The Phantom Of The Opera: The Mirror Mga Nobela at Kwento

"Seriously." "Yeah," she went silent for a second. "Turn the lights off when you're about to sleep." I watched her disappear into her room once more. Then I went and plopped down in the couch. Minutes passed with me just staring at my reflection on the tv and sighing occasionally. This is dumb. I stood up and started pacing around for no particular reason. And then I almost slammed into the glass door so I realized I might as well go to the balcony. The night breeze was cold against my cheeks. There was a sweet scent wafting in the air, probably the flowers

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.

"I'm glad you like the smell too." Just as he took a peek at the right mirror, he noticed that she was fiddling her thumbs on her lap once again. She was nervous, he figured then thought that it wasn't such a wonder since this is their first time being almost physically close aside from sitting side-by-side on the stools attached to his kitchen countertop and in an environment aside from his house too. He turned his eyes sideways to look at the rear-view mirror, then the left-wing and the right-wing once again, and noticed that her nose suddenly perked and when he focused his eyes back on the road, he heard faint sniffs and her voice asked, "Do you smoke?"

"And she’s going to use it to kill us. If we don't find, she will use him to take your throne." Ricardo stared at me for a long time. The silence in the room was heavy. Finally, he nodded. "Fine," he whispered. "But once I tell you, there’s no going back. You’ll be part of the secret forever." "I’m already part of it," I said, thinking of the red laser dot on Maria’s chest and the golden eyes in the woods. "I’ve been part of it since the day I stepped into this mirror." I sat on the bed, my heart ready for the truth. I knew that the next few hours would change everything. The "Mirror of Malice" was about to show us a face we never expected to see.

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.

Then there was the mirror. It was shoved in a dusty corner of the garage, hidden under a tarp. Lyra had pulled it off, expecting to see her own face staring back. But the mirror didn’t reflect her at all. It just shimmered. She remembered frowning, reaching out to touch it, and then— Wham. Sucked in. The memory slammed into her. Her eyes widened. “Oh my God!” she gasped, springing to her feet. “I knew that mirror was cursed!”

He pressed on, leading his allies through the darkest recesses of their souls. Finally, they reached a chamber bathed in an ethereal glow. In the centre stood a pedestal, upon which rested a singular mirror a mirror that seemed untouched by the darkness that surrounded it. This was the culmination of their journey, the nexus point of their shattered bond. Jaxon approached the mirror cautiously, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch its surface. The moment his fingers made contact, a blinding light erupted, engulfing him and his companions. Their bodies trembled, and their minds were bombarded with a torrent of memories, emotions, and revelations.

“Don’t—” “Maeve—run—” “Choose—NOW—” The shadows inside every mirror surged forward, clawing at the glass, slamming against their barriers. Maeve took a step toward Cade. The ground exploded under her foot. A mirror towered up between them—massive, silver, and slick with something like liquid night. It separated her from him completely. Her breath fogged the surface as she pressed her hand against it. “CADE!” she screamed. Her own reflection stared back at her.

Its surface shimmered like water in moonlight. My reflection stared back. But not quite. He smiled. I didn’t. He raised his hand. I didn’t. And then, with one sharp movement, my reflection placed a bloodied hand against the glass. Words began to form on the surface in red: "Only one of us leaves the altar." The mirror cracked. The reflection stayed. My breath hitched, chest tight with something close to terror. I turned and ran—this time not toward answers, but away from something I didn’t understand.

Each step left no shadow. In the distance, she could see them—fragments of glass jutting from the earth like the ribs of a fallen god. The Mirror Hall wasn’t a building. It was a ruin suspended between dimensions, half-solid, half-reflection. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “It’s a trap,” Kian replied grimly. “Probably both.”