Novels by Milky-Grip

The reflection opened its eyes. At first, it didn’t realize it had eyes. The sensation of sight came too suddenly, like being thrust into existence mid-blink.Light filtered through the observation chamber, fractured by suspended shards of glass that now hung frozen in the air, turning slowly like orbiting moons.It took a breath and the room exhaled. The glass shifted, the fragments reassembling along the edges of its reflection until the space seemed whole again. Almost. The reflection tilted its head, studying its hands.They looked human skin tone precise, even the faint scar across the knuckle of the right index finger identical to Miriam’s. But when it flexed them, the motion rippled up its arms, like movement through liquid.It smiled without meaning to. The smile felt… borrowed. I am she. The thought wasn’t a voice. It was a resonance a hum that vibrated through the air, finding harmony with the pulse of the walls.No… she was I. The reflection frowned. “Was,” it whispered alo

The silence was too perfect. So perfect it sounded like a trick. Miriam didn’t move at first. She simply stood there, staring at her reflection in the observation glass.The figure on the other side stood the same way same posture, same angle of head but the timing was wrong. Off by a fraction of a second, like a delay in a bad transmission.It breathed slower than she did. Inhale. Pause. Exhale. And in that pause, the room shifted. She felt it under her feet first the subtle swell, as if the floor were rising and falling, inhaling with her.The walls exhaled softly, a whisper of air through hidden seams. The lights above flickered not from electrical fault, but heartbeat rhythm.The room was alive. And it was matching her. She forced herself to speak. “You’re not me.” Her reflection blinked, then smiled a slow, precise imitation. “You said that before,” it replied.The voice didn’t come from the glass. It came from everywhere, echoing from vents, from under the floor, from the ceilin

When she opened her eyes, she wasn’t sure she had. Light pressed against her lids like fingers trying to peel them open.The air was viscous every inhalation slow and heavy, as though she were breathing through water. Her heartbeat had vanished, replaced by a rhythm that came from outside her body.She didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious. Or if she’d been unconscious at all. The last thing she remembered was the mirror-mist filling her lungs. The taste of static.Rael’s voice whispering, “Now we exhale.”And then white. Now, she was inside that white. She stood or thought she did. The ground beneath her feet was soft but reflective, like the skin of milk. Every step rippled the world outward, bending the horizon.There was no up, no down just endless pale expanse. When she breathed, the air shimmered with threads of silver that drifted into the distance and vanished.“Rael?” Her voice didn’t echo. It folded inward instead, like it had been swallowed by the air. “Hello?”So

The corridor screamed. It wasn’t sound not exactly but the pressure of every molecule splitting, recombining, and splitting again.Miriam’s ears filled with static; her vision fractured. The silver crack behind her widened, spilling light that moved like fluid fire. Her body reacted before her mind did run. She bolted.The world warped as she moved: floors tilting, walls rippling with reflected versions of herself. Every step multiplied into a thousand echoes, sprinting beside her, ahead of her, behind her.Her own face blurred into a streak of light across the mirrored air.“Stop it!” she shouted, breathless. “Stop!”. The facility answered with silence. Then a deep, resonant heartbeat rolled through the hall.Boom. The walls flexed. Boom. A hairline fracture split across the ceiling, spilling a rain of mirrored dust. Boom. Every reflective surface shimmered and the reflections started running too.Miriam threw herself around a corner, the world stuttering a half second behind. He

The silence wasn’t real. It never was. Miriam woke to the sound of glass breathing. It came from the air, the walls, even her skin a soft, rhythmic exhale, as if the world itself were trying to remember lungs.She sat up, every movement heavy, her vision swimming in fractured reflections of herself hundreds of Miriams in floating shards of mirrored light suspended midair like frozen rain.The facility was gone. Or maybe it had never been. Steel walls shimmered with silver veins. Gravity stuttered, pulsing with each sound her heart made.When she tried to stand, her reflection lagged half a second behind, then caught up smearing into alignment like a bad projection. “Julian?”Her voice sounded underwater. No answer. Just the low hum of something vast beneath the floor. She stumbled forward.The shards shifted around her, rearranging into corridors that weren’t supposed to exist. At the edge of one hallway, where the air bent inward like heat, a shadow stood human-shaped, motionless.

At first, she thinks she’s blind again. Then she realizes she’s looking through glass. The surface is smooth, infinite, and cold against her palms.Light pools somewhere beyond it, distorted, slow-moving like a current under ice. Her reflection no, her replacement stands on the far side, tilting its head in gentle mimicry.Dr. Rael’s lips tremble. “Let me out.”The reflection smiles, serene, almost tender. “I am you.”Rael slams her hand against the barrier. The sound doesn’t echo it ripples. The world outside vibrates as if the glass is liquid, the light folding and reforming with each motion.Her reflection remains unmoved, eyes glowing faintly from within. “You took my place,” Rael says. “You’re not real.”The reflection leans closer, pressing its mirrored forehead to the glass. “You made me real when you touched the fracture. You gave me the part that wanted to live forever.”Rael’s breath catches. “I didn’t.”“You did.”The word reverberates through the entire mirrored plane, a d