#mirroroftruth

In the quiet town of Regina Ridge, nothing ever changed. It was a place of routines, polite greetings, and secrets buried under layers of civility. Life was predictable, a clockwork of day-to-day activities. That was, until the mirror arrived.

It appeared one foggy morning in the window of Old Morton's Antiques, an unremarkable shop tucked between the grocer and the post office. The mirror was elegant, standing six feet tall with an intricately carved frame of dark mahogany. Its surface shimmered in an oddly captivating way, as though the glass held more than reflections.

Mrs. Jessica Fields, the postmaster’s wife, was the first to notice it. As she passed the shop on her way to the market, her eyes were drawn to the mirror. Something about it unsettled her, but she couldn't quite place what. She stepped inside the store, the bell above the door chiming softly.

Old Morton shuffled out from behind the counter. His bushy eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Morning, Mrs. Fields. Something catch your eye?" he asked, his voice raspy with age.

Jessica pointed to the mirror. "Where did you get that?"

Morton shrugged. "Came with a batch of old furniture from an estate sale. Strange thing though... couldn't find a price on it. Figure it's one of those one-of-a-kind pieces. Beautiful, isn't it?"

Beautiful wasn't the word Jessica would use. The mirror had an eerie quality to it, as though it were watching her. But curiosity got the better of her. She approached it, drawn to its strange allure, and stood before the gleaming surface.

For a moment, her reflection was ordinary—gray hair pinned up in a neat bun, lines of age creasing her face. But then the image flickered. The reflection shifted. Her face remained the same, but her eyes—her eyes were sharp and cruel, burning with malice. The smile that curled on the lips of the woman in the mirror wasn’t hers at all.

Jessica gasped, stumbling back. The image reverted to normal, her own startled expression staring back at her. Morton didn’t seem to notice anything unusual.

"You alright, Mrs. Fields?"

"I... I’m fine," she stammered, backing away from the mirror. "I’ll be going now."

She hurried out of the shop, her heart racing. As she walked down the street, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had looked out at her from the other side of the glass. Something that wasn’t her at all.

Over the next few days, word spread about the mirror. Curious townsfolk stopped by the antique shop to gaze at it. Some saw nothing unusual, just their own reflections staring back at them. But others—those with deeper secrets—witnessed something far more unsettling.

Harold Thompson, the local banker, was next. As he stood before the mirror, he saw not his own stout, dignified figure, but a man hunched with greed, counting money with trembling, possessive hands. His reflection grinned maniacally as gold coins spilled from its pockets. Harold blinked, and the vision was gone, but he left the shop in a cold sweat.

Then came young Claire Turner, sweet and kind, adored by everyone in town. But when she stood before the mirror, she saw a twisted version of herself—eyes wild with envy, her hands clutching at jewels and gowns, her reflection sneering with bitterness. Claire fled from the shop, her heart heavy with a truth she never wanted to admit.

One by one, the townsfolk came, and the mirror showed them not who they were, but who they truly were. Desires long hidden, fears buried deep, and the dark corners of their hearts that they’d kept secret even from themselves.

It wasn’t long before the mirror became infamous, whispered about in hushed tones. People avoided Old Morton’s shop, crossing the street to avoid even a glimpse of the cursed thing. Regina Ridge, once peaceful and predictable, had become a town of suspicion and unease. People started looking at each other differently—after all, who could trust someone when they didn’t even trust themselves?

It was Pastor James who finally decided to confront the mirror. A man of faith and conviction, he refused to believe that a simple object could hold such power over the town. One evening, after sunset, he entered Old Morton's shop. The bell rang softly as he stepped inside, the dim light casting long shadows across the floor.

Morton looked up from his chair, his face drawn and tired. The mirror had taken its toll on him too. He nodded at the pastor but said nothing.

James approached the mirror, standing tall before it. For a moment, all he saw was his own reflection—calm, composed, and righteous. But then, just like with the others, the image shifted.

His reflection sneered back at him, eyes burning with hypocrisy. Behind the mask of piety, Pastor James saw his darkest desires—the pride he took in his power over the townsfolk, the secret disdain he held for their weakness. The reflection laughed, mocking him.

"No," James whispered, shaking his head. "This isn’t me."

But the mirror showed no mercy. His reflection’s hands reached out, as if to pull him into the glass, to merge the man he pretended to be with the man he truly was.

In a panic, James grabbed the nearest object—a heavy candlestick—and smashed the mirror with all his strength. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, the reflection disappearing with a final, mocking grin.

Breathing heavily, he stepped back, staring at the broken shards scattered across the floor. It was over. The mirror was destroyed.

But as the townspeople gathered outside, drawn by the sound of breaking glass, they saw something strange. Each shard of the broken mirror still reflected their faces—distorted, twisted, revealing those same hidden truths.

The mirror was gone, but its curse lingered.