It was in Rajasthan, where the sands eat memory and the nights hum with ghost songs, that Kiara found the temple.
Locals warned her: The Temple of Mirrors does not welcome the living.
But Kiara, restless and reckless, had always chased beauty wherever it was forbidden.
At twilight, the temple rose before her — half-buried, shimmering under a dying sun. Every surface was made of mirrored glass, cracked and ancient, reflecting infinite broken skies. Her reflection warped and multiplied as she crossed the threshold, her footsteps muffled by carpets of desert silk.
Inside, the air pulsed — warm, fragrant, alive.
In the center stood a figure, waiting.
A man — or perhaps a god — with skin of molten bronze and eyes as deep as blackened honey. His chest was bare, adorned only with strands of pearls and rudraksha beads. His hair coiled like smoke around his shoulders.
"Why have you come, mortal?" His voice was low, reverberating against the mirrored walls.
"To see," she whispered, heart hammering against her ribs.
"Then see," he smiled, and the mirrors shimmered.
In every reflection, Kiara saw herself — but not as she knew: her limbs were longer, her mouth redder, her body draped in gold and longing. She saw herself pressed against the man, her moans echoing against endless glass. She saw his hands explore her without hesitation, saw herself surrendering, burning, blooming.
Her thighs trembled. Her skin flushed. She ached between the legs without him even touching her.
"Is it illusion," she gasped, "or real?"
He stepped forward, cupping her face with hands that burned like summer storms.
"In Maya’s land, what is the difference?"
He kissed her then — a kiss that shattered all the mirrors at once, a crash like a thousand worlds ending.
And then he was everywhere: his mouth at her throat, his hands parting her layers of cotton and lace, his body pinning her gently but firmly against the mosaic floor. Their joining was not frantic, but ritualistic — every thrust, every sigh, a prayer to forgotten gods who watched hungrily from broken glass.
Time melted. Stars dripped from the temple’s dome.
When it was over, Kiara lay trembling in a pool of crushed reflections, the god’s breath still warm on her skin.
"You came seeking truth," he murmured. "You found yourself."
At dawn, the villagers found her asleep outside the ruins, her hair tangled with pearl beads, her body scented of incense and musk. The temple behind her was nothing but a pile of dust.
And in her heart, a secret pulse — a memory of ecstasy too fierce for mortal hands alone.