Tiny Glass Bottles

It was built tall and rectangular with four shelves, all equally spaced apart. The wood was old, not rotten but aged with dents and scratches that could never be fixed. The rusted nails tacking it together can be seen clearly through the plexiglass plane. Running down the left side of the bookshelf is a row of three hinges, but these are not connected to any door, only the plexiglass plane. The hinges are still shiny. Running down the right side of the bookshelf is a series of several locks, all using different keys. Outside of the plexiglass, the wood is dark and freshly oiled. The inside is dry and stale and I imagine quite stuffy. The bookcase is well-taken care of. Of course, we take care of it, we don’t want it to fall and one day crush us inside of it.

On the top shelf, behind the plexiglass, is a line of twelve tiny glass bottles, each labeled with a name. The bottles are simple glass with a cork, only three inches tall and one wide. You could have found them at any store. But they’re not at any store, they’re here. And every bottle is empty… except for one, at the very end of the line.

There is only one bottle left and I will not read that name. Inside the bottle is what has always looked to me like a tiny green galaxy. It sparkles inside the bottle, the mass moving and shifting with a life all its own. I can feel my connection to it, like a tiny, invisible thread inside my chest tying me and the contents of the bottle together. Even though it’s only inches away, it feels as if this thread is stretched across entire continents.

I take deep, steadying breaths until my eyes stop stinging. The empty bottles don’t matter anymore. The only one that matters now is the one with something in it. That something will not remain in the bottle if I don’t finish my chores.

I take one more breath and without a glance at the case, begin cleaning the room. First, I dust off the thick grey curtains strung out behind the dark leather couch. I have to stand on the couch to reach them so I do this part quickly and when I get down, I meticulously arrange the scattering of decorative pillows. Though no one ever sits there, He likes them to look nice. I vacuum the beige carpeting, which is soft on sock-covered feet, and dust off the fireplace. The fireplace looks as if it was built by holding very large tan and grey rocks in place and pouring cement over them. I set up the fireplace to be lit with a few small logs from the basket on the hearth.

I don’t touch the brown leather reclining chair with the white blanket draped over the back and the matching ottoman at its feet. He often sits there in the evenings and reads by the fire and if the fire dims, we build it up again.

I freeze, my breath suddenly stolen from me.

I… I build it up again.

There is no one to help me, not anymore. I am the last, the last one that will remember them as anything more than servants. He took Jamie, just last night after she dropped a dish and it shattered. He brought her here, to this room, while I cleaned up the mess. When He returned… Jamie was gone.

I glance at the bookcase and quickly look away. Nothing good will come from tears.

“Aren’t you finished in here yet?” I jump and spin around. He was leaning against the doorway, smiling in that way that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Y-yes,” I stutter. He tilts his head, strands of his stark white hair falling out from behind his unusually long and pointed ear. His skin is dark blue. There’s no other way to look at it, it’s no trick of the lighting. He’s just… blue. He had once told me he was born like this, that it was a mark of his power as a Wizard. Of course, at first, I didn’t believe him. I was only a little kid but I knew that magic wasn’t real. He proved me wrong.

“Good, then you can assist me with something.” He straightens and crosses the room, the several golden piercings on each of his ears shining in the electric light. He walks over to the bookcase and pulls a ring of keys from his pocket. He takes his time unlocking the case until the plexiglass door swings open.

I feel the blood rush from my face and I have to remind myself to keep breathing. He looks at me with something along the lines of amusement. “Take all of the empty bottles and remove their labels. You can leave the bottles in the box.” He nods at the box sitting on the bottom shelf. I had never really noticed it before, it had never seemed as important as the bottles. It’s a dull cardboard box.

But it would be big enough to hold dozens of bottles…

“Why are you still standing there?” I can’t tell if he’s angry or amused. “I told you to get the bottles.”

I slowly start towards the bookcase, my eyes flicking from him to the bottles. I reach up to take the first one, my hand is shaking and I’m afraid I might drop it.

“Stop.” I freeze, fingers wrapped around the first bottle. He reaches past my own hand and picks up the last bottle. I gasp. He holds the tiny bottle up for his inspection, watching the small green galaxy inside of it.

“Please don’t,” I hear myself whisper. He looks at me then and grins.

“Don’t what? Don’t look at it?” He laughs, the sound grating at my eardrums. He holds the bottle close to my face. “Do you like the look of it, your soul?”

He pulls it back just as I begin to reach for it. “If you don’t then I could always make a few minor… adjustments.” He snaps his fingers and a single blue flame begins to burn on the tip of his index finger. He holds the small bottle above it, just out of the flame’s reach.

“No!” I scream, leaping away from him as if that would do any good. He bursts into laughter and extinguishes the flame in his fist.

He holds the bottle in the palm of his hand, smiling at me. “Don’t worry, the bottle cannot be burned, not even by Hellfire. Your soul is safe inside of it.” He gives me a long look. “That is if you behave. Otherwise… well, I’ll just have another empty bottle on the shelf.” He strides past me, grinning wickedly. The plexiglass door swings on its hinges.

“Come find me when you’re finished,” he pauses to read the label on the bottle, “Emily Stone.”