Chapter 23
Mabel was burning. It wasn't fire that consumed her writhing body, but fever. She hadn't eaten all that day; confined to the solitude of her comfort zone sheets. The blistering summer heat sunk through the covers, creating a massive, dizzying headache that couldn't be soothed. She fell into a restless, heated sleep.
My eyes shoot open. I am running through a back alley-way, tripping over my heels. The air is fresh, and scented with blooming flowers and budding tree leaves. It is springtime. I'm running home, through this alley. But I'm worried it will take me someplace unfamiliar, someplace I don't know about. But much to my pleasure it dumps my out by an extremely familiar school that is dismissing for the day. I jog past a few more houses, and then- there it is. I dig around in my bright green bookbag for the key, and punch it in the lock. As I open the door, my arm muscles ache from exercising yesterday. My hair feels mussed. I check my reflection. Dark hair casscading past my shouders in elegant waves and curls; dark, deep, and serious eyes set in a forever somber gaze. Bags drooping under the lids, matching today's personality. My school uniform is drenched in sweat, much like my brow. I turn away. The reflection I see is not satisfying. I wish more than anything to not be this. I just killed my best friend in a rage, and I'll likely go to jail. But- there's something I have to destroy, so possibly this won't be my fate. The flower. I need to destroy it. I'd stolen it from a man in a funny white coat and red rubber rain boots, seeing it funny as he cries in fear when he realizes it's missing. But I've found its power. And I've used it. Ever since I got home from that creepy place in Oregon, I've used it. I tear up the stairs and open a lock with my voice. There it is. It's so beautiful; why do I want to destroy it? I know the answer to that. I look around the room, and spot a drawer stuffed with precious silver and pearl. As I rumage through it, I notice a lonesome mirror, adorned with silver filigree surrounding the glass, and jade and pearl merge with ruby beside the smooth edges. It's perfect. I take the mirror up, cradling it in my arms. This is my ticket to freedom. I destroy this flower, and- there is no time to think. I raise the glass mirror. It briefly flashes as I pummel it forward, faster than light. But my oddly the mirror changes direction and plunges its silver into my right arm, and immediately it begins to swell. I drop the mirror to the floor in pain and it shatters into little pieces. The twinkling lights seem to mock me, gleefully laughing as I jerk in agony. What made my hand change direction like that!? It seems like a sort of magic. I barrier. A forcefield. I can't destroy the flower myself. I need someone else to do it for me. It has to be the perfect one. I stare into the shattered remains of the hand mirror. The legend of it goes to a time before I can remember. A seeing stone. Gaze into the glass, and you will see the one you need most. A grin spread across my face as I focused my sight on the crushed fragments and stare into the eyes of a new reflection. I am glad to be rid of my own, even if it is just in one hand mirror. The image is of a girl. She is my age, but doesn't look like me. She has kind, bright chocolate eyes, where mine are dark, gaping holes that can bore into your soul and have never known a laugh. Her long, quail brown hair falls in curls at the bottom, and, much to my displeasure, even that looks innocent. My own hair is a darker brown, and has an ominous feel, very much unlike a peppy schoolgirl like this one. Barely there braces fill her smile. I wish my straight teeth could wear them. All the other girls have them, and they stay away from me because I always seem to act better than them because of my straight-toothed smile. They don't like me because I make them feel different. But it's really me who's the different one. Her rosy cheeks make her entire face light up, but my face hasn't lit up in years. In swirly, curled letters, a name reads, Mabel Pines. "Mabel Pines," I mutter. "I've got you now."
Mabel awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and breathing fervently.
"You okay?" Dipper asked, his voice muffled to Mabel from her burrow inside the covers. Dipper frowned and returned to his book. It had been like that for the past two days. Mabel hadn't eaten at all. She was just a mass of blankets, and she slept miserably day and night. Pacifica's bullying had finally really gotten to her. Dipper checked his watch. 6:00. "Y'know," he said, "It's almost time for dinner. We could eat out, if you like. I'll pay." The sheets did not reply. Motionless, Dipper crept across the floor and snatched off the tangled bedcovers. Mabel was curled up in a little wet ball, face set in a pained, heated expression. Dipper, feeling awful, stroked her burning back and gently pulled her wet hair away from her face. Her rigid feel loosened, which allowed Dipper to quietly slip away and return with a clean sweater and skirt, which Mabel reluctantly rook and retired to take a shower. When she was finished, she stared at her reflection. For a moment, she stared into the dark haired girl's solemn eyes. She blinked, and then it was gone.