Mirrorworks University

Mirrorworks University

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    LECTURES 281
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    Votes 13
  • WpPart
    Chapitres 30
WpMetadataReadEn cours d'écriture3h 46m
WpMetadataNoticeDernière publication jeu., oct. 30, 2025
When Nora Harrow earns admission to Mirrorworks University-the world's most prestigious academy of reflective sciences-she believes she's finally escaped her past. But the mirrors at Mirrorworks remember everything. Whispers follow her down the halls. Students vanish without transfer notices. And when her own reflection starts to move before she does, Nora realizes the university's obsession with perfection hides something far worse than failure. Her mentor, Julian Hawthorne, teaches her to breathe with the rhythm of the glass-to listen when it hums back. Her classmate, Roland Dacre, warns her that the faculty's experiments killed his brother. Her roommate, Lizzy, just wants her to stop staring into the mirror before it stares back harder. As the term unfolds, Nora must decide who to trust: the professor who sees too much, the rebel who knows too little,or the reflection that might not be hers at all. And somewhere beneath the university- the Choir of the Glass Veil is still singing.
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A lost, grieving soul enters the jaws of an insatiable beast, where the eyes of uncannily well-preserved paintings reach for her weary, lonesome corpse like crows. This mansion has no history to be felt or heard; it's as if the rooms are hollow and ravenous, their stale tranquillity broken by irregular draughts that send shudders down her spine as oppressive as the clattering of a needle to the floor. There lie secrets. Secrets and betrayals. In the mirrors, familiar faces crawl out from their eternal doom to grasp her pale skin and whisper trenchant advice into her ears with a sickly tongue, hearing her heartbeat like the ticking of a clock; candles that breathe within her. Those faces have lain so long in wait among the stitches and threads of madness, waiting for her arrival. Though the hours crawl onwards, she remains, watching and listening to the whispers of sorrow that lurk behind her at every acrimonious gust of wind howling through the mouth of the great beast. What awaits her within these halls, engulfed in oppressive, potent mists of grief? Who may she meet in the reflections of trembling malady? Through it all, that face haunts her every step. Yellow skin and seething eyes. Ink-stained and bloody. Cackling as insidious as death. Woeful as grief.

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