Darcel: The Girl of Mirrors Born to the Void
Darcel was not born in a place that could be called a “home.” She emerged from the Void—a sterile, ageless realm where time stood still, emotions were faint echoes, and every soul existed in equality. Named B223, she never knew parents, birthdays, or even how old she truly was. In the Void, such human conventions held no meaning.
Physically, Darcel appeared to be a petite girl of about eleven, with shoulder-length raven-black hair that shimmered with hidden brown highlights in sunlight. Her large, dark brown eyes carried mysterious silver flecks, shaped like tiny, swirling mirrors. These mirrors were not just part of her gaze—they were part of her power. She had the rare ability to manipulate reflections, crafting illusions within mirrors, bending glass at will, and most haunting of all, revealing truths others tried to bury.
Though she often appeared cold and distant, that was merely the armor she wore. In truth, Darcel was deeply thoughtful—often too thoughtful. She’d spiral into long reflections about the simplest things: why snow was white, why lies were so easy for others when she physically could not lie, or why feelings like joy and sorrow didn’t make sense in a place where time never moved.
Her only possession of sentimental value was a small, ornate compact mirror—a powerful artifact given to all who lived in the Void. It was said that these mirrors showed one’s true self, and when used against the wicked, could humble even the cruelest soul. It was her defense and her curse.
Her life changed forever the day the Void shattered. No one knew how or why, but the sterile whiteness was torn apart. Darcel landed in Hexuny—a dazzling, chaotic metropolis on the world of Terra. The colors overwhelmed her, the noise disoriented her, and the people? Far too unpredictable.
Yet despite her confusion, she thrived academically. Enrolled at Hexuny Academy for the Advancement of the Future and Us (HAAFU), she quickly earned scholarships, although ironically, she’d always been considered one of the slower minds back in the Void.
But the human world was strange. Her classes weren’t as fulfilling as she hoped. The projected parks in the auditorium felt fake. Textbooks felt drier than air. And her classmates—mostly teenagers hardened by gossip, parties, and late-night rebellion—treated her as either a child or a freak.
Most days, she arrived in class long before anyone else. The silence would comfort her… until the likes of Shannon Georgia Issa arrived—a loud, glamorous girl always surrounded by noisy admirers. Shannon was all high heels and attitude, every bit the opposite of Darcel. When Shannon was reassigned to be Darcel’s roommate, things only got stranger.
One evening, as Darcel rested in her dorm, reading a blog from her favorite site TheEvolvingGlassGirl, her G Pod screen began to flicker. Then, it shattered into glass. But instead of wounding her, the fragments floated—twisting in the air and arranging themselves into glowing words:
“Seven born, a single soul,
Seven born, a single goal.
A girl of illusions, born to loneliness;
A girl of stars, born to wealth;
A girl of plants, born to hunters;
A girl of the sky, born to those who farm the land;
A girl of movement, born to two destined to die;
A girl of doors, born to thieves;
A girl of mirrors, born to a void.
The guardians of Terra’s final stand
On Terra’s sacred land.”
Darcel’s eyes widened. A prophecy. A warning. Or maybe both.
But before she could react, the floating glass circled Shannon—and pierced her skin like shards of fate. Darcel screamed and ran to help, but it was too late. Shannon’s blood covered the floor. She had died in seconds, and Darcel had no idea how or why.
Panic-stricken, she hid the body under Shannon’s bed, staged a dummy with pillows, and cleaned the glass. The odd part? The glass never cut her. Not once.
When she finally lay in bed, exhausted, the trash bag full of glass began to shake. Once again, the shards floated into the air, forming a glowing mirror in front of her. She screamed, punched it—but her fist simply passed through. The reflection that stared back terrified her: translucent skin, wild eyes, hair tangled like vines in a storm. She didn’t recognize herself anymore.
She packed a bag and fled the dorm in the middle of the night, whispering goodbye to the only peace she had known since the Void exploded.
Later, she was captured by a mysterious woman in black heels, named Delia. Darcel awoke tied up in an empty room, facing Delia, who wore a dark purple cloak and a tall black hat. “Tell me everything,” she demanded.
Darcel blinked. “How do you know what happened?”
Delia stared deeply. “Because I killed someone too,” she said quietly. “The prophecy is real. You’re not alone. We need to find the others—before more blood spills.”
Moral of the Story:
True identity isn’t always visible on the outside. Sometimes, the reflections we fear the most are the ones we must face to grow.
