blast has everyone crashing to the floor. The windows of the front of the house are broken and smoke is billowing in from the outside. I jumped up and stumbled forward, a ringing in my ears and my head spinning. When I finally made it out the front door with a few of the others I saw all the cars that were parked in front of the house in pieces and on fire. Those that weren’t able to leave the safety of the indoors due to not being under the protection of Mira and the witches to walk in the sunlight were coughing heavily,

He was standing there with a smirk on his face as the darkness engulfed me slowly, painfully. FREDRICK'S POV:- I parked my car in front of my house and stepped inside. As soon as I stepped into the house, I tasted something sour inside my mouth. I gulped hard as I knew it only happened whenever Mira was in trouble. I dropped all the grocery bags on the ground and ran into the house. I looked everywhere but I was not able to find Mira. I reached the living room and found a woman standing in the living room. "Who are you? Where is Mira?" I asked as I went closer towards her. She quickly pulled her gun out and pointed it towards me.