unseen in my reflection

prologue

As I looked up, the last thing I expected was to see thousands of duplicates of my own face peering down at me.

I slowly began to stand up, feeling like my limbs could no longer support the weight of my guilt I have carried for the past couple of months. My reflections stared at me, mirroring my own sadness. But I knew it wasn't real. How could they pity me when I was the reason they're gone?

Tears welled in my eyes and I wanted to allow myself to wallow in despair, to scream "why me?". But the sadness vanished as quickly as it arrived, replacing a cold rage. My tears spoke for animosity rather than remorse. I didn't deserve the blame; it was out of my control, so why should I carry the burden of my actions?

Enveloped in fury, I felt like my mind shut off and every decision I made from that point wasn't me, but a version of me that I forced hidden away from the rest of the world. I ran towards the mirror closest to me, expecting my reflection to run back. However, it stood still, expectantly, waiting to see what I'd do.

I punched the mirror as hard as I could. And it punched back.

Gasping, I awoke up in a pool of my own sweat. Slow, shallow breathes began finding their way out of my mouth, like someone ripped a piece of tape off my mouth allowing me to breathe like I'd never before. A million thoughts began racing through my head as I scrambled out of bed and tried to find a moment's peace. My thoughts were disrupted from a throbbing pain on my knuckle. I looked down, surprised to see my hand covered in glass shards and blood. The sharp, cold shards bit into my skin, the blood blooming across my hand like little flowers. The boundary between my dreams and reality was blurred beyond recognition. But I had to shake my thoughts away as the blood kept growing and streaming down my arm like a waterfall.

I ran to the bathroom, trying to keep my tears and whimpers quiet so I wouldn't awake the others. In a rush of adrenaline, I wrapped my good hand with a towel and grabbed the big shards, tearing them apart from my skin. At this point, my tears were thick and streaming down my face with a fast pace, resembling the blood on my arm. I did my best to wipe them away and continued pulling the shards out of my skin. As the adrenaline ebbed, I slowly felt my vision come back, as did the burning pain. I was left with thousands of tiny wounds on my arm, a reminder of my dreams. Others use sleep as a way to escape their twisted reality. My twisted reality is an escape from my dreams.

a/n :

hiiii! I hope we like this book so far, I know this chapter is a little bit short but pleaassee bare with me <3

like many other potterheads, sometimes I would think about my own characters being involved in the story and that's how this story came to be.

if you have any ideas, or feedback, do let me know!

i really don't care about how many votes or likes this book has, because i'm only writing it for fun. but I do care about comments because I LOVE reading other people's comments on books so please, feel free to comment as you read!!

i don't really have an updating schedule, but I have a lot of the book planned out (in my head) so I expect there won't be a big gap between updates.