The Mysteries in the Mirrors

The Mysteries in the Mirrors

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WpMetadataReadOngoing2h 7m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Fri, Jun 1, 2018
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Fiction
Romance
Gemma Rose is your average 14 year old girl, and a very hopeless romantic. She has a huge crush on a pretty good looking guy in her class called Jett Anderson. I mean, who else doesn't? He was cute, popular, and not to mention kindhearted and gentlemanly. However, all Gemma can do is fantasize and dream about him, and nothing more, because Isla Sanders, one of the popular girls in the class, takes up almost all the time on Jett's schedule. You'd be blind if you didn't see how much she liked him. With Jett constantly being on her mind, Gemma didn't know how she could possibly distract her thoughts, but when she spots a strange malfunction occur in the rear view mirror of her dad's car (weird, I know), she couldn't ignore the fact that there might be more to a mirror than just a reflection. Little did she know that the unexpected visit Jett paid her later that afternoon and the mirror in her room would lead her into a whole new and different world with one big, confusing mystery waiting to be solved.
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#596
mirrors
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"What the hell?" I took a step closer to the mirror, staring at my reflection in disbelief. The person looking back was still me, but at the same time it wasn't. I had the same thick, dark, curly hair. The same hazel eyes. The same olive skin with a light dusting of freckles (ugh) scattered across the bridge of my nose. But my curls were now streaked with highlights. And not the subtle, golden-brown ones that sometimes appeared during the summer. No, these were an aggressive, dazzling blond that went from the roots of my hair all the way to the tips. It looked like I had spent a full day getting my hair done in some upscale salon. Never mind that I had never set foot in such a place since the day I was born. My eyes appeared somehow wider and more luminous. The colour brighter, my eyelashes darker up against them. And, when I looked closely, my pupils seemed to be slitted almost like a cat. I looked down at my body. My skinny arms-which had always refused to gain any definition no matter how hard I exercised-were lined with flat, wiry muscles. My bony shoulders were now curved and smooth. My scrawny legs were toned like a dancer. I reached down and lifted my shirt, revealing two subtle lines running vertically down my perfectly flat stomach, hinting at the rock-hard abs underneath. My whole body was rippling with strength. Like liquid steel.

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