Beauty in the Eye of the Beholder

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own.

It was slightly broken, but in it was a woman. She looked so wonderfully put together like a picture perfect landscape, light reflecting off her river green eyes. I must admit I was envious.

She looked like me, but she wasn’t. I wore a dress torn at the hems and hers kissed the ground covering all the flowers that lay underneath. Behind her, a picture started to form. It was a meadow of greens and golds, with the sun pouring into every gap of grass and branch you can see. I stared in awe and suddenly remembered how unfortunate my life had been to lead me here. The backroom of the museum seemed so drab compared to the mirror’s reflection.

Oh, how I wish I could be there, I thought.

“You could be.” She replied, hearing my thoughts.

“How could I?” I replied back, “you are just a figment and I am just a lunatic.”

“Lunatic? Hardly. I would say you are wise– wise to see what others cannot.” Then, with the grace she held all this time, she knelt and plucked a dandelion from the ground.

“Did you know…” she started, “that dandelions were named fairy clocks?” She examined the flower from the stem to the petals.

“I did not.” Suddenly, I found myself staring intently at the way her fingernails held the stem.

“They were named like that because they were quite unpredictable with how fast they opened and closed. Luckily, just like this one and all the others around me, there is one day a year that the flowers open at the same time.”

With ease, she began to hold her hand out with the dandelion in her palms. I carefully picked it up from her and without realizing, I slowly brought it to my lips– an old habit.

“And one day a year, these gifts are offered in return for something else.” She continued.

“What’s that?” I said, dazed. I began to suck in my breath to blow on the petals when she said:

“Passage.” She replied.

Suddenly the dandelion withered in my palms and the feeling of an electric shock coursed through my body.

Crack. The mirror shattered.

My vision was blurry and my lungs began to close in on themselves. I dropped to the ground and backed myself into the corner shelves. That’s when I saw her– bare feet and withered flowers dragging from the mirror into the backroom. The ground became stained with dirt and crushed leaves with dead insects littering the tile floor. There was something horrifying about the way her eyes settled into mine, like she was trying to pop my veins from the inside.

My eyes widened and panic coated every breath I took. I wanted so badly to look away, but it was as if my eyes were glued to the figure that stood before me. I was frozen in shock, awe and fear.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you my dear?” She said in a voice as sweet as honey. I shook my head so vehemently, I swear my neck would crack.

“An eye for an eye– you should never trust faeries.” She whispered the last bit into my ear and a chill rose up my spine. At least, I thought it was a chill.

I looked down to where she rested her hand and saw scorpions crawling down her arm.

One by one, they scoured my limbs and bit the open flesh that lay bare.

I looked behind her to see that the meadow that was once there, was starting to pour out of the mirror and into the shelves like a landslide. Withered flowers grew on metal bars and insects nestled tightly into the cracks of the statues. Soon enough, my vision was all I had. I lay motionless, staring at what once was a storage compartment turned into a cave of thorns and poisoned vines.

“Thank you,” She rested her hand under my chin, “Lives are so much easier to steal from those who don’t want it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the scorpion tails resting on my eyelids.

Then, my vision went black.