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Reflections

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Every day in the mirror, there is a girl, perfect in beauty. White skin that appears powdered, but isn’t. Long russet hair, parted in the middle. Smoother on top, falling in curls down to her waist. When you first look upon her, her eyes grow, and she presses her hand against the glass, leaning closer, trying to speak to you.

But she is voiceless.

She pulls her hand away, unwillingly. The print of her hand remains as she closes her eyes and tries not to cry, and you hurry away.

You return at the same time of the next day. You walk up to the glass and see her still looking down, hair falling to frame her face, hands clasped together before her. You tap on the glass and she looks up, joy flooding her face. You see teardrops lace her eyelashes, impossibly dark. She smiles at you, soundlessly speaking, and you can’t help but nod, believing that you can hear her. Your attention makes her happy, and her smile become more genuine. You hear a clock ringing in the background, and you tell her you must go. Her face falls.

“But I’ll come back tomorrow.”

And you do.

You return everyday at the same time, and you speak to the beautiful girl with no words. Everyday, you must leave, and she flattens her hand against the glass, reaching out to you.

The Seventh day, you are late, and you enter the room running. She has her head in her hands, and you know she is crying. You lay your hand on the glass, the first time you have ever done so, and she looks up.

Her eyes are filled with awe as she looks at you. She moves her hand, slowly, ever so slowly, and places it on yours; the only thing separating you is a thin sheet of glass.

And then it is not. Her hands entwine between yours, and she pulls you towards her. You step through the mirror, eager to hold her in your arms.

Her hand is colder than you expected, and though she has begged you to hold her, she makes no movement towards you.

It is now you first take in your surroundings. There is nothing from your world’s reflection, only glass. A small, octagonal floor, with a smaller octagonal platform in the middle. Each wall was glass, running from the floor to the matching ceiling.

Your eyes fall back to hers, but before you can do anything, she smiles and opens her mouth to speak. Her eyes light up, her hair begins to blow back, and the screaming starts.

Your eardrums burst and you collapse as she flies towards you, devouring you until you are nothing.

She rises and wipes her bloodied mouth on her sleeve. She backs up and steps on the pedestal. Hands clasped together before her, she stares at the mirror, and waits.




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