Miras - Nora Roberts -

“This isn’t a mirror. Not exactly.” The woman unwrapped it. It was a locket—an antique, Victorian, gold filigree. When she opened it, there was no photograph inside. Instead, a tiny, convex sliver of polished obsidian. A mirror no bigger than a thumbnail.

Mira’s throat went tight. “You believe me?” Miras - Nora Roberts

And the story— their story—was just beginning. “This isn’t a mirror

Mira had always hated mirrors.

Mira looked from his face to the locket, then to the rain-streaked window behind him. In the glass, just for an instant, she saw a reflection that wasn’t hers. A woman in a green dress, standing in a doorway, one hand pressed to her heart. And she was smiling. gold filigree. When she opened it