Two Mirrors: The Tale of Jeane
Long, silvery hair.
Fire.
Skin as smooth and pale as marble.
The cave.
Mysterious eyes that defied a description.
Tyrants.
An ever-present smile that both lured and repulsed.
Freak.
Rune mistress.
Witch.
A voice as playful as a child and as erotic as a lover.
Hope.
Scant clothes, to attract the more masculine of customers.
Children.
Gentle hands, calloused by magic.
Slavery.
An aura of mystery.
Love.
She sure did travel a lot for a rune mistress…
Madness.
…this woman.
Girl.
This woman known only as "Jeane".
Goddess.
Jeane sighed and kept her seductive smile. It was not difficult to like her, but as many men soon found out, it was difficult to not notice her. Jeane was as exotic as they came: pale skin, silvery hair, mysterious eyes, a wry smile, seductive voice, scant clothing, rune mistress… Few that came into her shop were able to look her in the eye; even fewer were able to hold the gaze.
No matter. Everyone saw the mysterious lady who implanted runes on a person's hand. They only saw the first image, the one that the Plain Mirror reflected. Jeane possessed two mirrors along with her rune tools: one was an ordinary mirror, like the kind that hung on walls. There was nothing special about it, not even the shape. The second mirror, however, was indeed special, for it was the Mirror of Truth, and anyone who looked into it would see their true self.
Jeane never revealed anything about herself--not because she was shy or afraid, but because she loved seeing the frustrated look on people's faces. If she ever found someone she genuinely loved, and if they genuinely loved her back, then maybe she could let a few things slip (it would be easier if it were another mage). But no, there really wasn't anybody like that now, although there had been somebody that Jeane had loved, when she was a little younger.
In her youth, Jeane had had many friends, and many of these friends loved her very much. But they were all gone now, either dead or killed off. But that was the way of things. It was right to mourn them, but the time for sadness had passed many ages ago for the enigmatic lady. Now, they were all just distant memories, even the youngest of them.
Jeane remembered her past well, but she had very little memories of her parents. Her mother had supposedly died before she turned three; her father… Well, it was safe to say that her father was no longer of this world. He had long ago left the mortal coil, well before Jeane had turned twenty.
In a way, her father was the one who taught her how to use magic. In her youth, Jeane was a magic-wielding fanatic, but by now she had learned to suppress her powers, keep them hidden, make sure nobody knew. Implanting runes allowed her to get away with using magic; knowing people like Crowley, Viki, Luc, and Leknaat had helped even more. Relief was one of the rare emotions that Jeane genuinely expressed--relief that she was no longer the only sorcerer in the world.
I escaped the cave somehow--I think someone was carrying me. I remember seeing somebody dead, or maybe they were knocked out, but there was only one of them. Something told me that there should have been two figures lying on the ground; why was there only one?
The cave was hot, but I didn't feel it. Even back then, I could suppress the heat, or the cold, and it would never touch me. After that, after I escaped the cave, I grew up--who was I again? A witch, I think they said. No, witches are evil and ugly. I was a good girl. I was beautiful. Somebody loved me in that place where I was raised.
I was always escaping. I escaped home, like I escaped the cave, and I was relied on. Somebody needed me for something, and I think I failed. That's why I don't fight, because, even now, even after they all died away, I still feel like I was a failure. Bless them, but they thought otherwise. Oh, I do miss them--whoops, customer.
"Hello, Sheena!" greeted Jeane in an exotic voice. Sheena swallowed and slowly approached the counter. Jeane leaned over slightly, allowing the young man a brief glimpse at, well, the pendant that she wore (although Jeane knew full well that Lepant's son was not admiring the trinket).
"H-hey, J-Jeane," muttered Sheena. If Jeane didn't know any better, she could have sworn that there were hearts floating around his head.
"And what can I do for you, my lord?" she asked. Jeane loved playing with men's minds by calling them "lord" and "master", but it was all fun and games, really. Besides, it helped with business.
"Uh," stuttered Sheena, "I, uh, was wondering…"
"Yes?"
"I-if… y-you'd… l-like to… uh, g-go… g-go out with me sometime." Jeane chuckled, although it wasn't a rude chuckle.
"My my, what a very tempting proposal," she sighed, reclining on a chair she had. Sheena was practically drowning in his own sweat. Jeane noticed, and offered him a shawl that she had tied around her arm. Sheena took it and smothered himself in the fragrant cloth.
"I'll tell you what," suggested the rune mistress. "If you can guess my age, then I'll be your girlfriend. How about it?" Sheena flinched, mentally singing to the heavens. He was also drying his body of water because of so much perspiration.
"H-how many t-tries do I get?" he asked. Jeane paused and stuck her finger in her mouth. A smile crept up on her as she decided to make it fair.
"I'll give you five chances. I'll even start out with a hint: I'm over eighteen years old." Sheena grinned and nodded his head. Apparently, he had no problems in dating older women.
"Are you twenty-three?" he asked.
"No," sang Jeane playfully.
"Uh, a hundred and forty-eight?"
"No," giggled Jeane. He was flattering her with such low numbers…
"Uh, thirty-two?"
"Try again," she smiled. Sheena shut his eyes and blurted out a number.
"One thousand, nine-hundred and eighty-six!!"
"Oh, my," whispered Jeane, a shade of red erupting on her face. "Do you really think I'm that old?"
"I, uh…" She giggled again, and gave the poor man a wink.
"That's okay. I'm not insulted. Go on, you still have one more try." Sheena nodded his head, cleared his throat, and took one last shot.
"Twenty-five?"
"Sorry," said Jeane playfully. Sheena's shoulders fell and his head drooped. "Oh, don't feel bad!" exclaimed the rune mistress. "You may have five more chances tomorrow."
"REALLY!?" he shrieked, and suddenly the excitement came back to his face. Jeane smiled warmly.
"Of course. You may keep trying until you get it right. Oh, and as an added bonus, I'll give you another hint: I'm over twenty-five years old." Sheena swallowed, thanked Jeane, and rushed out to flirt with some other poor girl. Jeane smiled and laughed out loud, and continued to wait for customers.
At sunrise, Jeane held her ordinary mirror before her as she combed her hair. She always wanted to look her best, hence the reason why she kept such an average tool around. The years had been very kind to her indeed, or maybe she was so young-looking due to her magic. Sheena thought that she was over a thousand years old. Oh, if only they knew… she mused to herself. Well, if they knew, then they would go ballistic.
Jeane put her mirror away and telepathically unlocked her door. She was not one for walking around, despite her incredible physique, and the less time she spent doing frivolous things, the more customers she would have.
"Silly me," sang Jeane to herself. "Only Tai Ho and a few others are awake at such an hour." She smiled, and with nobody around, she pulled out the Mirror of Truth. Unlike the ordinary one she had, the Mirror of Truth revealed the true person's image. It was helpful when determining a good person or a bad person, and it was a shape-shifter's worst nightmare. Mages despised it most of all, for it was often their image that was most distorted.
There were only nine other Mirrors of Truth in the world, and most had been lost in the mists of time. Jeane held one of the few surviving ones, and made it a mission of hers to collect the remaining ones. Not that she needed them--she just wanted to have them around, perhaps as a tool for trade.
She couldn't remember the last time she had looked into the mirror of truth, but it had been well before Barbarossa's birth. She never forgot what she looked like, though, or who she really was. Not even a fool could do that, even if they wanted to. The façade she was in now was her true form, yes, but this was not her real name--just a fancy that turned into habit. As she kept on telling herself, the years had been kind to her. Her hair was now a gorgeous silvery color, and her eyes still shined with that same mysterious look. In reality, only her name had changed.
A few seconds passed, and boredom crept up. Having nothing better to do, Jeane looked into the Mirror of Truth--just to remind herself who she really was, of course.
The image of Terra Branford gazed back at her.
The End