Shannon has always enjoyed fantasy in practically all its forms. As her favourite genre, she had a near library of all the fantasy books she's read over the years, as well as movies and comics. Although most of said collection had been left in a small storage unit back in California in anticipation of her return, Shannon had been sure to bring a relatively diverse selection with her to her new home in Surrey. Her admiration of the genre is so great that she joined a Dungeons and Dragons group her freshman year of high school just for more content, of which she was copiously provided by the small friend group that had adopted her. Even so, with all her experience with the wonders of fantasy, she never anticipated being swallowed whole by a mirror, nor did she know how to handle it.
As soon as Shannon is pulled into the mirror, the icy sensation that up till that point had only encompassed her arm engulfs her completely, causing her chest to constrict in its aversion to the sudden condition as an artificial gravity sets in on her core, keeping her tethered in the dense void with no air and little ability to manoeuvre. The young teen feels as though she has been engulfed in an ice bath, or perhaps a glue-like-mixture as the dense consistency suggests. The frozen world within the mirror is pitch black with no apparent means of determining up from down, left from right. Shannon floats weightless yet stationary, her breath caught as she struggles to right herself, to escape the invisible hold that had dragged her into the mirror in the first place.
After what seems like an eternity, a sudden warmth seems to spring from the centre of Shannon's chest, spreading out slowly to her extremities like ants crawling across her skin. Wherever the warmth spreads, irritation follows, sinking deep into her bones and leaving the poor girl writhing in discomfort as the warmth increases to extreme heat. Without the ability to breathe, Shannon's thrashings quickly cause stars to dance before her eyes, threatening unconsciousness. Instinctually, she tries to suck in a breath, but her attempt is fruitless, instead straining her lungs that attempt to pull air out of the dense surroundings and leaving her feeling as though she had just tried to breathe in the latex of a balloon.
Fearing that she may pass within the mirror with none the wiser, Shannon makes one last effort to disengage herself from the pull that holds her in the dense space. To her utter relief, before she attempts to throw herself backward with the last of her strength, the mysterious gravity releases its hold on her chest and seems to polarise, instead shooting her outward and through the mirror once more with excessive force. In one fell swoop, Shannon is projected out of the dense void, her exhausted and tormented body collapsing in a heap at the base of the ancient mirror. As soon as she is free, the young girl gasps, breathing heavily with relief where she lays sprawled upon the ornamental rug of the smallest drawing room, shaking like a newborn bird as fear curls itself in her throat.
The act of being trapped within a magical mirror seems impossible – should be impossible – yet the pain that continues to pulse faintly in her limbs and the desperate strain of her lungs that pull in as much oxygen as they are capable tells Shannon that the horrifying event was all too real, which in turn causes her to question her sanity. Perhaps the move to Surrey has been harder on her mental health than she initially believed. That, or perhaps there had been something in the tea.
Coughing and resisting the urge to break down in tears, Shannon struggles to her feet, feeling a bit off as she does so. To her confusion, the study appears to have grown in size – or rather, height. Shelves that had been at eye-level now towered a good half-foot above her head. The inviting armchair, once appearing cosy, now appeared as though it would swallow her whole should she choose to sit in it. Standing straighter, Shannon tries to ascertain the cause of such discrepancies when her skirt seems to slip from her frame, falling to her knees. The sudden loss of clothing causes the girl to squeak and flail awkwardly in an attempt to catch the garment to keep herself modest. Dumbstruck, Shannon looks down at her frame to find that her clothes seem to have increased in size as well, completely dwarfing her frame and hanging on precariously.
Irritation wells in Shannon's chest as she struggles to make sense of the current happenings. The oddity of what had transpired in the mirror is one thing, but in her opinion, the aftermath is just as strange and mystifying – or perhaps frustrating is a better description of the emotion that builds within her as she folds down the top of the skirt until it is able to stay up. As she does the same to her sleeves, Shannon bristles in annoyance, irritation and a bit of anger growing in her chest.
What in the world had just happened? How had she been dragged into a mirror – where she almost suffocated – only to come out to find that the world around her has changed. Or perhaps it is she who has changed.
Frowning, Shannon turns to leave the room, fully intent on questioning her aunt and uncle about the absurdity of what has transpired, when she catches her reflection in the mirror.
Shannon's body stiffens and turns to face the offending antique only to be met with the image of a young girl no older than eleven or twelve, who bears an uncanny resemblance to herself, right down to her eyes and wild curls that she has spent years struggling to maintain. The girl's hazel eyes are rimmed red with unshed tears and her cheeks are blotchy from stress, but the most peculiar thing about her is that she appears to be dressed in the exact same outfit as Shannon herself, right down to the fact that she is currently struggling to keep said clothes on her petite frame. As Shannon takes note of the young girl, her heart seems to fall to her stomach like a stone, chilling her blood as the reality of the situation dawns on her: the young girl in the mirror is herself.
Panic swells in Shannon's chest as her high pitched scream echoes throughout the room, alarmed by the impossible sight before her. Looking down, she holds her hands out in front of her, shocked to find they are the hands of a child. Turning to her body, she realises that it has also become the body of a child; gone are the assets she had gained through puberty – which if anything the loss of irks her the most. Desperately, she runs her hands across her torso, hoping that said assets are hiding within the excess fabric. Proving fruitless, Shannon turns her gaze back to the mirror, running her hands along her face and watching as her reflection does the same. After a moment a reluctant conclusion forms in her mind: she had somehow regressed in age while inside the mirror.
Anxiety sends adrenaline through Shannon's veins as she steps forward and places her hand against the glass, wondering if she needs to go back in to fix herself. To her bewilderment, she finds that unlike previously where her hand had passed into a dense liquid, her hand meets resistance. Panic jolts through the young girl as she brings both hands forward, moving them around the mirror in hopes that some part of it would give way. Frustrated, Shannon pounds her fist against the glass as tears begin to pour from her eyes.
"No, no, no. This isn't happening," Shannon mutters, her soft voice higher than she is used to. The sound causes her hand to fly to her mouth, a fresh sob catching in her throat.
As Shannon struggles through the crisis of somehow regressing back in age, the sound of clicking heels sounds in the distance, slowly growing louder before its source enters the drawing room: a familiar woman with hazel eyes that are mirrors of the young girl's. The woman's light brown hair is slicked back in a high ponytail and is dressed in a tea-length navy skirt and white button up with navy pumps, and although timeless, has a retro-classic feel. Instinctually, Shannon recognizes the woman, but at the same time realises that it could not be who she thinks it is; this woman is far too young, seemingly in her early thirties.
"Oh dear," the woman mutters as she enters the room and sees the young girl standing alone before the mirror. The woman's complexion pales as she blinks back her astonishment, alarm flashing across her features as she struggles to regain her composure.
Shannon gapes openly, not sure if she should believe what her eyes are telling her.
"Au-aunt Carrol?" Shannon stutters, resisting the urge to pinch herself. Surely this all must be a dream, because for not only herself to have regressed, but for her aunt as well, is simply impossible. The more likely scenario is that Shannon had fallen asleep in the large armchair in the study and her subconscious had come up with a rather convoluted dream. The only reservation she harbours to the assumption is the lingering pain that encompasses her like a soreness after a taxing workout – not something she normally subjects herself to. This thought causes the girl to consider if she has somehow gained the ability to dream pain.
If so, she believes it to be an extremely shitty development.
Fear flashes across the features of the elegant woman as she stands in the doorway, her brow creased as she studies the young girl.
"Oh dear, oh dear," the woman repeats under her breath as she wrings her wrists anxiously. "Not again. . . it's far too soon. . ."
Sniffling, Shannon frowns in confusion as she struggles to speak, her befuddled state taxing her ability to form comprehensible statements.
"I – the mirror just. . . and I. . . you're so young," Shannon blubbers, staring up at the woman in terrified wonder. "And I. . . in the mirror. . . I'm – I'm a child! Why am I a child?" Shannon manages through fresh sobs, motioning towards the offending mirror with teary eyes.
The woman fidgets nervously before taking a hesitant step forward, her expression one of pity and angst.
"Well, uh, first of all, I'm not – my name is Eliza," the woman stumbles with her words as she rushes to one side of the room and pulls a small silver chest from the shelf. "Eliza Smith – or at least, I am now. . . I was Eliza Logan. Still am technically, which is why my husband and I are currently in charge of the estate, but I took my husband's name so there is occasionally some confusion. . . Oh dear, I never thought that it'd be me. . ." She trails off, muttering the last statement under her breath.
Shannon blinks incomprehensibly at the woman who bears an uncanny resemblance to her aunt Carrol, albeit much younger, as the woman begins to rifle through the small chest, which appears to hold many oddly shaped vials. Eliza's words do not make any sense to the young girl. Her Aunt Carrol and Uncle Vincent are in charge of the Logan estate, and they had not mentioned anyone by the name of Eliza. Shannon's first instinct is that Eliza must be her Aunt Carrol's daughter, except her father had said that she and her husband had no children.
After a moment, Eliza pulls out a small, christmas-bulb-shaped vial filled with a dark violet liquid, only about a mouthful's worth. Nodding to herself, the woman turns and approaches Shannon with an encouraging yet cautious expression, as though afraid the girl is on the brink of collapse – which in all actuality is quite true; Shannon feels ready to keel over and is keeping her consciousness out of sheer will.
"Here, drink this," Eliza states, uncorking the vial and holding it out to Shannon with an empathetic smile. "It's a Calming Draught. It should help with the nerves and the dizziness. I know this is overwhelming; passing through the mirror is extremely unpleasant, as is the pain that comes with it."
Eliza's words send a wave of conflicting emotions through Shannon, the first being shock that the woman knows about the mirror's oddity and that it is possible to move through it, meaning that the young girl is not going crazy – at least according to the strange woman who looks like her aunt. The next is uncertainty and anger that the mirror's peculiarity was known and no warning had been given in its regard. Yet, all three emotions pale in comparison to the curiosity which shakes Shannon to her very core at the mention of the vial and its name, especially since it sounds familiar. Shannon is sure she has read about Calming Draughts in her favourite books.
Hiccuping softly, Shannon reaches out and takes the vial, studying the small container and its contents with foreboding interest.
Seeing Shannon's hesitation, Eliza nods encouragingly. "Well, go on then. It doesn't bite. It is a bit bitter though."
Still shaking like a leaf, Shannon lifts the vial to her lips and shoots it back, the violet liquid flowing down her throat with an oddly chilling quality that causes her to tremble. As Eliza had stated, the taste is bitter and overall reminds her of black licorice and mint, although the consistency is similar to watery pudding. Although somewhat unpleasant, as soon as the mixture hits Shannon's chest, a sense of peace overwhelms her and her hiccups and tears halt, her breathing easing. The panic that had gripped seems to dissipate as a cooling sensation extends from her chest to the tips of her extremities, numbing the lingering pain.
"That's the ticket," Eliza says with a smile as she watches Shannon's demeanour relax. In one motion, she plucks the empty vial from Shannon's hand and puts it back into the silver chest and places it back on the shelf.
"Feeling better?" Eliza asks as she turns back to the girl, who nods hesitantly.
"Thank you. . ." Shannon trails off, a bit taken aback by the immediate relief the mixture had given her.
No longer agitated, Shannon is able to take a breath and take in her surroundings for the first time, which she realises seems slightly different than how she remembered it should be. The mirror is in the same place as is the window and shelves, so she is sure it is the same drawing room she had been in before, but instead of an armchair and ottoman, an elegant writing desk is placed in front of the farthest wall with a high backed desk chair. The books on the shelves seem different as well, thicker and older in comparison with the ones she had seen previously, although the antiques and trinkets seem similar. On one shelf she sees the gilded top with the scarlet marble that had pricked her finger, except this version stands erect on its point, balancing perfectly on its own. In addition, a portrait of a rather plump woman is erected above the desk, smiling down at the girl as she reels in confusion. As Shannon studies the portrait, the plump woman winks, causing the girl to jerk back in alarm.
A bit frantic, Shannon turns back to Eliza, who is watching her with concerned and contemplative eyes.
"Um. . . sorry, but where am I? And what the hell just happened? I just – I just – that fucking mirror –" Shannon starts, but is cut off by Eliza, who frowns at the girl's language.
"Slow down," Eliza interjects, her expression conflicted. "First of all, what is your name, dear, and how old are you really – before you went through the mirror."
A startled look flits across Shannon's face that the woman already seems to know what has happened to her.
"Yeah, um – My name is Shannon Hale," the girl starts, wiping the last of the tear tracks from her cheeks. "I'm seventeen – eighteen on the 16th of December."
"Well, it's – well, I can't say it's a pleasure, everything considered, but for what it's worth, I'm glad to know you," Eliza states, giving the young girl an awkward smile. "And from your accent, I assume you're American?"
Brows furrowed, Shannon nods her head, a bit perplexed as her impatience steadily grows.
"I see," Eliza replies, considering the girl closely. "And from what time period?"
Shannon blinks at the woman, not sure if she had heard her correctly.
"Um, what?" Shannon asks, her face screwing up in uncertainty. "Like what year I was born? I already told you I'm seventeen."
"Well, yes, but you see, that doesn't actually tell me much and while I could guess, your attire is somewhat classic, so it's a bit difficult for me to make any assumptions," Eliza explains, looking the girl over. "I'm also not positive of the trends in America, although I do say, I am a bit astounded by the fact that you are American at all. I dare say you are the first – at least as far as I'm aware. I'll have to speak with Granny Logan about the records when –"
Seeing Shannon's flummoxed expression, Eliza stops herself, a meek smile pulling at her lips.
"Sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm nervous. . . I think we need to sit down and have a proper tete-a-tete," the woman states softly, her hazel eyes boring into Shannon's. "I'm sure this is all very confusing and it may take a while to explain, but first," she pauses, pulling a polished stick of about eleven inches from her skirt pocket as she continues. "Let's do something about your attire. You must be uncomfortable."
Shannon watches in disbelief as Eliza brandishes the stick in a fluid motion while muttering under her breath, tapping Shannon's shoulder lightly. Almost immediately, Shannon's attire begins to shrink until they fit her smaller frame – like magic.
Mystified, Shannon gapes openly at the woman, eyeing what she assumes must be a wand in Eliza's hand. Heart in her throat, Shannon begins to believe once more that she must be dreaming.
"Much better," Eliza sighs, a sparkle in her eye when she sees the wonder in the young girl's expression. "I had the same reaction my first time."
Shannon starts in surprise at the woman's words as well as the warmth and regret she seems to radiate, as though reminiscent. Before Shannon can question Eliza, the woman stows her wand and claps her hands together.
"Come along then," she starts, turning on her heel towards the door, motioning for the girl to follow. "Let's see if we can get you situated. I'm sure you've about a million questions for me and we've a while before Henry gets home."
Eliza leads a rather dazed Shannon through the house, whose bafflement only seems to grow as she notes the sudden changes that the estate seems to have undergone.
For one, the once quiet estate is now bustling with life – or perhaps magic is a more accurate term. The instruments in the conservatory provide a gentle ambiance of classical music, enchanted to play themselves. The portraits in the hall chatter between themselves, occasionally greeting Eliza and inquiring after Shannon, whose stunned demeanour is met with amusement and worry by the detailed works. As they cross the open doors leading into the bedrooms, the young girl notices feather dusters working away in midair, dusting the bedposts and the tops of dressers. Shannon feels butterflies swirling in her chest as an unfamiliar energy fills the air of the manor, dampening some of her apprehension and dismay at her body's current state.
Eventually, the two reach the sitting room that overlooks the greenhouse, where Shannon had been with her family a mere few hours prior, only the room is vacant upon their arrival, her family nowhere to be found. Shannon's chest constricts at the thought of her parents and their well being, wondering what could have happened to them after she went through the mirror – and if they have even noticed her disappearance. When she had left them, the sun had been bright in the sky, but now the sun is just over the horizon, its last rays warming the tips of the treetops.
As they enter, Eliza snaps her fingers as she moves to take a seat in one of the lush arm chairs. Immediately, a pop echoes across the room as a small, goblin-like creature with large blue eyes and long ears wearing what seems to be an embroidered navy pillowcase appears at the woman's feet. The sudden appearance causes Shannon to jerk back in surprise, blinking in astonishment at the familiarity of the creature.
"Eeby, would you be a dear and fetch us a spot of tea and some biscuits?" Eliza requests with a gentle smile. "And if you could also bring me the Essencia Orb."
The small creature smiles widely and bows deeply, replying with a high, squeaky voice. "Yes, of course, missus."
With another pop, Eeby disappears as though he had not appeared in the first place.
"Was that a house elf?" Shannon asks in astonishment, her eyes as wide as Eeby's as she looks to Eliza in wonder, a smile threatening at the corners at her lips.
Eliza's brows raise in astonishment, confusion evident in her hazel eyes. "Yes, as a matter of fact. His name is Eeby. How do you know about house elves?"
Shannon's amazement grows at Eliza's confirmation of her intuition.
"Of course I know about house elves," the girl replies as her lips curl proudly. "I've only read Harry Potter about a bajillion times."
"You know about the Potters?" Eliza asks in surprise. "But – you came through the mirror, didn't you?"
Shannon grimaces at the reminder of said antique and throws herself into the seat across from the woman.
"I did. I also seem to have shrunk in the process," she replies, motioning down at her body with a scowl. "What the hell is going on right now? What is that mirror and this place – and how do I get back and fix all this?"
Eliza blinks at Shannon in bewilderment, taken aback. Frowning, she pauses, chewing on her words before responding.
"I assume the best place to start is to tell you that this Logan Manor and the one on the other side of the mirror are not the same place; they both exist in parallel with one another and are connected by the Sortis Mirror, which you have had the most unpleasant privilege of encountering first hand," Eliza begins to explain, her manicured nails tapping against the back of her hand. "Now the mirror is quite special in that it only chooses certain descendants of the Logan bloodline to pass through – true heirs, so to say. However, in doing so, it – um – adjusts the heir's age however it sees fit."
"Yeah, I kinda got that," Shannon replies dryly, intrigued and somewhat anticipatory of the woman's explanation so far, but even more annoyed by the entirety of the situation. Being inside the mirror had been traumatising and the fact that she was not made aware of such a dangerous antique before being invited to explore the manor left her feeling rather irked, especially considering the outcome. However, Shannon is the first to admit if warned about the mirror, it would have been her first item she explored, especially if it led to a world of magic.
Still, she would have liked to have been warned.
Shannon's unamused response, causes Eliza to sigh. "Yes, I'm sure you do. And as I'm sure you've also realised, this side of the mirror is much different from where you came from."
With this, a smile grows on Eliza's lips as she pulls her wand from her pocket and holds it out in front of her. With a quick flick of her wrist, shimmering beads of light appear in the air around the two like a thousand fireflies dancing above their heads.
Shannon's eyes grow wide with wonder and she finds herself unable to help the awestruck smile she bares at the scene unfolding before her as Eliza continues, a somewhat mischievous smile pulling at the woman's lips.
"This is a world of magic."