The Handmirror #ReedsyMagic

It’s been four hours.

She hasn’t moved. Her head hangs low, fixed in the same position for hours. This isn’t new for Athena; she’s experienced this before. She could probably count the number of times it’s happened if she really tried. But lately, this stillness has become her life.

“I need to get up,” she tells herself. “Now.” Her mind screams at her. But her body remains frozen, unmoved, as it has for the last four hours. This happens a lot these days. Almost every day. No, actually—it is every day. Several times a day. Or is it more? Her thoughts race at a hundred miles a minute, but her body refuses to follow. The paralysis that has overtaken her feels like a curse, making her despise everything—her body, her life, all life, the entire universe, or—

Since Anny died, this has been her reality. Three months of it. It's astonishing how one moment, one event, can unravel a mind. Losing a sister can truly drive you mad. It’s something you can’t understand until it really happens to you. “Oh, great, ‘real’ is the word you’re going for now?” her mind interrupts. “Shut up! Shut UP! SHUT UP!” she screams aloud. The door flies open, and her mom storms in. “What is going on?” she demands.

“Nothing. What could possibly be going on, except... except...”

“Except what? You know I don’t need this. Not now. Or ever! You’re not the only one hurting here.”

“Right. Just... leave me alone for a minute.”

“A minute? A minute? All you do is sit alone, hanging your head at that weird, tilted angle. Like you’ve lost it. Like something happened…”

“Well, Mom. HASN’T IT?”

Her mother opens her mouth to retort but decides against it, closing it again.

“HASN’T IT?”

Her mother leaves, shutting the door behind her.

Athena sinks back into what she calls her “inkcean”—a word she invented to describe the ink-black ocean of despair that drowns her. Everything reminds her of Anny, and the memories are like razors on her soul, cutting deeper with each thought. Even as she hides away, cocooned in the corner of her bed, shutting out the world, she still remembers.

Memories of what they didn’t finish together, plans that are now nothing but painful remnants. Every corner of her mind reminds her that Anny isn’t here. Not anymore. The face she used to see every day now haunts her in absence. The space where they shared laughter, failure, hope—emptied. What's the point of doing anything when everything can end before it even begins? What’s the point?

The phone buzzes. Reluctantly, she reaches over to grab it. Uli is calling, probably to remind her about the dinner plans they made two months ago. Uli is convinced that going out, taking a breath of fresh air, will fix everything.

“It’ll help, Athena. It always does. Just step out, breathe, and you’ll see.” Uli has tried to motivate her countless times with that same optimism. But it never changes anything. Athena presses ‘decline,’ tosses the phone aside, and begins to cry. She sobs uncontrollably, gasping for breath, her hands fumbling for her inhaler. “Never around when I need it,” she mutters, searching through her bed before finally finding it under a heap of blankets.

Athena glances at the phone lying on the bed, the screen now dim and quiet. The weight of that simple interaction has drained her. Every word, every gesture feels like it takes more energy than she has. She lets out a long breath, her eyes drifting to the window where the muted light of late afternoon filters through the curtains.

The room feels stifling, yet she remains in her spot. Motionless. Time has become meaningless—a blur of static moments.

“I have to get up,” she thinks again, as she has so many times before. But nothing happens.

She still remains motionless. A prisoner within herself. The weight of it all presses down on her chest, making her hate everything. Herself. The world. The entire universe.

But mostly, she hates the memories.

Since Anny died, they’ve been relentless. Each one is like a blade, cutting into her over and over again.

Anny’s face is everywhere, in every corner of her mind. And with every image, every memory, comes the same crushing reminder: she’s gone. Forever. There’s nothing left. No future plans. No shared laughter. No failed attempts at silly ideas. Nothing. Just... emptiness.

Athena tries to shut her eyes, hoping for a moment’s peace, but even in the darkness, the memories are there. The reminders.

After another brief micronap, Athena wakes, crying once more. This time, it’s because of a dream—a dream where Anny was still alive. In the dream, she came home, watching a movie and complaining about her classmates. “Oh, not again,” Athena had murmured, just like she used to. But this time, when Anny turned to look at her, her face was washed in sadness, a deep, sorrowful blue.

“Okay,” Anny whispered. “No more complaining about my classmates.”

Suddenly, Athena realized it was all a dream. That Anny wasn’t alive. Not anymore. These dreams were becoming frequent, starting innocently, with everything feeling as real as it once did. But they always took a turn—Anny would do something mundane, something that had once annoyed Athena, and then the dream would twist. Anny would become sorrowful, a shadow would creep in, and her lifeless body would appear. Athena would wake up screaming, unable to breathe, the image of her sister’s still face haunting her long after she opened her eyes.

Athena wanted to dive back into the dream, to tell Anny she wasn’t annoyed—that she wanted to hear her stories. But the dream was gone, and she couldn’t go back. Sleep evaded her, allowing only brief moments of unconsciousness. This is how it had been since her sister’s death. She wept and called Anny’s name, hoping that, somehow, if she called loud enough, Anny might answer.

Athena forces herself out of bed, drags herself to the door, and steps into the hallway. She walks slowly, deliberately, until she stands before Anny’s room. For a long moment, she hesitates, hand on the doorknob. Then, almost silently, she opens the door. The familiar, strange smell fills her senses. When Anny was alive, Athena would joke about that peculiar scent that clung to her sister’s hair. Now, that smell is a comfort.

She breathes it in deeply, looking around the room, knowing she won’t find the owner of that scent. Not ever again. She walks silently through the room. It’s cold in here. It’s only autumn, she thinks to herself. But it feels like winter. She wraps her arms around herself as she approaches Anny’s drawers. She touches her clothes, her phone, her scarves. Holding these things feels almost like holding Anny herself.

Suddenly, something cold touches her fingers. Startled, she pulls out a small hand mirror from beneath the scarves. It’s vintage, with a metal handle etched in intricate floral designs. Athena stares at it, fascinated for the first time in months. She turns on the light to get a better look. Normally, she leaves the room dark, as if hoping Anny might still be there, hidden in the shadows.

She raises the mirror to her face and is confronted by her own reflection—her gaunt face, dark circles etched deep beneath her eyes. She realizes she hasn’t looked at herself in months. She hates what she sees and is about to set the mirror down when something catches her eye—a flicker, something not quite right at the edge of her vision.

She gasps and lifts the mirror again. Nothing. Just her own face. Disappointed, she lowers it once more, and there it is again. A glimpse of something different. Something—no, someone—else. Athena holds the mirror at an angle, and this time, she sees it clearly. Anny’s face. Pale, with sunken eyes.

A wave of heat rushes over Athena’s body. She sits down, clutching the mirror, adjusting it carefully, desperate to see her sister again. But the reflection is gone. She moves the mirror, tilting it, adjusting the angle, but it doesn’t work.

“Just a hallucination?” she whispers. “No, it can’t be.” She begins to move the mirror around the room, retracing her steps, and suddenly—there she is again. Anny’s face, staring back at her from the glass.

Athena freezes. “Anny?” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“Yes,” comes a faint, raspy response. Athena can’t tell if the sound is coming from the mirror or from inside her own head.

“I have so many things to say… so many…” Athena’s voice breaks. “Anny… come back.”

“I’m here.”

This time, there’s no mistaking the voice.

Athena’s heart swells with emotion. She stares into the mirror, tears welling up. Anny’s face is pale, her hair a wild mess, but she is there. Athena’s ice-bound heart begins to melt, the weight that had suffocated her for months easing ever so slightly. She smiles through her tears.

"Totally here,” Anny says softly, with a hint of their old familiarity. "But it’s our secret, okay? Just like when we were kids.”

Athena’s chest tightens. She feels the pressure mounting as her emotions clash—hope, disbelief, and terror all swirling in a chaotic dance. Her fingers tremble around the metal frame of the mirror as she sinks to her knees on the cold floor, clutching the object as if it’s the only thing tethering her to reality.

"Always?" she whispers, her voice barely audible.

"Always," the voice confirms.

Athena's breath hitches. A deep part of her wants to scream that this isn’t possible, that she must be hallucinating. But there’s another part, louder, more desperate, that wants to believe. After months of nothing but emptiness, here is Anny—here is something.

Her mind floods with questions. Why? How? Is it really her? But those questions seem too heavy, too large for the moment. Instead, she clings to the one thing that feels certain: Anny’s presence.

"What… what do I do?" Athena asks, her voice shaking.

There’s a long silence, heavy and thick, stretching out between them. The air in the room grows colder, the kind of cold that sinks deep into your bones.

"Stay with me," the voice finally responds.

It’s a simple request, but the weight of it presses down on Athena. Stay. The idea wraps itself around her like a vine, tight and unyielding. Stay with her. Of course, she wants that—doesn’t she? The mere thought of leaving this moment, of losing Anny again, fills her with a dread she can’t bear.

"I will," she promises, her words falling from her lips before she even fully understands what she’s agreeing to. "I’ll stay."

The silence that follows feels like an acknowledgment, a dark comfort settling in the room. Athena holds the mirror closer, afraid to look away, afraid that if she does, Anny will vanish like a puff of smoke.

Athena’s obsession with the mirror deepened with every passing day. At first, it was an innocent curiosity. She would steal glances at it, trying to catch a glimpse of Anny, holding it at different angles to see if her sister’s pale, ghostly face would return. Her initial fear gave way to anticipation, and soon she found herself unable to resist the pull of the mirror.

She began to carry it with her everywhere. Tucked into her bag when she went to class, hidden under her pillow at night. It was never far from her reach. Her hands, once hesitant, now held the mirror with a feverish grip, as if it were a lifeline. Every quiet moment, every spare second, she would sneak it out and gaze into the glass, searching for Anny’s reflection.

It wasn’t just the comfort of seeing Anny again—it was the way the mirror made her feel. When she held it, the world around her seemed less suffocating. The heaviness in her chest lightened, the constant buzzing in her mind dulled. There was peace, a kind of warmth that she hadn’t felt in months, maybe longer. The more she used it, the more she craved it. What began as brief encounters turned into longer sessions. She would spend hours in her room, sitting in the dim light, holding the mirror at just the right angle, waiting for Anny to appear.

The more Athena engaged with the mirror, the less interested she became in the world outside. Uli’s calls, the invitations from friends, her studies—everything felt trivial compared to the mirror. The reflection of Anny, no matter how fleeting, became her obsession. Even when she wasn’t holding it, she would think about it, longing for the next moment she could escape to her room and see her sister again. It was as though Anny’s presence in the mirror gave her life purpose, a secret connection that only she could experience.

Over time, Athena grew reckless. She would disappear from family meals, excuse herself during classes, and vanish into bathrooms at gatherings just to pull out the mirror and steal a glance. Conversations felt meaningless without Anny. She no longer felt the crushing weight of grief; instead, she felt tethered to something beyond life, something sacred and private.

Once, at a friend’s house, she nearly got caught speaking to it in the bathroom. Panic seized her, but she quickly concocted a story about the trauma she was processing, claiming she was simply talking to herself as part of her recovery. The explanation worked, as it always did. In fact, it became a sort of defense mechanism—whenever questioned, Athena would break down in tears, avoiding any further probing.

But in truth, she wasn’t sad anymore. The tears, though real, felt hollow. Why mourn, when Anny was right there, speaking to her through the mirror?

As the weeks passed, Athena became increasingly reckless. She would take frequent breaks during class, retreating to secluded spots just to speak to Anny in hushed tones. At home, the once-occasional meetings with her sister became a nightly ritual. Her family, relieved to see her engaging with the world again, couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Athena was either locked away in her room or talking in whispers, often with a peculiar smile on her face. When she did join them at the dinner table, she would excuse herself after a few minutes, rarely returning.

More unnerving were the traces of tears that clung to her cheeks, accompanied by that eerie, half-smile. Whenever anyone expressed concern, Athena’s tears would suddenly flow, an outburst so intense it left her family members unsettled, yet helpless.

One evening, Merina felt the growing distance between herself and her daughter more acutely than ever. Athena had become a ghost in her own home, slipping in and out of rooms with little interaction. Concern tightened around her heart like a vice.

“Athena!” she called from the foot of the stairs, her voice strained with the weight of unspoken worries. It was the third time she had called.

“AAATHENA!”

When no response came, her frustration flared. “Athena! You won’t come to the table, you won’t talk to us, you keep locking yourself away... Athena!” Her voice echoed through the silent house, but no answer came. With a sigh, Merina marched to Athena’s door, pressing her ear to the wooden surface in the hopes of hearing something—anything.

Nothing.

“I’m Merina Manel, and I won’t be ignored,” she muttered under her breath, resolute. Heading to her own room, she retrieved the spare key to Athena’s door from her drawer. With a deep breath, she returned, carefully sliding the key into the lock. The door creaked open, revealing a quiet, empty room.

Merina’s eyes flickered across the space, her heart skipping a beat when she noticed the balcony door ajar. With a growing sense of dread, she crossed the room and stepped through the narrow opening.

What she saw stopped her cold.

Athena sat cross-legged on the floor, the mirror balanced delicately in her hands. As she tilted it from side to side, a strange fluidity accompanied her movements, akin to a wavy dance. It was as if she were coaxing something from the glass, searching for an elusive angle that would unveil a hidden truth. Her breath quickened, each inhale more frantic than the last, tension coiling tightly within her. A flush crept to her cheeks, the color vivid against her increasingly pallid complexion.

With fierce determination etched across her features, she angled the mirror into a series of bizarre positions, each twist and turn propelled by an unrelenting need to discover what lay just out of reach. Then, suddenly, she found a moment of stillness, her hand poised delicately. A hint of a smile broke across her lips, as if she had finally uncovered the secret she had so desperately sought.

Mom stood frozen in the doorway, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched this unsettling scene unfold. Athena’s visage began to shift, her face contorting in ways that defied all logic. The skin around her cheeks took on an unnatural, ghostly pallor, reminiscent of the light of a cold moon, while her hair frizzed wildly, each strand seeming to stretch towards an unseen force.

Mom's breath caught in her throat, horror seeping into her veins as she grasped the reality of the transformation occurring before her. Athena's features warped and twisted, losing all familiarity until, in a moment of sheer disbelief, with widening eyes filled with horror, she realizes that Athena is no longer there. Instead, Anny sits before her, holding the mirror, her expression chillingly serene.

She says something in a very whispery, cold voice.