I do not envy the mirror, or the lady in it. Both stand the stares of others; both reveal ugliness.
He watches me, always there by my father's side, I on the other. He looks over at me and smiles, knowing that someday, somehow he will own me, and I tremble inside at the thought. I fear him. I saw the way his eyes glassed over. They had no feeling as his father was hurled to his death. I remember how his mother pleaded for Eol's life with her dying breath.
Aredhel. She was like a mother to me, after mine was lost, but he is not like her, and he has no wish to be my brother. He can see nothing but my body. He asks me for it with his eyes, and everyday I deny him.
I do not wish to destroy him, but each day my hatred increases. I am forced to be in his presence. He is my father's most trusted advisor. We eat together. We sit together. We talk together, but his words are laced with darkness, and I never wished to know the lust that I inspire in him. I feel dark now and dirty.
My father will not listen; to him I am still a child, but I am not. I have grown through years of grief. Standing by his side, comforting him, lending him counsel, what else can I do to prove that I am worthy of regard? Nay, he cares little for what I have to say. I am not his heir, but the one who weds me shall be his successor.
Therefore those eyes watch me. That is why he has come to Gondolin for power and for gain, and he would use me as the stairs to reach it, his body on me, white and naked, cold and fast, with a heart of steel, a heart of flame. I know his strength, and it is great. I would not be able to deny him. His arms are strong from labor in the mines. He delves there in the dark, for that is what he is used to. I wish that he would remain there forever and let me be, but I know that such hopes are vain and childish.
Sometimes I wish him dead. I imagine killing him, seeing his blood spilled out on the white stone floor, his neck cut open or his heart sliced through, the blade in my hand. I cry because my thoughts are so wicked; yet I cannot stop them. I would rather die than have him use me. I would slay him first. I will not be a tool in his hands. I will not bend as father does listening to his cunning lies.
I think father loves him more than me. He trusts him more that much I know. He is so proud of him, as if he were his own and not his sister's son. I wish he had died instead of my aunt. She was so good to me, and I loved her, but as so much else that is dear she has left me, and I am alone.
I feel so empty. Dead and numb like I did when we crossed the cold bridge, when we walked across shifting hills of ice. On we went and forward, and all about me they fell down dead. The playmates of my childhood the snow took from me, and my little friends lie encrusted in ice.
How long has it been since I have felt safe? All my life seems dark and barren. A monster hunts me, his eyes as sharp as Glamdring. I fear when I walk the corridors at night. I shake as I lie alone in bed, and my dreams are dark and cold.
He is no lover. He does not love me. If he did he would let me go. He would not torture me day and night with those venomous eyes. He would not ask me to throw aside the laws of my people to lie with my cousin and be his bride. I have tried to tell him, many times that I will never willingly be his, that he shall never have my heart, but either he does not believe, or he cares not.
For one day he shall come with force and take me as his own, and my father shall do nothing. Then my whole world will fall about me, and I shall be lost and consumed, unless by some art of mine I can be saved, for I see no hope of a savior.
Yes, he shall come, and he shall take me, but for now Maeglin merely watches.