After The Dreams
By Any Unborn Child
When Gothel was a little girl, she did not come to expect much out of life. She was told not to. Through the eyes and ears of her parents, Gothel learned of the harsh realities that life would hand to her. In the domain of their famine-ridden village, Gothel and her parents lived to the best of their abilities, to what they believed they deserved.
The meals turned meager, and so did Gothel's parents. Each of them farmers, they worked hours into the night, oftentimes too exhausted to put food on the table. Neither of them washed before preparing the night's dinner, if they prepared it at all. On the outside, they were haggard and dusty, and they soaked in their own juices. They were old. They were ugly.
As much as Gothel loved her parents, it took all of her strength not to shirk away from her parents' embraces. She never wanted to become like them.
While her parents worked, Gothel kept the house spotless. When she was done with her chores, she would spend time outside, though not too far, trying to find someone to play with. It did not matter who. Anyone would do. Try as she might, however, Gothel never found someone she could consider a friend.
One day she simply gave up looking. The disappointment that had already progressed inside of her would only increase if she ever tried again. She was not ready for that. To fill her time, Gothel looked for special herbs and plants. Sadly, she could not find very many, and what she did find often turned to dust when she took it home. She perused through dry books that told of magical spells that could make one live forever or become beautiful.
That night, Gothel dreamt of something beyond explanation.
In this dream, she was alone. She was walking through a wonderful, lustrous forest filled to the brim with all sorts of woodland creatures. The forest was bordered with lush green grass, and herbs lined the hillside with splendor and tact. A waterfall dripped down the side of a mountain, its waves frothy with young foam. In the very center of the forest there was a tall tower. It was golden in the direct sunlight, and shone like a promise. The tower's door was open, an opportunity to be explored waiting for her. As if summoned, Gothel went through the entrance, and walked up a winding staircase to the top floor. The room was a simple one. Books populated the nooks and crannies of the stone walls with a massive array of colors – they gleamed with gaiety and knowledge.
In the center of the room lay a large mirror – it was oval-shaped, and was seated on a stand near the gated windows. It was an artless mirror. It had no jewels or garish gold coloring, nothing that would market it as valuable to anyone with an unassuming eye. But it was an entrancing mirror nonetheless. There was a quality, a certain energy that seemed to beckon Gothel to it. She walked towards the mirror, hesitant of what she might find. Before she could look, Gothel woke up, suddenly back into the world of reality, with the sun blasting its light on her face.
For several nights she had the same dream. For several nights she went through the same forest, the same tower, the same room, and never got a glance at what the mirror would reveal.
Her patience was growing thin.
One night, she had the same dream once more. This time, after going into the room at the top of the tower, Gothel sped towards the mirror, and stopped in front of it.
What she saw truly horrified her.
,
Her hair was white and curly – strangled strands got caught in her eyelashes, which were far too long. Her face, hands, and clothing were furrowed and crinkled, knitted with wrinkles and experience. Her posture was curved by years of fruitless labor, and held fast to a wooden cane for support.
What truly horrified her most were her reflection's eyes. They were no longer recognizable. They were opaque with disillusion and torment. They were glass.
She was disturbing.
She was dirty.
She was ugly.
Gothel ran out of the room, out of the tower as fast as she could. As soon as she was back on the meadows outside the tower, as soon as she exited the tower, she woke up.
She never forgot that dream. For years, and into adulthood, Gothel carried the tattered memories of the dream wherever she went. She never wanted to turn into that apparition in the mirror.
She never wanted to become ugly, to become a monster, to become like her parents.
She did not know what lay ahead for her. She did not know of the disillusion, the desperation, the resolve, and the reckoning that were in store for her future.
She did not know what the dream truly meant.