If you’re quick, you’ll catch a brief reference to… well, I should say no more.
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In 1724, an obsidian mirror, discovered in the distant lands of South America, was brought back to Spain. The captain of the ship went mad, the mirror went missing, but the seed had already been planted.
A seed of wickedness and evil.
The sorcery did not sleep. Over the next century, it crept into the womb of the world, infecting the innocent. Granting gifts both blessed and cursed.
Now, the children of the mirror walk our streets. Their secrets are not our own. The sorcery in their blood marks them. Makes them beautiful. Makes them dangerous. Makes them better than us.
Gifts and Curses. Those who fly. Those who can change. Those who can see. Each is given a single Gift. And a Curse. Those who become infected with the sorcery of the black mirror pass these Gifts and Curses on to their offspring.
We know the inheritors of this legacy. Their names ring in our memories. And as the mirror changes hands, almost by a will of its own, new generations are born, bearing the mark.
Each born with one Blessing, one Curse. But if one kills the other, he steals her Blessing, adding it to his own, replacing his Curse with hers.
They are faster than us. They are stronger than us. They are better than us.
Children of the Mirror. Blessed and Damned.