Prologue
But the path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.
The way of the wicked is as darkness: they know not at what they stumble.
Proverbs 4:14.
There was nothing else in the room besides the clocks and the mirrors, and the armchair he rested in. There was nobody else in the room besides him, either, and even though he was somewhat adjusted to his isolated solitude, it felt like there was something missing. A thought tugged at his mind, trying to tell him the lost piece of the puzzle, but it never clicked, it never fit. Clumsy fingers struggled to clasp at the single fragment, but its grip loosened, dropping the blank, empty piece back into nothingness.
Whenever he tried to reason anything out, his mind would give out, preventing him from knowing.
The faces of polished, ornate clocks gazed down at him, quiet and foreboding. It seemed like ages until their hands would move – the second hand would travel leisurely as if there was all the time in the world, the minute hand even slower, and the hour one slower than that. When they bothered to inch the smallest of increments, announcing the silent word tick, the room would go silent again, as if nothing had happened.
He never troubled to move, and he felt no need for food or drink. Most of his time was spent surveying the room with heavy-lidded eyes, drumming his fingers against a cushioned armrest, swinging his legs back and forth.
Like always, mirrored walls shimmered at him, their rainbow-colored pallor winking back at his glazed sapphire eyes. He wondered why there was light in the room, even though there was not a candle or lamp or any type of light source in sight.
Whilst he was thinking, a scene flickered before him as he looked into his reflection's ocean-tinted eyes, and he recalled a strange voice saying, "What do you see?"
And then there was another voice – he could recognize his own – puzzled and amused - even though he couldn't remember the last time he had spoken. "Myself, of course. Why? Do you see something else?"
The voice responded, "I see-"
The voice was cut off abruptly, as if somebody had pulled a plug in his mind. He blinked several times, attempting to break out of his reverie. Something had happened right now, something that had changed. It was different – off, interrupting his usual routine, shattering the regularity of his meditative ritual.
His voice rang out, resilient and fragile in the same moment, "Who's there?" There was a shuffling noise in response, and barely audible footsteps tread the floor. "Who's there?" he called again, more softly this time, as he caught sight of glowing, purple cat-like eyes hovering in the air. But he was unable to discern the rest of the newcomer's features. Everywhere the stranger stepped in the wide room was shadowed corners, places where no light reached. All he could see were those violet, violet eyes.
"You've been here for a while," the stranger murmured, his voice projecting around the room, bouncing off the walls in as he paced back and forth in a brisk stride. "Aren't you going to leave soon?"
"Who are you? And how did you get here?" Bristling with anticipation, his slouched back straightened ramrod against the chair, and his weary eyes snapped open. He could feel alarm bells ringing in his head, setting off his pounding pulse to quicken, his blood to tingle and boil. His head twisted around clockwise, pivoted counterclockwise, as he tried to find the entrance – his exit.
Noticing his observances, the newcomer chuckled lightly. "No windows, no doors? So it seems," the stranger murmured, and like the Cheshire cat, a wry smile appeared in the darkness, a light grin creeping on the edges of a mouth. Was it his imagination, or did there seem to be hurt interlaced in the visitor's tone? Something heavy weighed under those playful words, whilst secrets buried themselves underneath that smile.
"What do you mean?" he asked, running a damp tongue across his dried lips. He trembled with apprehension. He had been alone for so long, but now…he didn't know what was going to happen. He had thought he had forgotten everything, even fear. But now he remembered as that familiar visitor shot through his nerves like a comet, streaking through his veins. There was no fear like the one of not knowing what to fear, of the unknown, of the mysterious.
The voice softened, barely audible, dropping into a hissed whisper. But even as menacing as the words sounded, a touch of gentleness rolled across each syllable, quiet and understanding. "You are…quite foolish, as always. You've believed in yourself too much." There was a brief pause as the stranger considered his own words, before continuing. "But aren't we all?" A mocking, self-deprecating laugh bubbled forcibly from the pair of lips, short and cynical.
More hushed footsteps were heard, almost gracefully dancing on the wooden floor. His body tensed as he heard a sound come within a few feet of his chair, and he whipped around, trying to face the stranger. "What do you mean?" he repeated again, hoping to locate the stranger's position by coaxing the other to speak.
A rustle of soft fabric brushed against his hand, and he froze, azure orbs widening with shock. "This is but a room of magic tricks, of smoke and mirrors," the voice whispered into his ear, lips tickling the hair standing up on his neck. "Just look closer, like you always do. Look past the deception and the fancy presentation. And you'll find that the door has always been here, all this time."
Suddenly, the clocks bonged and clanged, reverberating throughout the room, their hands spinning rapidly in an uneven click-clack. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find the door.