The Reflection of My Reflection

Darkness. The first and only thing he could remember was darkness. He could not remember how long he had been in this state, for his memory was not vast, but even so, it was an eternity¬ of twilight; until he heard her. Distant and delicate at first, one he might have not noticed had he not been surrounded by silence. Her voice seemed to pierce through the black that surrounded him. To him, this was the most divine and heavenly thing he had ever experienced. Had he not heard, he never should have known how dreary his existence truly was. Faint, gentle, like an angel her voice was. He followed the echo whenever it dared to resonate in the endless abyss that was his home. When it ceased, he had nothing left to pursue, so he paused and waited to hear it once more in hopes that he would find her, whoever she was.

Growing impatient, he decided to continue moving. After what felt like the longest time of his life of not hearing her voice, it reverberated louder than ever before; he knew he was close to her. Her voice ceased almost as quickly as it had started; nonetheless, he pressed on to find her. He could not see her, but as he closed his eyes, he could feel her flowing through his mind. He felt her breath as if she were in front of him. He drew closer. Is it a light? Do I even know what light looks like? I think… yes, it is a light! he thought to himself. And, obviously, a young woman. In fact, there are two young women. Each of them chattering about something to which he had no context. It was most likely some nonsense about their romantic lives. He listened for her, but her voice had been lost amongst the volume of the other two. Unfortunately, neither of them was the amazing woman whose voice he was following. They continued chattering and laughing incessantly with increasingly high-pitched voices. She had never done that. She never does do that. Her voice is graceful and elegant, much different from these women, as theirs were quite vexing and high pitched. Where has she gone?

“Amelie, Isla, what on earth are you giggling about?” cried a familiar voice. Standing in the doorway across the room, there she was in all her perfection, and she looked even more beautiful than she sounded. He gaped at the sight, grateful none of them could see his incredulous expression.

“Olive!” said the two women simultaneously who apparently were called Amelie and Isla. The woman on the right immediately explained, “We were just out for a stroll when we happened upon your neighborhood, and we thought we would pop in for some tea. We spoke with your mother, and she informed us that you were on an errand and that we shall wait in your room upon your return. We discovered this old mirror in your attic and thought it would look simply lovely in your bedroom!”

Olive. What a fitting name. Her skin was quite the color, and she was beautifully freckled from head to toe. Her hair was nothing like that of the other women; theirs were simply blonde, and not a very attractive blonde color at that. Her hair was a deep, beautiful reddish auburn color with highlights of radiant gold. Not a blemish rested upon her face, nor her arms. He, unfortunately, could not approach close enough to gaze upon her eyes, but he imagined them to be a dark green like the leaves of spring or pale ocean blue. She wore an elegantly simple but modest gown that complemented her skin in color, being a muted navy laced with gold accents along the hem and bodice. There was something about her that was so familiar, yet it was so enigmatic that he simply needed to know more about this wondrous angel.

He began to study the hole of light, and he feared that she should see him, though he cowered in the darkness. So deeper into the darkness he sank, only watching all of them from afar. Eventually, the other women became nothing but distant trees with the sound of rustling leaves until all he could hear and see was her. He wondered and feared what should happen if they were to discover his presence.

Time went on, days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Isla and Amelie would visit often. They were loud and quite irritating, as their voices were not the most pleasant. Their voices were like high-pitched bells that ring incessantly. Whenever they babbled on about the latest fashion line in Paris or their latest suitor that their mother had chosen for them, he had almost contemplated leaving. Then he would hear Olive speak and was reminded of why he stayed. He almost thought that this emotion was love, but he was never quite sure, never having felt it; all he knew was that he wanted to be with her every waking moment. He pondered on the notion that perhaps she might return whatever profound feelings he carried for her.

There was one occasion where Olive’s mother entered the room. Of course, he did not realize who she was until she was addressed by Olive. The mother looked remarkably like Olive; however, she was much older, shorter, and with dark blonde hair instead of auburn. She came into the room to fetch Olive for supper. That was when everything began. She stole a single glance in his direction and became furious. She began yelling about where “that mirror” came from and how it came into the room.

“This mirror was in storage! Why on earth would you think it wise to remove something of mine without permission?!” screamed mother.

“My apologies, mother,” said Olive, confused and very apologetic. “Amelie and Isla were here, they told me that they retrieved it from the attic. I am so sorry. I will put it back.”

He never did see a mirror anywhere in the room, so he wondered about on which one she meant and where. However, he was not given much time to figure it out. She started to walk in his direction, and he clambered in terror to avoid her seeing him. She made her way towards him, took hold of the edge of the light, and as she lifted whatever this was, his perspective of the room shifted.

“No,” said mother, “I will take care of it.” Her glassy grey eyes burned right through his as she said this, and he almost saw a glint of fear in her eyes. Even… maybe a tear?

And then the realization struck. The darkness that he woke up in, the reason that all the women continue to stare into the void of his home. Had he been inside a mirror? How was that even possible?

Mother put something over the face to possibly cover the reflection, he supposed. He thought about how he should have said something and why he did not say anything. Perhaps it was fear, or perhaps he just knew better. Whatever was shielding his vision to the outside world was somewhat thin, allowing the passing shapes and silhouettes to be seen through it. Wherever he was going, it was unlikely that he would see Olive ever again.