Story Title: The Mirror
Author: Hawk Martin
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone or anything in this story, 'cept for the general concept and the words and the letters and blah.
Dedication: To Duo. I have no idea why, but this proves that I am nice to her.
A/N: This is about the Mirror of Erised. Simple enough. However, I have no idea who the girl is—so feel free to randomly pick whomever you'd like. I personally think it works very well for Ginny, but hey. That's just me.
Summary: "They whisper nasty things about her--naughty things that sometimes resemble scarlet roses if she thinks about it hard enough."
Notes: The first line, i.e. the beginning, the middle, and the end are all in bold for the sole reason to emphasize them more. I wanted to try a weird formatting kind of concept so whatever. Enjoy.
Rating: PG. Some little kids wouldn't be able to handle the idea of—gasp—Hell.
Warning: Try not to be a chicken.
My life closed twice
before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell. –Emily Dickinson
It had been one of the most seductively innocent ironies when the
worst of hells started out with nothing more than a simple reflection. She used
to smile about how this all started, until she realized that it wasn't really
that funny. Now she just sits in front of the same cracked mirror, coated
in sickly dust, and allows her bleeding heart to break just a little more with
each breath.
She knows that they whisper about her; sometimes only a few feet away. It
doesn't bother her--she knows that sometimes they're even right. But, in
the end, it doesn't even matter anyway because the mirror's still there and she
never feels like moving.
They whisper nasty things about her--naughty things that sometimes resemble
scarlet roses if she thinks about it hard enough. The conversations
filter through dried blood inside of her head and suddenly all she hears is, "Erised
finally got to her," and "What a poor child....poor, little
girl."
She's beginning to hate the mirror for this.
The night is still here and she's all alone in a room, alone in front of
herself. The mirror sparkles lustfully and she stares deep into her own
eyes, captivated by the distant twirling of her own reflection. She
smiles, blindly, and sits back into a velvet chair. She's losing her
mind; she knows that. But the mirror is too beautiful to turn away from
and her heart is too broken to try to mend.
And sometimes she still thinks it's funny.
