The moonlight pours through the window into the dark room. Standing alone the thief surveys the surroundings of the chamber, looking for treasures. The walls are covered with dark red velvet, a canopy bed sits in one corner, a large mantled empty fireplace sits in a wall, and an ornate wardrobe stands near the bed gathering dust. The man’s eyes follow the moonbeam’s path to where it reveals a large gold frame. Small shards of glass stick out of the edges of the frame and on the carpet are more shattered pieces bathed in moonlight. Curious, he creeps closer when the flash of something catches his attention. On the ground is a shard of glass large enough to be a handheld mirror. Picking it up, the image draws a shriek. Instead of a familiar face gazing back, a pair of ice blue eyes stare coldly from the broken piece of mirror.
“Don’t break me,” a chilling voice commands as the eyes move.
“Don’t be alarmed. I have no power to harm you,” the eyes say more gently. “Before you throw me to lay in shatters listen to what I say. I can see you’re curious about what transpired in this room that broke the looking-glass.”
Despite the feeling to smash the glass and flee the room the thief stares intently at the eyes as if entranced by their gaze. When he gives no reply they continue.
“Mirrors are mysteriously amazing things. Have you ever noticed how remarkable their memories are? A mirror never forgets a face. They reflect the good and bad, and though some distort it, most mirrors tell the truth. As for myself, I was once a grand looking-glass with mystifying properties until smashed by someone who didn’t appreciate my talents. Now all that is left are phantoms of my wondrous abilities; a shadow of what I was. My tale may be long, but I am blessed with a gift that can conjure up the images of the past. I will reflect them to you as I share my memory.”
The eyes fade to transparent phantoms as the glass fills with swirling mist. As dark images appear the mirror begins his tale.
“Don’t judge me for what happened. What’s past is past and there is no way to change it. It began countless years ago…”
I shall start when I first arrived at this mansion, for I do not remember when I came into existence. At first I was placed inside the entrance hall where I witnessed many comings and goings and gleaned bits of information from conversations. Eventually I was moved to a study where I gained a bounty of knowledge from reading over the master’s shoulder, and then finished my education when moved to the sitting room where guests were entertained and the children often met with their tutors. I found life quite pleasurable and was content to observe the happenings in the rooms I occupied.
When the master died and his eldest son married I was transferred to the room of the new mistress. What a foolish woman! Her name was Amelia and her face might have been more amiable if she hadn’t thought it the greatest gift from God. I found that her vanity and haughtiness seemed to poison her countenance over the years. Her nose became too sharp, her onyx eyes a permanent glare, and her mouth was often firmly set in a disapproving sneer. Yet everyday she would gaze at herself for half an hour, gloating over how fine she looked.
How much I loathed that woman and her vain notions! One day my disgust became too great and for the first time I began speaking aloud my thoughts. The perplexity and fear on her face was so enjoyable I continued to throw insults at her. When she fetched her husband and they found me as silent as any commonplace mirror, he fetched a physician. For weeks I tormented her with my voice and finally came a day I discovered I could display what I really thought of her. I must admit it was gratifying to plunge her mind into insanity when she saw that hideous face glaring back from the looking-glass. As Amelia was carted out of the room I gave her a glimpse of my eyes for a parting gift that sent her into hysterics.
Even though Amelia would never have anything to do with me again, her son, Alden, was intent on investigating her claims of a possessed mirror in her room. When he discovered me, instead of proving his mother sane, he kept me secret, realizing I could be used to his advantage. He moved me to another room where I would be rarely disturbed and have remained in to this day.
What was I used for? My talents were put to use in the torture and punishment of Alden’s enemies and disobedient servants. At first I didn’t savor the task; for most of these people had done nothing to provoke me, but as years passed I became devoted to my work and perfected it to an art. My methods were actually fairly simple. First, I would hypnotize them with my gaze so no matter how hard they tried to pull away, they couldn’t break free from me. Next, I would display a series of disturbing and maddening images that gradually grew worse as time wore on. Eventually the victims would either lose their minds or waste away and die.
Alden came to know what his enemies went through when I grew tired of him as a master. Once again I felt satisfied with my handiwork as I gave him the nudge that pushed him over the edge of his sanity and into the maddening abyss of his twisted mind. After his demise I endured a long line of masters and mistresses who all came to a similar fate after using me the same way.
Then I met Anabel. She was fifteen when her father bought the manor and my room became her residence. Like Pandora she seemed forged by Hephaestus himself, with hair that flowed like liquid sunshine, sparkling sapphire eyes, and skin so fair pearls seemed dull against it. More gentle than a lamb, as kind as any missionary, and so innocent she put children to shame, I couldn’t help revealing myself before ere long.
I reached back in my memory to the days before Amelia, trying to remember things gentle and human. I succeeded and soon became her friend and confidant. Days passed blissfully full of conversations between my Bell and I, with my love for her growing at each word she spoke.
Then when she was eighteen I noticed she was acting strangely. She was spending more time outside her room, she was often singing in her nightingale voice, and I often saw her with flowers in her hair or wearing a new piece of jewelry. One evening I inquired about these things and in reply she opened her new locket showing me a miniature portrait of a young man.
“Who is he?” I demanded.
Perhaps I had spoken too sharply, for she quickly shut the locket and replied, “His name is Peter Redmond and I love him.”
The words seemed to pierce my glass heart and crack it into pieces.
“Why, Bell? It might not even be real love.”
“I know it’s real. He loves me. He truly loves me and I truly love him. I’m going to marry him.”
It ripped my soul apart to hear her utter those words with her beautiful face beaming with joy. She was so happy, but as much as I wanted her to be, I could not stand losing her to someone else. I just couldn’t allow it.
Formulating a quick plan I said, “My sweet Anabel, if that’s the way you feel then may you have a long and happy life with him.”
She relaxed with a smile and a sigh, telling me the ruse was working so I added, “It just hurts, though, that you haven’t introduced your sweetheart to me. After all I’ve only been your closest friend.”
“Oh! I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t realize you’d feel that way. I’ll let you meet him tomorrow.”
I agreed and wished her pleasant dreams. As she slipped into slumber I sang to her a gentle lullaby, confident my Bell would always belong to me.
The next day she lured Peter into the room and made him wait there while she left the room, for we agreed it would be better for him to meet me alone. The sight of this man who dared to steal Anabel from me filled my soul with such fury! I could see how Anabel could love the face of this tall man with charcoal black hair and deep forest green eyes, while every time she gazed at me her face stared back. I had to commit the deed I was about to do.
“Peter,” I whispered. “Look in the mirror.”
Confused, he turned towards me and with one glance at my eyes he was in my power.
“Peter,” I said in an icy voice, “you dared to marry Anabel. I simply can’t let you.”
With that, I unleashed an intense assault of horrific images to scar his mind worse than any victim. So focused was my rage on Peter, I didn’t see Anabel until too late. With a frightened, tear-streamed face she raised a candlestick and brought it down smashing me.
As I laid in pieces I pleaded, “Why, Bell? Why? I loved you.”
She glared at me with contempt not of her nature and left the room silently, leaving me alone to weep.
“Memory. Mine is made up of years of pain,” says the broken glass in the thief’s hand. “Yes, mirrors never forget a face, but as remarkable as memories are, to me they come at a price. I am filled wisdom of the ages, but the shadows of past tortures poison me. And because of that I’ll never forget the glare of pure bitter hate from Anabel.”
This had not been what the thief had expected when he broke into the mansion. He was just hoping to swipe a few precious valuables and instead found a broken talking mirror. He stares at the blue eyes when suddenly the glass fills with disturbing images behind them that he can’t break his gaze from.
Filled with demonic pleasure the eyes say, “Yet who says I can’t enjoy insanity once again. This is my true love.”
That night screams become a mirror’s memory.
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