The Mirror Room at Goulhearth

At Goulhearth’s Marvelous Institute of Wizardry and Other Magical Creations, there was one rule even the most reckless students refused to break:

Do not enter the Mirror Room after midnight.

Of course, rules are the natural enemy of curiosity.

And no one was more curious than Bellamy Thorn.

A fourth-year enchantment student with a knack for unraveling dangerous spells, Bellamy found himself staring at the sealed oak door one wind-lashed night. The rest of the castle slept, dreaming dragonfire or reciting incantations in their sleep. Bellamy, however, stood barefoot in a robe, lantern flickering beside him, heart loud in his chest.

He wasn't here on a dare.

He wasn't here for fame.

He had a question only the mirrors could answer.

The Mirror Room was a forgotten part of the school, hidden beyond the tapestry of the Weeping Phoenix and two floors beneath the classrooms. Most students never found it. Professors denied it even existed.

But Bellamy knew better.

He’d found mentions in moldy footnotes, half-erased scrolls, and the scribbled margins of a long-banned alchemy book. He had pieced together the path over months, each clue leading him deeper into the truth: the Mirror Room wasn’t just real—it was alive.

And it remembered.

The door creaked open with the soft groan of long slumber.

Bellamy stepped inside.

It was colder than he expected.

The room itself was circular, lined wall to wall with floor-length mirrors—dozens of them. Some were cracked. Others fogged. A few shimmered like water caught in moonlight. But none reflected his image.

Not yet.

He set the lantern down in the center of the floor.

The flame didn’t flicker.

"Show me," he whispered.

The mirrors responded in silence.

And then one moved.

Not the glass itself, but the image inside. It shifted, shimmered, and blinked. Bellamy’s breath caught as a reflection formed—not of himself, but of someone else entirely.

His mother.

She looked exactly as he remembered: fierce eyes, tangled curls, the scar running beneath her left cheek like a lightning bolt. She had disappeared ten years ago during a magical excavation. No body. No note. Just gone.

But now she stood there, inside the mirror, staring directly at him.

“Bellamy,” she said, though her lips didn’t move. The voice was in his mind—clear and sharp as splintered glass.

“You shouldn't be here.”

He reached toward her. The glass rippled like water.

“I need answers,” he said aloud. “Where did you go?”

Her expression darkened.

“The Mirror Room doesn’t give answers. It gives reflections.”

“I don’t care. I want to know why you left.”

Silence.

Then another mirror stirred.

This time, Bellamy saw a version of himself—but older. His eyes hollow. His hands stained. This Bellamy stood in a ruined classroom, surrounded by ash and broken spells.

“Is that me?” Bellamy asked.

His mother didn’t answer.

A third mirror came to life.

He saw Goulhearth burning.

Students fleeing. Creatures screaming. A sky split with crimson lightning. And there, standing calmly at the center of the storm, was Bellamy again—this time cloaked in black, wielding magic so dark it turned the mirror’s frame to rust.

“No,” he whispered. “That’s not me.”

“It’s a possibility,” said the voice of his mother. “One of many. This room doesn’t show what is. It shows what could be. What was. What you fear.”

Bellamy backed away.

“I just wanted to know what happened to you.”

Another mirror stirred.

It showed a little boy. Alone. Crying in the garden. The sky above him filled with stars he didn’t understand. A woman’s shadow slipped away through the hedges.

“I didn’t want to leave,” his mother’s voice said gently. “But some magic calls too deeply.”

Bellamy’s throat tightened.

“I tried to follow you.”

“I know.”

The mirrors began to glow. One by one.

Dozens of versions of Bellamy. Hero, villain, student, sorcerer, monster. In some he wore a crown. In others, chains. Each reflected path he could take, or avoid, or had already begun.

The Mirror Room pulsed with possibility.

And choice.

Bellamy closed his eyes.

“This isn’t real.”

“It all is,” said the voice. “Somewhere. Somewhen.”

He turned back to the first mirror—the one with his mother. But now, the glass was blank. Her image gone.

“I’m not ready,” he said to the room. “To become him.” He pointed to the mirror of the dark version of himself.

The reflection smiled sadly.

“You already are,” it said, and vanished.

The lantern flickered.

Bellamy was alone again.

Or maybe, he had never been alone—just surrounded by the thousand echoes of who he might become.

He left the Mirror Room just before the first chime of midnight.

The hallway outside seemed brighter, the air warmer, but Bellamy didn’t smile.

He knew the mirrors hadn’t shown him lies.

They had shown him roads.

And now, every step he took would be haunted by the reflections of who he could have been.

But maybe that was the gift.

Maybe knowing what’s possible is what keeps you from choosing the worst of it.