"Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go." - T. S. Eliot
September, 2018 – Bluespruce, Maine
Blaine felt numb. He'd been running on adrenaline for so long, and now that energy had snapped in two, leaving him feeling drained and terrified. He slowly looked around the old dusty room, empty frames lining the walls and broken glass littering the floor. He took a step towards one of the vacant frames, leaning down to carefully pick up a piece of glass. It was silent, and Blaine knew deep inside of himself that there was no magic there. The mirrors had shattered—not to spread their enchantment but to break it.
He dropped the piece of mirror as he stood and walked deliberately from the room, shards of glass crunching under the soles of his shoes. He walked down the hall and towards the foyer, every mirror he passed on the way just as shattered as the last. He didn't waste any time checking all the mirrors on the ground floor – he knew exactly what he would find. Instead, he walked up the wide stairway and then down the south hall, the mirrors here also nothing more than empty frames and sprinkled glass. He paused only briefly to shoot a glare at the large portrait hanging on the wall by the door to the third floor.
The numb feeling in his chest was morphing into something else, not the steady fear he'd been running on, but something strong, something driving – it was morphing into anger. He walked up the old creaky stairs to the third floor, breath coming a little faster.
Blaine stood in the middle of the large open room, his muscles tense and his body trembling from head to toe. He clenched his jaw and balled his fist staring resolutely at the tall full length mirror in front of him. The twining vines of its frame radiating with a burning light, the glass heaving inward and out like the lung of a living creature. The only mirror in the house not broken.
All Blaine had ever wanted was to be rid of this thing, to run as far away from it as he possibly could. Now, he was staring it down like an enemy he was about to meet on the battlefield. Every instinct he had was telling him to run, to flee, to leave this place behind him for good. Instead, he took a step closer. And another. And another.
There were a myriad of small golden lights floating on the other side of the glass, swirling and swarming around calling to him. It wasn't necessary; he didn't need an enchantment to know what he had to do. At this point he'd do anything. He reached out an unsteady hand towards the glass, pressing his fingers and then his whole palm against it. The glass was warm and pulsing, and it had a give to it in a way that glass really shouldn't. Blaine shuddered and closed his eyes, drawing on all the courage he had. Then, he opened his eyes and pressed his hand harder against the glass; his hand started to sink in, like moving through thick mud.
Blaine wanted to scream, but he stuffed it down, pushing forward until the mirror had engulfed his arm up to the elbow. Blaine cleared his throat trying to sound steady, "I'm coming Kurt," he promised and then took a step forward, the mirror pulling him through to the other side.