Flash Fiction: Ember and the Mountain of Mirrors

Once, in a land where the sky touched the earth and dreams grew like vines, there lived a girl named Ember. She was born with a quiet fire in her heart—a soft, steady glow. But as she grew, she began to forget it was there.

Everyone around her seemed to know who they were. One could speak with birds. Another could bend water with their hands. Ember, though, only felt… uncertain. She listened more than she spoke. She doubted more than she trusted. She shrank when she longed to rise.

One day, she heard of the Mountain of Mirrors, a place whispered about in sacred stories. It was said that those who climbed it could see who they truly were. So, Ember wrapped herself in a simple cloak, tucked her fears in her pockets, and began the long journey upward.

The Climb

As she climbed, she met travelers who offered their truths:

• A woman said, “Power is being louder than everyone else.”

• A man told her, “Power is control.”

• Another whispered, “You must earn it from others.”

Ember took their words and tried them on like coats. None fit. Each one made her light feel dimmer.

By the time she reached the summit, her heart was heavy.

There, in the center of the peak, stood a temple made entirely of mirrors—tall, curved, cracked, smooth, and endless. She stepped inside, and reflections met her at every turn. Some showed her as weak. Others as invisible. One even showed her as a monster. She trembled.

Then a voice echoed softly, “These are not who you are. These are who you believed you had to be.”

Her breath caught.

“To claim your power,” the voice continued, “you must choose your reflection.”

Ember closed her eyes. She placed her hands over her chest and whispered, “I am ready.”

When she opened them, the mirrors melted into light—revealing one final reflection.

In it, she stood tall. Her eyes were steady. Her fire no longer flickered—it roared with warmth, not to destroy, but to illuminate. She saw herself clearly: not perfect, not always certain, but whole, wise, and deeply powerful.

Not because others told her so.

But because she finally remembered.

Moral of the Story:

Claiming your spiritual power isn’t about force, approval, or becoming someone else. It’s the sacred act of remembering who you truly are beneath the layers of doubt, expectation, and fear. It’s saying:

“This is my truth. This is my voice. This is my light—and I will no longer dim it to fit into shadows.”

Your power was never lost. It was only waiting to be reclaimed.

Thank-you for reading.

Much love and Light,

Brenda Marie Fluharty