Series
The mirror of the second chances
A cold breeze danced through the cracks of the abandoned cottage as Maya brushed dust from the old mirror. It had been years since anyone had set foot inside. The house belonged to her grandmother, a woman known in the village for strange tales and stranger antiques. Now, after her passing, Maya had returned—not to reclaim her inheritance, but to find a part of herself that she'd lost along the way. Life in the city had hardened Maya. A decade spent chasing corporate success left her emotionally numb. Promotions, parties, paychecks—none of it filled the hollowness she carried. Worse, she had cut ties with her parents and abandoned her younger brother after a family feud. She never forgave them. Or herself. The mirror stood taller than Maya, with a bronze frame curled in vines and mythical beasts. Its glass shimmered unnaturally, even in shadow. Her grandmother once told her, “This mirror doesn’t just reflect what you are. It shows what you could be—if you dare to look deeper.” Maya scoffed then. Now, her skepticism was tinged with curiosity. She looked into the mirror… and blinked. The reflection wasn’t right. The woman staring back had the same face, same brown eyes, same tired expression—but something was different. Behind the mirrored version of Maya stood a boy. Her brother, Arman. He was twelve again, standing in the doorway of her old bedroom, holding a paper boat they made together before things fell apart. Maya gasped and stepped back. The reflection remained unchanged. She turned to check behind her. Nothing. No boy. Just silence. “Great. I’m hallucinating now,” she muttered. But something inside her stirred—a memory long buried. That paper boat was the last gift she ever gave him, before the fight, before the slamming doors and bitter silence. She stared at the mirror again. This time, she saw her younger self and her brother laughing in the backyard, making snow angels. The image faded, and a new one appeared: her mother crying in the kitchen, the day Maya left without saying goodbye. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to leave forever,” she whispered to no one. A soft whisper echoed from the mirror. “Then go back.” Maya stumbled backward, her heart pounding. The room seemed to shift, the air thick with emotion. The mirror pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. Her hands trembled. “I can’t,” she said aloud. “It’s been too long. They’ve probably moved on.” But deep down, she knew that was just an excuse. The truth was simpler and scarier: she was ashamed. Ashamed of the words she said. Ashamed of the years she stayed silent. Ashamed that she waited until her grandmother died to come back. The mirror flickered again. Now it showed an older Maya, sitting in a sunny garden surrounded by children. Her brother was there too—grown up, smiling, forgiving. “Is this… possible?” she whispered. The mirror said nothing. --- The Next Morning Maya awoke on the dusty couch, the memory of the mirror vivid in her mind. She made a decision. She drove straight to the village where her parents still lived. Her hands shook on the steering wheel. She rehearsed apologies in her head—each one sounding too small for the years they had lost. As she neared the gate, she saw her mother outside, watering the plants. Time had aged her gracefully, but sorrow clung to her shoulders. “Mama?” Maya called softly. Her mother turned. The watering can dropped. “Maya…” she whispered. For a moment, neither moved. Then her mother ran, and Maya found herself wrapped in the kind of hug that melted ten years of pain in a single breath. “I thought we lost you,” her mother sobbed. “I was lost,” Maya replied, “but I want to come home. If you’ll have me.” Inside, her father sat stunned. Arman, now twenty-five, leaned against the wall, arms folded, unsure how to react. “You left,” he said bluntly. “For ten years.” Maya nodded. “I know. And I was wrong.” Silence hung heavy. Then he walked over and hugged her. Tight. “I kept the boat,” he whispered. That night, they sat together over tea, laughing through tears, sharing stories of the years they missed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. --- Months Later Maya moved back to the village, renovated her grandmother’s cottage, and turned it into a small counseling center. People from nearby towns visited, drawn by the warmth she radiated—a warmth she rediscovered through healing. And the mirror? It remained in her room. Every so often, she’d stand before it, and see versions of herself—some joyful, some broken. But she no longer feared them. She understood now: the mirror never showed what was, only what could be. And for Maya, that made all the difference.
By Shehzad khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Varrek Steelhammer - The Forge Lord
Varrek Steelhammer - The Forge Lord The anvil sang with every strike. Sparks danced like embers carried on the wind, illuminating the dark halls of Steel’s End, the beating heart of Kestrel’s Reach’s smithing quarter. Varrek Steelhammer, Durnoch’s chosen, worked without pause, sweat pooling at his brow as he shaped the steel that would shape the future.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
Talea Lightheart - The Healing Step
Talea Lightheart - The Healing Step The halls of Losend’s Haven, the largest hospital in the city, never knew silence. The murmurs of the sick, the hurried steps of healers, the weary sighs of caretakers. It was a place where suffering clung to the air like mist.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
Seraphine Dewstride - The Dawnbringer
Seraphine Dewstride - The Dawnbringer Halle had always been a place of revelry and peace. The halfling town nestled against the river’s bend, its thatched roof burrows and cobblestone paths warmed by the golden glow of lanternlight. Families laughed over their hearths, and the scent of fresh-baked food carried through the valley on the evening breeze.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
My Grandmother’s Mirror Only Reflects the Dead
The Mirror’s First Secret I almost sold the mirror the day after Grandma Lillian’s funeral. It was an ugly thing—a heavy oak frame carved with twisting vines, the glass smoky with age. But Mom insisted: "She wanted you to have it. Said it was special."
By MUHAMMAD Abbasabout a year ago in Fiction
Some Letters Should Not Be Found
Part I of this story was published last week: ****** Peter made his usual morning coffee and sat down at his desk. It was still early and quiet in the office. He took the letter out of his coat pocket, opened it, and read it:
By Calvin Londonabout a year ago in Fiction
Savant Veila - The Aegis of Sages
Savant Veila - The Aegis of Lore In the heart of Cradlebrook, among the gilded shelves of Cradlebrook’s great library The Golden Gathering, Savant Veila sat within the embrace of knowledge. Though to many she was merely a librarian, to those who sought wisdom, she was Delnator’s chosen. She was the quiet force of knowledge shaping Goodhollow’s destiny.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
After The Sunset The Stars As My Witness. Content Warning.
As for Danae, she had her knight in shining armour. In the city, as she ran errands she would feel eyes stripping her bare and snarky comments low enough for her to hear them, but no one dared to touch her because they feared Perseus, and that's what she feared if Perseus died during the quest she would have to be her own knight but she wasn't as big and tough as her son and she hated violence. She’d have to marry the king to be protected from the predators waiting to pounce on her, The King, though a predator in Danae’s eyes, she felt he was a better predator, at least she would be queen.
By Ropafadzo Thokozani Zinyuke (Fadzo) about a year ago in Fiction
The Divine Pantheon of the World of Hurth
The Divine Pantheon of the World of Hurth The Divine Pantheon of the World of Hurth The world of Hurth is shaped not only by its people and lands but by the divine forces that guide, challenge, and inspire those who dwell within it. The gods of Hurth represent the many facets of existence, each wielding influence over their respective, sometimes overlapping, domains and watching over their followers with wisdom, fury, laughter, or cunning. Some shape destinies with a firm and guiding hand, while others revel in chaos, their influence unpredictable yet undeniable. Whether through grand temples adorned with sacred symbols, whispered prayers in tended fiends and hidden groves, or desperate cries upon the battlefield, the presence of the divine is inescapable.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
Elion - The Silent Collector
Elion - The Silent Collector Though its name suggested stillness, Port Silence was never truly quiet. The world continued as it always had, merchants locking their shops, sailors securing their vessels, revelers stumbling from taverns, their laughter carrying through the darkness. But beneath the hum of city life, unseen and unnoticed, a quieter force walked among them. Not a lord, not a warrior, not even a priest, but something far older, far greater.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
