Jia_Syzelle

One stormy night, Elira Vale is pulled through an old mirror in her attic and wakes up in a strange kingdom stuck in the 17th century.

The people believe she’s part of a prophecy — someone called the "Mirror-Born" who could save or destroy their world.

Now stuck in this ancient kingdom full of magic, secrets, and war, Elira must work with a cursed prince who wants nothing to do with her. As she uncovers the truth about the mirror, the kingdom, and her own mysterious past, she faces a big choice:

Return home — or fight for a world that may be her true destiny.

Cursed Mirror Prince

Elira stared at the parchment like it had personally betrayed her.

"No. Elric, no—it says that? Really? The girl beyond time?" she scoffed, holding the brittle scroll at arm's length. "What kind of poetic nonsense even is that?"

He stepped toward her slowly, his eyes wide with something between awe and realization. "Elira—this is something. A clue. Proof. It means the mirror didn't bring you here by accident."

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "No, I'm not—I'm not some mystical savior chosen by fate or… or a magical object. I work retail back home. I burn toast. I cried in an elevator once because my Wi-Fi died."

Elric almost smiled. "Maybe fate likes bread-burners."

She glared at him. "This is not funny."

She tossed the scroll down onto the table. "Even if this Mirrorbound thing is real—so what? It says I 'awaken the beast's soul'? Sounds dramatic, sure, but there's nothing here about breaking the curse. Or saving you. Or getting me home!"

He frowned slightly, his hope dimming. "It's a start."

"No," she said again, firmer now. "It's a breadcrumb. A dusty sentence in a dead language that people like your ancestors probably made up to feel better about dying horribly."

"No!" she shouted, voice cracking. "Stop looking at me like I'm some kind of answer to your centuries-old nightmare. I didn't ask to be here. I didn't ask to be tied to you, or this castle, or your beast!"

"I just want to go home," she whispered.

And for a while, the room felt too quiet — like the very air was listening.

Then he said softly, "I know you didn't ask for any of this. I didn't either."

His expression had shifted — no longer filled with hope, but something quieter. Understanding. Guilt.

"But if this curse keeps growing," he continued, "it's not just me who pays. My people will. This kingdom will. And you... if you're tied to this, Elira, you'll be pulled down with me—whether you believe in prophecies or not."

She swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of everything.

"I'm not your hero," she whispered.

"Maybe not," he said. "But you're the only one the mirror let through."

That silence returned again, heavier this time.

Even if she hated the idea of fate—

The chosen one