Before coming to Erde and becoming a sorceress she never would have dreamed that a mirror could explode.

The mirror upon the table exploded, and two of the guards shriveled into dust on the white-powdered stones.

Someone turned on a glass jackhammer and the mirror for the length of the bar exploded outward in a wave, from left to right.

It occurred to him that the mirror could simply explode outward, burying razor-shards of glass in his face, his eyes, his brain.

Every mirror in the room exploded silently, fountaining glass across the carpet.

A mirror in Barbara's bedroom explodes, impaling her with glass shards like a pincushion, then reforms itself without a crack.

The last time she'd tried to use her sorcery to see her youngest child, the mirror had exploded.

The mirror exploded outwards as a taloned hand flashed up, sinking into the boy's tunic and scoring the flesh beneath.

The mirror itself exploded, sending broken glass riving.

The mirror exploded outward in a shower of glass.