Adriana stood before the full-length mirror in her dimly lit bedroom, the heavy velvet curtains blocking out the mid-afternoon sun. In her hand was a vintage hairbrush, its silver backing tarnished with age, much like the memories she had been trying to polish for years. She didn’t look at her reflection immediately. Instead, she traced the carved wooden frame of the mirror, feeling the grooves and imperfections under her fingertips.
When the room fell silent again, the mirror showed only an empty bedroom and an open window where the curtains fluttered in a sudden, spirited breeze. Adriana was gone, finally walking toward a reflection she could call her own. Frente al espejo - Adriana Andivia.epub
The reflection changed again. Now she saw herself in a rain-slicked city she didn't recognize, looking older, grayer, but possessed of a terrifying, beautiful strength. This version of Adriana was standing alone on a balcony, looking out over a sprawling horizon with a look of absolute peace. It was a future she hadn't yet claimed. Adriana stood before the full-length mirror in her
The woman staring back looked tired. There were fine lines around her eyes—roadmaps of laughter and worry—and a paleness to her skin that suggested she hadn't felt the sun in a long time. But as she held the gaze of her reflection, the air in the room seemed to shimmer. The reflection didn’t blink when she did. Instead, she traced the carved wooden frame of
She took a deep breath, the scent of jasmine and rain filling her lungs. With a final glance at the quiet, stifling room behind her, Adriana stepped forward. She didn't just look at the woman in the mirror anymore. She became her.
The ripples moved outward like a stone dropped in a still pond. She felt a pull, an invitation to step through the glass and reclaim the fragments of her soul she had left behind in the corners of time. She realized then that the mirror wasn't a judge; it was a doorway.
Slowly, the image in the glass began to shift. The modern bedroom behind her faded away, replaced by the vibrant, sun-drenched patio of her grandmother’s house in Seville. She saw herself at twenty, wearing a dress the color of marigolds, her hair wild and free. That girl was laughing, her head thrown back, holding a paintbrush as if it were a scepter. "I forgot her," Adriana whispered, her voice cracking.