The Mirror
I feel like I haven't written a story in forever. Where did this one come from? Who knows. It needs a lot of editing though.
It was just a mirror. It looked innocent enough, a plain piece of silvered-glass mounted to an ancient wooden frame. Clearly a family heirloom, if one were to judge by the amount of nicks and scratches marring the one time perfect shine, but a well loved one nonetheless, she assumed.
Or at least until recently, the girl thought grimly, as ran an absent finger across the wooden frame. The attic was a very dusty place and certainly not an ideal place for such a family treasure, but, as her mother pointed out, it was a hideous piece of furniture. Mold had set into the dark wood a few years back. Signs of rust were evident in the upper right corner. Mother never liked things that looked old or worn. Everything must be new. Always new. She hated that her daughter would venture up into the attic and return covered in dust.
But, Mother wasn't here this afternoon. Where had she gone? Shopping? Visiting a friend? The girl didn't care, as long as she didn't get caught again.
The girl ran her sleeve along the mirror to wipe away the months' collection of dust until she could finally see her reflection clearly.
"Are you there?" she whispered to the mirror.
Silence.
"I know you're there. Where else could you possibly go?" she demanded angrily.
Then she saw him. He materialized slowly, much slower than she remembered last time, taking the place of her reflection, but he still looked the same has he had when she found out the secret of the mirror some ten years earlier. He was really a nondescript kind of man, the type one would glance over and forget about in the next moment; medium build and height, ordinary brown hair curling at its ends, a strong jaw, and a oval face. A second glance would let another know that his eyes weren't quite as blue as the sky and certainly not as gray as silver, but an interesting mix of the two. The girl decided she liked his eyes best when she first met him because she never met anyone with such colorful eyes before. She wished her own eyes were more vivid than the drab, colorless gray.
But, today his eyes looked different. They looked tired, she thought with concern. Weary lines were sketched in the corners and there were faint smudges below. A smile warmed his eyes when they settled on her, but it didn't quite manage to wipe the fatigue away. He gave her his customary bow with flourish, even pretending to doff an imaginary hat. Sometimes, she wondered if he was an actor at one time. Or maybe, in his time, to bow to a girl was the protocol.
With an answering grin of her own, the girl dropped a wobbly curtsy. She was never one for grace. "Hello. I haven't seen you in a while. I'm sorry. Mother's been home a lot lately. It's been kind of busy here."
He smiled. Understanding touched his eyes as he gestured for her to continue.
Taking a seat on the dust blanketed floor, the girl fidgeted and looked down. "Well, as you know, winter's here, which means it'll only get busier with the holiday season and all. Or, maybe you don't know. I guess you can't really see out a window. It snowed last week. I haven't seen the snow fall since...well since forever it feels like." She glanced up and smiled, noting that, like an old time gentleman, he only sat after a lady did. "It was so cold out that Mother threatened to lock me in my room for the rest of the week if I went outside. But, she doesn't get it. I miss the snow, the sight, the sound, the feel.
"I went out side anyway," she laughed, losing herself in her own story. "She went up to her bedroom to take a nap and I stole outside in my warmest sweaters. It was thrilling to be with the snow again. I miss watching snow fall. They look like stars falling from the sky in a quiet dance, sighing when they finally blanket the ground. I love the feel of the cold flakes when they first touch my skin. It feels so intangible, but real. An icy brush and then it's gone in an instant, melted. It's so fleeting.
"I wish - I wish I could feel like that forever. You must think I'm crazy," she said with a grin as she returned back from her memory, " that I want to feel cold forever."
Swallowing visibly, he shook his head slowly. He looked down before she could catch a glimpse of the pain pricked in his eyes. Fleeting emotions, oh, he knew about them. They were all he had to thrive on. She was all he had to thrive on.
She leaned forward, her face propped on her hands. Her legs were crossed indecently, but it must no longer be against etiquette for a lady to spread her legs so. Or maybe she didn't care because she was relaxed in his presence. He liked to think it was the latter. He hoped she wasn't this indecent around other males.
Her smile glowed when she caught his gaze again. "I feel like you're the only person who understands me sometimes. Do you like the peace snow gives? It's like the world has stopped spinning on its axis, or rather, the world is spinning around me. The snow, the sky, the cold refreshing air; they're all that matters in that exact moment. It's so blissfully peaceful and quiet, yet mellifluous at the same time. No believes me when I say the snow plays the most beautiful song I know."
His lips turned up in an empathetic smile. She may never hear words uttered from his lips, but gestures and smiles seemed to offer her the comfort she sought with him. It had been so long - so long since someone had spoken to him. She offered him a glimpse at a life he left behind what seemed like centuries ago. The snow, the sky, the changing of the seasons, and even every day, hackneyed activities made him feel alive and human again instead of this empty shell locked and cursed within an ancient mirror until death do they part. He absently wondered if the witch was satisfied with her revenge on his family. It was a little extreme on her part, he thought with jaded anger, to extract this kind of revenge for spurred love.
He remembered the anger he felt for her, the rage for her locking him into this empty void. She kept him in her house for perversity. She loved to mock him, pulling his presence from the mirror for her own entertainment. He watched in jealous ire as she lived out her life to the fullest, married to some lordling and dropping brats left and right. And then she upped and died one day without a warning. He could only watch in horror as he realized that his curse wasn't tied in with her death. How long would he remain this way, half a man? For an eternity?
Years passed into decades and even then, he wasn't sure how long it had been since he was locked away. The only escape from boredom and his thoughts were to watch her family as generations came and went. How ironic, he thought that, he would be forced to watch her family grow and change, yet he wasn't even sure if his family name had survived after him. It was painful to think about what had befallen his aging mother and his younger sister.
The witch's family stayed within the same house generation after generation. Alterations and updates were made, but the house still stood sound. He never moved from his place in the family room, until recently, when witch's many times over great grandson died and his wife removed him to the attic. He hated the woman for that. At least in the family room, he had some sort of entertainment.
That is, until she showed up. He remembered her, just a tiny little girl of maybe eight years old with her auburn locks braided back. She was clearly looking for an adventure, with an old shirt wrapped around her shoulders like a cape and a stick that looked curiously like a sword in right hand. He watched her glance around the attic with hesitancy that he couldn't blame her for. The attic, from what he could see, was a maze of boxes with a bit of light streaming in from two windows. The dust floated and swirled in her wake like a trial of tiny fairies as she made her way towards him and the mirror, as if drawn to it.
Had he still been capable of breathing, he would have held his breath when she gave the mirror a curious glance and reached out with a tentative finger, tracing a patternless swirl. And then he felt it, the inexorable pull on his very soul and being. He gasped in pain from the force he hadn't felt since the witch had conjured his presence from the mirror.
Her guileless gray eyes widened as she gaped in shock. He supposed it wasn't every day a man showed up in a mirror. "Oh, god, don't scream", he tried to say, but no words came out. He could only shake his head and hold his hands out harmlessly.
After what seemed like an eternity, she recovered her shock and her mouth snapped shut. Her vivacious eyes grew curious and the slight cock of her head reminded him of a dog.
"Who are you?" she asked quietly. He could hear a slight tremor in her soft voice. Afraid.
It had been so long since anyone had recognized his presence, let alone addressed him. He tried to answer her, but like earlier, no sound came out. He could only shake his head at her with an apologetic smile and shrug.
He watched with a hidden smile as she frowned at his silent answer. "Are you a ghost? No? Well what are you doing in that mirror then? Are you stuck? How'd you get stuck in a mirror?"
Endless questions that could only come from a child, he answered in the only manner he was able to, with a shrug, nod or shake of his head.
"I like your necklace," the eight year old stated suddenly, as she gestured with her stick. "Where'd you get it? I want one."
With a downward glance, he pulled his necklace into a better view and hid a grimace. His family crest. He sat down to offer a better view.
The girl scooted forward until her nose was almost pressed against his barrier. "Ooo," she cooed. "I like the lion."
Finally appeased, she plopped on the ground and chattered with him. She didn't seem phased by the fact that her new found friend was a silent man trapped in a mirror by her wicked ancestor, not that she would know that last part.
"Are you listening to me?"
At the sound of her voice, he snapped back to the present time. The girl before him wasn't really a girl anymore, rather, she was a young woman. He felt a painful twisting in the pit of his stomach. A very beautiful young woman who treated him, the man in the mirror, like a human. He wasn't quite sure when the switch to from girl to woman happened, or when his feelings jumped from fraternal to, well, heartache.
Hoping the pain wasn't evident in his eyes, he answered her expectant stare with a sheepish smile.
Her smiles normally easy and carefree suddenly took on a doleful mien. She almost looked guilty while she sat there, fidgeting, he noted. He couldn't remember the last time she was so restless. His hand reached out, half way to her, before dropping uselessly in his lap.
"Well, actually, there's something I wanted to tell you," she started, refusing to look him in the eye. "I...well you know I went to study at the university. I - I met someone there." Her eyes darted to him and back to her lap.
Something was shattering, he realized, and it wasn't the glass.
"He's a good person. You'd like him. He's smart, kind, and he cares for me. Mother thinks it's high time that I got married and, well, he asked before I left to go home for winter intersession." With eyes suspiciously glistening, she looked up at him. "I said yes."
Whatever words she said next were lost to the roaring in his ears. It all happened at once; the gut-wrenching pain in the bottom of his stomach, the shattering in his chest, the anguish that darkened his vision a frightful speed. Oh god, no, no, no! his mind cried out helplessly. He clutched at his temples, trying to hold himself together. He was going to lose her. The one connection to the outside world. The one connection to his own world, his sanity. The one person who understood.
"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly. "I'm so sorry."
Raising his head, he saw her flinch at the sight of his broken soul. The open display of her distress only exacerbated his own. Drawing in courage from a reserve that even he didn't know existed, he offered her a shaky turn of his lips. It wasn't her fault, he tried to reason. He should have known this day would come, the day when she would find another, marry him, and leave. Just because...just because he could connect with her did not make her his. Just because he unwittingly gave her a piece of his soul didn't mean she belonged to him. Besides, he was nothing more than a ghost stuck in a mirror. Who could possibly be satisfied with that?
His hand reached out of its own accord, reaching for her, reaching for a future he could never hope to have. The glass barrier felt cold against the flat of his palm, colder than ice, colder than the empty eternity that he knew laid beyond him. It was a bitter reminder of what his existence would always be. A cold void devoid of warmth of company, of feeling, of love.
It had been so long since he felt warm that he had almost forgotten what it felt like, but when she laid her palm against his own, he knew just as he knew the sun would rise again tomorrow to another day. The heat from her palm radiated through his entire being more intimately than any act of love he committed, making him shudder with the force of it.
Long after she left, he leaned his forehead against the barrier. "Thank you."
The newly wedded Mrs. Locke stole her way up to the attic. Her mother still forbade her to venture in the attic, especially since she heard a crash not too long ago. Clearly it was too dangerous for a young woman, but she could hardly wait to tell him the news. She frowned; it probably would sadden him to hear it. She remembered the devastated look on his face when she told him she was getting married. But, this would be the last time she could come home before moving to her husband's new estate.
But her anxious happiness melted away when saw the shattered pieces of glass littering the floor. Only half of the moldy wooden frame remained standing on unsteady feet as if waiting for a tiny gust of wind to send it over. Collapsing to her knees, she stared in horrified shock with her hands pressed to her lips to silence to voiceless scream inside her heart.
She wasn't sure how long she sat there with tear stained cheeks, but she knew she shouldn't linger any longer. Her husband was downstairs still, probably talking with her mother, but he would start to worry if she disappeared for such a long period of time. Wiping away tear stains with the back of her hand, she braced her hands against the floor to push herself to her feet, but stopped when something among the rubble caught her eye. She reached down and pulled the silver cord free.
Hanging on the silver chain was a pendant of a rampant lion. Gingerly, she turned it over in her fingers and a watery smile broke over her face as she read the name behind the pendant.
"Jonathan Locke"
It was just a mirror. It looked innocent enough, a plain piece of silvered-glass mounted to an ancient wooden frame. Clearly a family heirloom, if one were to judge by the amount of nicks and scratches marring the one time perfect shine, but a well loved one nonetheless, she assumed.
Or at least until recently, the girl thought grimly, as ran an absent finger across the wooden frame. The attic was a very dusty place and certainly not an ideal place for such a family treasure, but, as her mother pointed out, it was a hideous piece of furniture. Mold had set into the dark wood a few years back. Signs of rust were evident in the upper right corner. Mother never liked things that looked old or worn. Everything must be new. Always new. She hated that her daughter would venture up into the attic and return covered in dust.
But, Mother wasn't here this afternoon. Where had she gone? Shopping? Visiting a friend? The girl didn't care, as long as she didn't get caught again.
The girl ran her sleeve along the mirror to wipe away the months' collection of dust until she could finally see her reflection clearly.
"Are you there?" she whispered to the mirror.
Silence.
"I know you're there. Where else could you possibly go?" she demanded angrily.
Then she saw him. He materialized slowly, much slower than she remembered last time, taking the place of her reflection, but he still looked the same has he had when she found out the secret of the mirror some ten years earlier. He was really a nondescript kind of man, the type one would glance over and forget about in the next moment; medium build and height, ordinary brown hair curling at its ends, a strong jaw, and a oval face. A second glance would let another know that his eyes weren't quite as blue as the sky and certainly not as gray as silver, but an interesting mix of the two. The girl decided she liked his eyes best when she first met him because she never met anyone with such colorful eyes before. She wished her own eyes were more vivid than the drab, colorless gray.
But, today his eyes looked different. They looked tired, she thought with concern. Weary lines were sketched in the corners and there were faint smudges below. A smile warmed his eyes when they settled on her, but it didn't quite manage to wipe the fatigue away. He gave her his customary bow with flourish, even pretending to doff an imaginary hat. Sometimes, she wondered if he was an actor at one time. Or maybe, in his time, to bow to a girl was the protocol.
With an answering grin of her own, the girl dropped a wobbly curtsy. She was never one for grace. "Hello. I haven't seen you in a while. I'm sorry. Mother's been home a lot lately. It's been kind of busy here."
He smiled. Understanding touched his eyes as he gestured for her to continue.
Taking a seat on the dust blanketed floor, the girl fidgeted and looked down. "Well, as you know, winter's here, which means it'll only get busier with the holiday season and all. Or, maybe you don't know. I guess you can't really see out a window. It snowed last week. I haven't seen the snow fall since...well since forever it feels like." She glanced up and smiled, noting that, like an old time gentleman, he only sat after a lady did. "It was so cold out that Mother threatened to lock me in my room for the rest of the week if I went outside. But, she doesn't get it. I miss the snow, the sight, the sound, the feel.
"I went out side anyway," she laughed, losing herself in her own story. "She went up to her bedroom to take a nap and I stole outside in my warmest sweaters. It was thrilling to be with the snow again. I miss watching snow fall. They look like stars falling from the sky in a quiet dance, sighing when they finally blanket the ground. I love the feel of the cold flakes when they first touch my skin. It feels so intangible, but real. An icy brush and then it's gone in an instant, melted. It's so fleeting.
"I wish - I wish I could feel like that forever. You must think I'm crazy," she said with a grin as she returned back from her memory, " that I want to feel cold forever."
Swallowing visibly, he shook his head slowly. He looked down before she could catch a glimpse of the pain pricked in his eyes. Fleeting emotions, oh, he knew about them. They were all he had to thrive on. She was all he had to thrive on.
She leaned forward, her face propped on her hands. Her legs were crossed indecently, but it must no longer be against etiquette for a lady to spread her legs so. Or maybe she didn't care because she was relaxed in his presence. He liked to think it was the latter. He hoped she wasn't this indecent around other males.
Her smile glowed when she caught his gaze again. "I feel like you're the only person who understands me sometimes. Do you like the peace snow gives? It's like the world has stopped spinning on its axis, or rather, the world is spinning around me. The snow, the sky, the cold refreshing air; they're all that matters in that exact moment. It's so blissfully peaceful and quiet, yet mellifluous at the same time. No believes me when I say the snow plays the most beautiful song I know."
His lips turned up in an empathetic smile. She may never hear words uttered from his lips, but gestures and smiles seemed to offer her the comfort she sought with him. It had been so long - so long since someone had spoken to him. She offered him a glimpse at a life he left behind what seemed like centuries ago. The snow, the sky, the changing of the seasons, and even every day, hackneyed activities made him feel alive and human again instead of this empty shell locked and cursed within an ancient mirror until death do they part. He absently wondered if the witch was satisfied with her revenge on his family. It was a little extreme on her part, he thought with jaded anger, to extract this kind of revenge for spurred love.
He remembered the anger he felt for her, the rage for her locking him into this empty void. She kept him in her house for perversity. She loved to mock him, pulling his presence from the mirror for her own entertainment. He watched in jealous ire as she lived out her life to the fullest, married to some lordling and dropping brats left and right. And then she upped and died one day without a warning. He could only watch in horror as he realized that his curse wasn't tied in with her death. How long would he remain this way, half a man? For an eternity?
Years passed into decades and even then, he wasn't sure how long it had been since he was locked away. The only escape from boredom and his thoughts were to watch her family as generations came and went. How ironic, he thought that, he would be forced to watch her family grow and change, yet he wasn't even sure if his family name had survived after him. It was painful to think about what had befallen his aging mother and his younger sister.
The witch's family stayed within the same house generation after generation. Alterations and updates were made, but the house still stood sound. He never moved from his place in the family room, until recently, when witch's many times over great grandson died and his wife removed him to the attic. He hated the woman for that. At least in the family room, he had some sort of entertainment.
That is, until she showed up. He remembered her, just a tiny little girl of maybe eight years old with her auburn locks braided back. She was clearly looking for an adventure, with an old shirt wrapped around her shoulders like a cape and a stick that looked curiously like a sword in right hand. He watched her glance around the attic with hesitancy that he couldn't blame her for. The attic, from what he could see, was a maze of boxes with a bit of light streaming in from two windows. The dust floated and swirled in her wake like a trial of tiny fairies as she made her way towards him and the mirror, as if drawn to it.
Had he still been capable of breathing, he would have held his breath when she gave the mirror a curious glance and reached out with a tentative finger, tracing a patternless swirl. And then he felt it, the inexorable pull on his very soul and being. He gasped in pain from the force he hadn't felt since the witch had conjured his presence from the mirror.
Her guileless gray eyes widened as she gaped in shock. He supposed it wasn't every day a man showed up in a mirror. "Oh, god, don't scream", he tried to say, but no words came out. He could only shake his head and hold his hands out harmlessly.
After what seemed like an eternity, she recovered her shock and her mouth snapped shut. Her vivacious eyes grew curious and the slight cock of her head reminded him of a dog.
"Who are you?" she asked quietly. He could hear a slight tremor in her soft voice. Afraid.
It had been so long since anyone had recognized his presence, let alone addressed him. He tried to answer her, but like earlier, no sound came out. He could only shake his head at her with an apologetic smile and shrug.
He watched with a hidden smile as she frowned at his silent answer. "Are you a ghost? No? Well what are you doing in that mirror then? Are you stuck? How'd you get stuck in a mirror?"
Endless questions that could only come from a child, he answered in the only manner he was able to, with a shrug, nod or shake of his head.
"I like your necklace," the eight year old stated suddenly, as she gestured with her stick. "Where'd you get it? I want one."
With a downward glance, he pulled his necklace into a better view and hid a grimace. His family crest. He sat down to offer a better view.
The girl scooted forward until her nose was almost pressed against his barrier. "Ooo," she cooed. "I like the lion."
Finally appeased, she plopped on the ground and chattered with him. She didn't seem phased by the fact that her new found friend was a silent man trapped in a mirror by her wicked ancestor, not that she would know that last part.
"Are you listening to me?"
At the sound of her voice, he snapped back to the present time. The girl before him wasn't really a girl anymore, rather, she was a young woman. He felt a painful twisting in the pit of his stomach. A very beautiful young woman who treated him, the man in the mirror, like a human. He wasn't quite sure when the switch to from girl to woman happened, or when his feelings jumped from fraternal to, well, heartache.
Hoping the pain wasn't evident in his eyes, he answered her expectant stare with a sheepish smile.
Her smiles normally easy and carefree suddenly took on a doleful mien. She almost looked guilty while she sat there, fidgeting, he noted. He couldn't remember the last time she was so restless. His hand reached out, half way to her, before dropping uselessly in his lap.
"Well, actually, there's something I wanted to tell you," she started, refusing to look him in the eye. "I...well you know I went to study at the university. I - I met someone there." Her eyes darted to him and back to her lap.
Something was shattering, he realized, and it wasn't the glass.
"He's a good person. You'd like him. He's smart, kind, and he cares for me. Mother thinks it's high time that I got married and, well, he asked before I left to go home for winter intersession." With eyes suspiciously glistening, she looked up at him. "I said yes."
Whatever words she said next were lost to the roaring in his ears. It all happened at once; the gut-wrenching pain in the bottom of his stomach, the shattering in his chest, the anguish that darkened his vision a frightful speed. Oh god, no, no, no! his mind cried out helplessly. He clutched at his temples, trying to hold himself together. He was going to lose her. The one connection to the outside world. The one connection to his own world, his sanity. The one person who understood.
"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly. "I'm so sorry."
Raising his head, he saw her flinch at the sight of his broken soul. The open display of her distress only exacerbated his own. Drawing in courage from a reserve that even he didn't know existed, he offered her a shaky turn of his lips. It wasn't her fault, he tried to reason. He should have known this day would come, the day when she would find another, marry him, and leave. Just because...just because he could connect with her did not make her his. Just because he unwittingly gave her a piece of his soul didn't mean she belonged to him. Besides, he was nothing more than a ghost stuck in a mirror. Who could possibly be satisfied with that?
His hand reached out of its own accord, reaching for her, reaching for a future he could never hope to have. The glass barrier felt cold against the flat of his palm, colder than ice, colder than the empty eternity that he knew laid beyond him. It was a bitter reminder of what his existence would always be. A cold void devoid of warmth of company, of feeling, of love.
It had been so long since he felt warm that he had almost forgotten what it felt like, but when she laid her palm against his own, he knew just as he knew the sun would rise again tomorrow to another day. The heat from her palm radiated through his entire being more intimately than any act of love he committed, making him shudder with the force of it.
Long after she left, he leaned his forehead against the barrier. "Thank you."
The newly wedded Mrs. Locke stole her way up to the attic. Her mother still forbade her to venture in the attic, especially since she heard a crash not too long ago. Clearly it was too dangerous for a young woman, but she could hardly wait to tell him the news. She frowned; it probably would sadden him to hear it. She remembered the devastated look on his face when she told him she was getting married. But, this would be the last time she could come home before moving to her husband's new estate.
But her anxious happiness melted away when saw the shattered pieces of glass littering the floor. Only half of the moldy wooden frame remained standing on unsteady feet as if waiting for a tiny gust of wind to send it over. Collapsing to her knees, she stared in horrified shock with her hands pressed to her lips to silence to voiceless scream inside her heart.
She wasn't sure how long she sat there with tear stained cheeks, but she knew she shouldn't linger any longer. Her husband was downstairs still, probably talking with her mother, but he would start to worry if she disappeared for such a long period of time. Wiping away tear stains with the back of her hand, she braced her hands against the floor to push herself to her feet, but stopped when something among the rubble caught her eye. She reached down and pulled the silver cord free.
Hanging on the silver chain was a pendant of a rampant lion. Gingerly, she turned it over in her fingers and a watery smile broke over her face as she read the name behind the pendant.
"Jonathan Locke"