Novel & Cerita The Phantom Of The Opera: The Mirror

Crimson light flares, illuminating the mirror's interior, which is… my reflection, a million times over, like multiple versions of me are folding into one. Naomi’s voice is faint, overwhelmed by the blood thrumming through my veins, as she says the spell. At first, nothing happens. The world continues to spin. The rain continues to send echoes through the castle. Then, when I nearly give up, letting the crushing, unexpected reality that this might be in vain sweep through me, the mirror begins to tremble. “Fallon?” Naomi gasps. “Keep going. Read it again.”

Because it isn’t Draven who will rise. It will be me. The Mirror pulses beneath my palm, and I see flickers of what could be: wolves kneeling, packs burning, armies breaking against each other. And in the center, not Draven’s face reflected in the shards, but mine. My eyes gleaming back at me, crowned in shadow and flame. “You’ll have your war,” I whisper into the glass. “But not for him. For me.” The Mirror answers with a deep, hungry thrum, like laughter pressed through the bones of the earth.

🌑 Chains of Eternity The mirrors no longer looked like mirrors. What had once been flat panes of glass were now quivering surfaces, alive, as though the labyrinth itself was breathing. The ripples spread from one reflection to another until the walls shimmered like a dark ocean, swallowing light and sense alike. Mira’s reflection leaned forward, her face pressing against the glass until the surface stretched with her cheek and lips. Its voice no longer whispered—it hissed, sharp enough to cut:

Wulfric stepped forward, explaining, “These aren’t ordinary mirrors. They show you what you fear most, who you fear you’ll become. We each have to confront our own reflections to move forward.” Damien took a deep breath as he approached the nearest mirror. His reflection morphed before him, revealing an older version of himself, one burdened by leadership and failure, dark eyes filled with weariness. This vision sent a shiver through him—his fear of losing himself in the struggle for power and respect. Claud stepped up next. His mirror showed him wielding a fiery sword, a fierce warrior avenging his past, but with a shadowy figure of himself lurking behind, a reminder of the rage that could

Evryn blinked. They stood in a vast, spiraling chamber unlike anything they’d seen before. The floor reflected stars—no, fragments of timelines. Ghosts of possible futures shimmered in glass-like currents beneath their feet. Above them, massive lenses rotated slowly, refracting the entire chamber like a kaleidoscope of memories. Elara gasped. “What is this place?” Aurex’s internal sensors hummed. “The Mirror Project. This... is where all variants of Project E.V.E.R. converge.”

THIRD PERSON'S POV:- Mira opened her eyes and found herself standing in front of the full view mirror. She was looking at herself. She looked very young. She looked almost sixteen or maybe seventeen. She was wearing a long mermaid style, off shoulder white dress. It was backless and the upper layer of the dress was shimmery. She had a crown on her head. A princess crown that had the long lace veil attached with it. She remembered that crown on her head. It was the crown Fredrick had gifted her on her twelfth birthday. He wanted to make her feel like a princess the day they would get married.

"Diana, stop trying to scare me! Your mother is in my hands right now. You have thirty minutes—bring the secret prescription that can wake the young master and get over here! If you try anything, I'll send your mother straight to hell!" The call ended. I stared coldly at the darkened screen, a faint sneer tugging at my lips. Those fools from the Stafford family thought they'd found my weakness? Since they were so eager to court death, I'll grant their wish. Half an hour later, I handed the prescription over to the Stafford butler. I put on a face of fury mixed with helplessness, gritting my teeth as I glared at him. "Release my mother. I've given you the prescription."

Elena remained beside Roberto near the doorway, arms folded tightly across herself against the unnatural cold spreading through the hall. The necklace pulsed faintly beneath her shirt. Watching. Then— Roberto’s reflection moved. Not him. The reflection. Elena’s breath caught sharply. Roberto had gone still too. In the mirror, his reflected self slowly lifted its head a second later than the real movement. And smiled. A servant whimpered. The sound snapped something inside Roberto instantly. He grabbed a nearby chair and drove it violently into the glass. The mirror shattered with a deafening crack. Blood exploded across the walls.

But she remembered nothing. Mirage took a deep breath to calm herself down. She got out of the bed and she happened to look at her reflection in the mirror. The person she is now, isn't the one she was before. There's a lot of changes, physically and emotionally. She's somehow certain of it. Wearing her pair of pajamas, she went out to her balcony and stared at nowhere. She's feeling extremely sad beyond something she can't figure out. She's not being her usual self. She's empty, if she could ever be emptier than she is now without her memory.

“I didn’t expect you to be the killer. It wasn’t enough that you killed your parents-in-law. Why did you have to kill my mother too?” I looked at the three of them. They all had the same reaction. I froze for a moment. How was that possible? A mirror was just a mirror. It showed whoever stood in front of it. How could it show my face no matter who looked into it? But their grief did not look fake. What was so strange about that mirror? How could it make my wife, my trainee, and my neighbor all believe I was the killer? “I didn’t kill your mother. It wasn’t me.”