NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 14: Chapter 14: The Mirror With No Reflection
The wind outside Hollowmoor howled like it had teeth. Rain smeared the tall windows of the north tower as Elara climbed the spiral staircase with shaking hands. The Grimoire had marked another page last night. No blood this time. Just a phrase:
"The mirror that does not see. It remembers her face."
She didn't know what it meant, but the page hadn't been there the night before. And in the margin, someone had written a single word: RUN.
But Elara didn't run. She climbed.
The north tower had been sealed since the fire, like so many places in Hollowmoor. But Professor Nore had given her a key. Quietly. No explanation. Just a look that said, "You're going to find what you're not supposed to."
When she reached the top, the door was made of obsidian blackwood, etched with a series of mirrored circles. No knob. No lock. Just a hollow space where a face might go.
She leaned closer.
The door's surface rippled, and her own reflection appeared. Only—it didn't move with her. It didn't blink when she did.
Elara whispered, "Open."
The door inhaled.
Then it split in half and creaked open.
The room beyond was silent.
No dust. No cobwebs. Just a single standing mirror at the far end, ten feet tall, framed in bone. The air smelled of lavender and old pages. Elara stepped in. Her reflection didn't follow.
This was wrong.
The mirror showed the room—but no Elara.
She stared at it. Walked in front of it. No matter the angle, the glass remained empty of her image.
But then something changed. The mirror did reflect something now: a door behind her that wasn't there in real life.
Elara turned. The wall was solid stone. Nothing.
She looked back at the mirror. The door in the reflection had opened.
A girl stood in the doorway. Her face was identical to Elara's—but her eyes were entirely black.
"Who are you?" Elara whispered.
The girl didn't move. Didn't blink. But her lips formed a soundless word: Come.
Elara stepped closer to the mirror. Her hand reached for the surface.
It was warm. Liquid. Like touching skin.
Then everything went black.
When she opened her eyes, she wasn't in the tower anymore.
She stood in a long hallway with no windows. The walls pulsed like muscle. The ceiling wept water.
And ahead, the other Elara was walking, her feet silent against the stone.
Elara followed. "Where are you taking me?"
No answer.
They passed doors on both sides. Each one bore her name.
"Elara Vane." "Elara Vane." "Elara Vane."
But they weren't the same. Each plaque was dated—birth and death.
Some dates were in the future.
One was today's date.
She stopped walking.
"What is this place?"
The other Elara turned.
"This is where versions of you go to die."
A scream echoed down the corridor.
Not hers.
Elara ran. She didn't wait for the other version of herself. She sprinted toward the sound. One of the doors slammed open on its own. Inside, a version of her was strapped to a table. Mouth open. Silent scream.
Above her, a figure in a Hollowmoor professor's robes was performing some kind of ritual.
Only the professor's face was stitched shut.
Elara backed away—but the other her turned to look.
Her eyes pleaded.
Then the door slammed shut.
The hallway shivered. All the doors began to rattle.
"Let me out," Elara whispered.
"No," said her mirror-self. "You're not done."
"You're not real."
"I'm what you'll become if you read the Grimoire one more time."
Elara's blood turned to ice.
"I haven't read it today," she said.
Mirror-Elara smiled. "You did in your sleep."
The walls split open, and whispers poured through. A thousand versions of Elara, each speaking a truth she didn't want to hear:
"You left your mother to die." "You opened the Veil." "You liked it when the fire started." "You were meant to burn."
"STOP!" she screamed.
The hallway fell silent.
One final door opened.
Inside was the library. But not the one she knew. This version was infinite—shelves stretching into blackness. And in the center, standing still and smiling, was the Watcher.
Not his scentless form.
His real body.
"I've been watching you," he said in a voice like breaking mirrors.
"You're not real," she said again.
He held out the Grimoire. But its cover was made of her own skin.
"Read it," he whispered. "Or I'll replace your reflection with one that obeys."
He snapped his fingers.
Mirror-Elara stepped beside him.
"I won't," Elara said.
"You already did," said the Watcher. "You just haven't remembered yet."
The library began to collapse. Books flew from shelves like birds. Pages screamed.
Elara ran.
This time, the mirror was ahead.
She dove through.
Elara hit the cold stone floor of the north tower.
The mirror was gone. Just a blank wall now.
But on her palm, something had been written.
A name.
Her own.
It was spelled backward.
And burning.