Once upon a time, a castle hidden by mist became more than a mere mansion. It was split by moonlight and rot, there lived the creatures that beauty forgot. Each room held a secret, a girl, a wound turned into wonder. A dollhouse once laced with bows, became a haunted fortress protected by teeth, claws, and arrows.
Inside the Gloss & Gore Castle, where fractals of light whispered through gloom, faint moonlight kissed the face of Mirra—a creature seldom glimpsed in the grand halls. She was known only as the Mirrorling, a spectral figure who haunted the edges and corners, her back ever pressed to cold brick, her gaze forever searching for unseen watchers.
Her face, a fractured surface, bore the weight of countless memories and cracked from all the faces she was forced to reflect. She learned to swallow her image, to warp her beauty until it became acceptable, unthreatening, safe. Once, when the castle was bright and bathed in golden sun, the mirror-shards she wore were mere adornments—removable, fleeting. But as time unfurled its shadowed cloak, she found she could no longer take them off. They fused to her skin, adhering to her body like armor. her shards whispering to any who dared look too long.
she began to speak to a pool of water that had been eating through the floor for months, an almost black tar, shimmered like silk. a perfect looking glass. Mirra leaned forward, closer, peering down at the black matter.
tell me how to stand tall, tell me your art of illusion
I am not their twin
but to match them I dilute the colors I’m in
I’m the mirror that fractures when they pry
I keep asking myself why why why
but to match them I dilute the colors I’m in
I’m the mirror that fractures when they pry
I keep asking myself why why why
Mirra kept speaking, feeling the matter almost listening to her.
Look at me — I am like you, also just a reflection
Twisted, broken, an unholy infection
Twisted, broken, an unholy infection
Her thoughts drifted to old conversations, memories swirling like smoke in her mind. Before she knew it, she was nearly shouting—at ghosts from her past, at the voices that had shaped her into who she was now.
Every question you ask is a knife to my glass heart
And I fracture with every glance you give
They say eyes are mirrors to the soul
when I look into yours I see only a desire to control
WHY WHY WHY
I am not your sin to sanctify
WHY WHY WHY
I am not yours to crucify
Because I’m not like you but I have to comply
to stay safe I have been this way
I am not your sin to sanctify
WHY WHY WHY
I am not yours to crucify
Because I’m not like you but I have to comply
to stay safe I have been this way
but one day, when I am unable to carry the weight
I will slice you with the pieces you broke from me
I’m the mirror that shatters when you pry
WHY?
Why do you hate the truth in me?
Why do you hate the truth in me?
Am I so hideous to you?
You made me this
warped, jagged
can we share the blame for this?
I am your reflection