My Daughter-in-Law Stole My Face With the Eclipse Mirror and Made Me Serve Her Feast — Now the Mirror Is Screaming My Name
Seraphina stormed from the Assembly Hall, the last remnants of her composure shattered. Julian trailed behind her, his own face a portrait of fear. The Elder Council’s verdict was swift and unequivocal: all ancestral estate access, all control over the Delacroix vaults, was suspended.
Her empire, built on a stolen face, had dissolved.
She burst into her bedchamber, the heavy door slamming against the stone wall. The room was dark, save for a single flickering oil lamp.
Her eyes immediately landed on the Eclipse Mirror, still shrouded in black velvet, still emanating that low, mournful hum.
“It’s your fault!” she shrieked, tearing at the velvet. The fabric ripped, revealing the dark, polished surface.
But the mirror was no longer just dark. It was black as coal, reflecting no light, only an absolute void.
And then, the humming intensified. It rose, a deep bass thrumming that shook the floor.
A voice, faint at first, then growing in volume, began to echo from the black glass. It was my voice, my original tone, but distorted, stretched into a chilling, elongated wail.
“Mother,” it cried.
The sound clawed at the air, penetrating the heavy walls, reverberating through the entire palace. It was not a single voice. It was a chorus, a cacophony of my voice, thousands of whispers and shrieks woven into a single, agonizing plea.
“MOTHER!”
Seraphina stumbled back, pressing her hands to her ears, tears streaming down her decaying face. Julian rushed in, his eyes wide with terror, but the sound engulfed him too.
The cries intensified, becoming frantic, desperate. They seemed to come from everywhere, bouncing off the stone, filling every corner of the vast, empty halls.
“Mother, why have you abandoned us?”
“Mother, where is your face?”
The palace staff, who had scattered after the Council meeting, now huddled in bewildered terror in the outer corridors. They heard the wailing, a sound no human instrument could replicate, a sound of pure, ancient despair.
Seraphina sank to her knees, her body wracked with tremors. The mirror, now a screaming portal, locked itself into this unending lament, its black surface pulsing with unseen energy.
Julian, his face ashen, could only watch, utterly helpless, as the stolen silence of the palace was replaced by the endless, agonizing echoes of his mother’s voice.
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