Hello and thank you for reading this. I love very blunt opinions and criticism that can help further my writing. However if it is a completely off the wall flat insult comment I will be sure to take necessary actions in a discreet manner. Thankfully I haven't had I problem like that so without further Ado please enjoy! :D

It started off as a fluke. A pure and simple mistake of sudden curiosity. A small moment of weakness. Thus lead the taut pale body up the wooden stair case to his attic with hands clinched at his sides. A thin layer of dust covered crates and drapes showing off the age of how long it had been left untouched. He didn't know why he let the smallest of things bother him anymore. Yet one small mention of a certain nation's independence and it was as if he was pulled back to that time again. Said nation was still down stairs with an insufferable man that will remain unnamed, however he would have no problem calling him a frog with the highest respect he could possibly give him. Thus no higher than the dress shoes he wore. He ran a hand through his mess of blonde hair, as he looked over the centuries of ancient timeless creations that old habits refused to let him get rid of. His eternal emerald orbs kept glazing over crates, uniforms, weapons, and other such items that didn't catch his interest. No this man who appeared to be in his early twenties wanted to look at no such things. It only reminded him of the aches and pains he wished to escape from at the moment.

He just wanted to find it. The one thing that could calm him down within that moment was the stone tablet that his mother projected an image of herself on to. Looking at her face always brought him a feeling of serene that nothing else seemed to manage. That is when he stumbled across the one and only object he was sure he didn't own. The thick bushy brows on his slender face narrowed and scrunched together giving the appearance of a uni-brow. Forcing the frown on his face to become more apparent as it looked to be a large oval floor length mirror however a long wide sheet covered it up leaving only glimpses of the ornate rusted silver underneath to peak out from underneath the moth ridden dusty gray cover. He paused taking a step towards the misplaced mirror allowing the old wooden floorboards to creak with his movement as his strong hesitant hand reached out for the dirty bed sheet.

A sudden pulse of foreign magic rippled across his skin causing him to jump and retract his hand within that moment. His heart fluttered for two reasons; the first being the mysterious magic that lingered in the gray area of magic where it wasn't all pure or all dark, it could be harmless or dangerous. It was exciting and new and being a self-proclaimed wizard he was curious and eager to feel it again. The second being tinges of fear at the foreign magical object that was somehow left in his attic. A sign of intelligence that he would pride himself on is having the common sense to fear something that is unnatural. Magic was foreign unless it was spiritual; however, the thrill of it always pushed him farther on into experimenting with it.

Shaking off the fuzzy soft feeling of magic in his hand he reached out to grab the tattered cloth once more letting the strange magic rush over his hand again expectantly this time. Slowly he gradually pushed it off letting his inner magic come out in slow gentle waves pushing the soft fuzz past his wrist, down the bones to the knuckles, where it bounced off each one and held still on his finger tips. His teeth grit together for a moment. The magic still held onto the tips of his fingers, which meant either the item in question was so powerful it held a barrier around it, or it was trying to push the magic back. Curious in both instances, carefully he pulled the sheet off letting the folds of the dusty bedding wrinkle and smooth in a beautiful flow till it dropped from his hand to the ground in a light thump leaving the dust to puff up off the sheet into the air before settling down again on the ground.

He paused feeling his heart pound when he was met with a reflection that in no way could be his own. Sure there were some similarities that by a passing glance he would assume it was him. The blonde hair was the same honey blonde only the reflection's was long going past her waist and pulled up into twin pigtails, her bangs neatly combed to the side and pinned there to keep out of her eyes. Such beautiful large emerald jewels for eyes that were the same perfect shade as his and yet the long lashes that framed them caught his breath.

Apparently she felt the same way as a petit hand came up to cover her thin petal lips. He assumed she gasped but he wasn't able to hear her. Mirroring him they both reached out to touch the mirror to see if it was true. There was the fuzzy soft magic again trying to push on to him as he touched the cool smooth surface of the mirror. Not enjoying the constant push of the mirror he used a considerable amount of magic to force it in a hard surge through his arm to get out. There was a blinding light for a moment causing him to curse under his breath as he was forced onto his back making his head bounce off the wooden floor boards. Once the magic calmed down he sat up in a hurry rubbing at the spot that was sure to be a whelp in the next few hours, looking for the lady in the mirror once more. She was in the same position spectacles askew from her sudden fall as well looking back at him. He frowned, maybe it was a trick of the mirror. Possibly it's only magic was to make the person think there was an actual person on the other side, which would explain how she mirrored him so perfectly. He rolled his eyes at his foolishness.

"Stupid bloody mirror." He muttered.

"You can speak?" A hesitant soft voice that obviously belonged to a female asked back.

He went ridged staring wide eyed at the woman who despite him not having moved, had crawled closer to the mirror.

"Bloody hell." He gasped nearly jumping to his feet.

The reflection's eyes narrowed as she pulled her spectacles from her slender face to begin cleaning them with the edge of her long sleeved blue shirt.

"Is that how you speak to a lady?" She questioned her lips pursed together in a thin line as she placed her glasses back on her face properly this time. "How rude." She jabbed at him.

The gentleman in him forced himself to recognize that he was in fact in the presence of a lady, so he straightened up his back getting slightly closer to the mirror and bowing his head in her direction for a short moment before straightening up once more.

"My apologies ma'am." He answered trying to ignore the burning sensation on his ears for letting his tongue slip like that in front of a lady.

"Quite alright." She replied.

The both took a moment to stare at each other keeping a blank stoic face in front of the other as they internally processed what they were looking at. After a moment the reflection let out a sigh softening her face but still keeping a sharp look in her eyes that despite himself he found to be extremely attractive.

"Introductions are in order, are they not?" She asked him.

He bit the inside of his cheek for his mishap again. "Yes quite right, I apologize. I'm normally not this scattered." He stated rubbing at his temples to get some of his wits about him.

A small chuckle escaped the reflection causing him to look at her. In that instant he was reminded of his dear mother. The soft smile on her lips was hers making his tense shoulders relax as the corners of his frown tipped upwards slightly.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland, and who might you be mi'lady?" He asked feeling his usual charm come through finally.

Her eyes widened as her jaw dropped slightly for a moment before gathering her wits about herself once more, however the expression lingered and was mirrored when she answered him.

"Alice Kirkland."

Don't forget to tell me your thoughts! Have a wonderful day!

-Alaina Rayne