The Mirror Rights

In the Republic of Vire, it is illegal to own a mirror.

They say mirrors make people selfish. That they lead to questioning, to vanity, to obsession. Before the Reflection Reform Act, everyone had the right to see themselves. Now, only the State sees you.

Public Reflectors—metallic walls at checkpoints and government buildings—show a distorted, dull version of your face. Just enough to adjust your uniform. Not enough to remember who you are.

I was raised to think this was normal.

I was wrong.

---

My name is Kael. I live in District 45 with my aunt, who never speaks of the time before. She wears her hair in a tight knot and watches me too closely, like she’s waiting for something to go wrong.

Something already did.

When I was six, I found a mirror shard in the alley. Small, curved, no bigger than a coin. I saw my eye in it. I saw something bright and wild and not permitted.

I kept it hidden. I still have it.

---

In school, we study the Doctrine of Uniformity. We are told beauty is distraction. Identity is noise. The face is a mask the State removes for our own peace.

We are taught to look at others without desire.
We are told desire breeds discontent.

And yet—

There’s someone who looks like thunder and speaks like moonlight.

Their name is Rynn.

---

Rynn transferred into our cohort from another District. Their voice doesn’t obey the tone rules. Their shoes are scuffed. They tilt their head when they laugh like they remember being real.

I caught them once, staring at a puddle too long.

"You miss it too," I whispered.

They didn’t flinch. "What?"

"The right to know your own face."

They smiled. "I want more than that."

---

We met in the abandoned greenhouse near the border fence. That’s where they showed me.

A full mirror. Cracked, dirty, but still enough.

I saw myself. Truly. Not filtered through permission or duty.

I looked wild.

Alive.

And next to me—Rynn, unfiltered. Beautiful in ways I didn’t have words for. Because we had been denied the language for wonder.

---

They told me about the Mirror Keepers—an underground group who collect reflections, preserve memory, teach people how to recognize themselves again. It sounded like a fairytale.

But then they offered me a choice.

"Come with us. Help others see."

"Isn’t that illegal?"

Rynn touched my wrist. "So was hope. Once."

---

We ran on the night of the Eclipse.

While the sky darkened and the alarms wailed, we crossed District lines, carrying fragments of forbidden glass, risking everything for clarity.

---

Now I am a Mirror Keeper.
I teach others to see again.

And when they do—

They cry.
They laugh.
They fall silent, not with fear, but awe.

Because in their own reflection, they find what the State could never erase:

Truth.

My name is Kael.
And I remember my face.