A Mirror's Guide to Self-Love

The Antique store held so much magic. Knick knacks, paintings, furniture that all were worn from use, filled with people’s energies and histories that end up here. Could I see unnatural stitching in a beloved toy when it had ripped? Is there a signature inside a book when someone wanted to claim the book theirs? If I scrape away paint from a table, would I find the hidden paint underneath? I love bits like that. I’m not looking for anything in particular, I just love looking around and getting what catches my eye. I save up for this day, so I can have a little more history in my home. I had friends and family tell me I do this too much, but I believe I find good places for my new finds, so I don’t put it to any mind. 

I shifted through a number of necklaces with gorgeous stones in an ornament case surrounding it. The necklaces covered in silver, gold, and one even being rose gold, held my eyes for a while. I don’t have a wardrobe to do them justice though, and put them back reluctantly and continued browsing around. I noticed some things that I’ve seen in the store before, and noticed some things missing from coming so often. I took a moment to appreciate the huge paintings that leaned against the tables, lamenting on the fact that they were always out of my budget. 

A slight tilt of my head, the sun’s rays hit something close by just right for a blue and green shine to cross the room. I followed the trail to see a beautiful hand mirror that’s silver with sapphire and emerald stones decorating it. I turned it over in my hands and an engraving in the back in golden script scribbled across. It didn't seem like any language I recognized, but it thrilled me all the more. There was no way I could put something like this down. I took a deep, readying breath before checking the price. A gasp of delight escaped me, and clapped my hands when I discovered it fell within my price range. 

I bought it without any second thoughts. My mind raced with all the possibilities of where this mirror could be put on display. It’s the first time I bought something without thinking of where I was going to place it ahead of time. How could I not buy it? If I had opened up a fairy tale book including a mirror, there would be no doubt in my mind that this one would be in it. As soon as I got home, I took a picture of it to send it to whoever I could send it to, without any annoyance on their end. My mother loved it, and one of my friends gushed over it. 

I kept it for a while, gazed at it, and used it before I headed off to work. It looks wonderful where I put it. I especially loved it when I’m off of work when I gaze at it in the afternoon sun, because the stones on the mirror created a beautiful fan of colors on my wall. I imagine the next time guests visit it would be nice for the mirror to be the first thing they see, because the mirror adds some more mystique to my home. 

A week goes by in no time, and I’m on my day off. It’s the afternoon, I just ate lunch, and now I wanted to hang up my lamp that might add even more reflections off the stained glass of the lampshades. I didn’t like ladders much, but I couldn’t help but snatch up the lamp set at a new antique shop that opened an hour away from where I live. Even though I am ultra-conscious of the way I stand on the ladder, I shifted my foot wrong and slipped off. It wasn’t a high ladder, thankfully, but I skipped a couple of paces before slamming against the mirror. My hands clasped at it for dear life. I yelped as the sharp pain erupted from my fingers that caught the sharper edges of the decorative frame. Red liquid ran down the length of the mirror, droplets falling to the floor at the edge of the table I placed the mirror on.

I took my hands off the mirror and stared at my hands for the damage. The spaces between my forefinger and middle finger were cut, but it’s not deep, but the lower part of my middle finger appeared to have a peeler used on it. The burning pain sprung up tears. My attention gravitated toward the mirror, but all the blood was gone…what happened? Like some kind of rewind, the blood that I saw rolling down the mirror vanished. I gulped. I took a steady breath. I…must’ve been imagining things? Sometimes blood doesn’t come out of the wound. It’s delayed. I look back at my hands though, it’s bloody. It’s still making a mess of my floor. The mirror should be dripping too, but it isn’t. This can’t be happening. There should at least be some on the edges, but there isn’t. 

I ignored the pain of putting my hands under the water and lathered the soap on. I bandaged them once I carefully dried them. As soon as I did, I inspected the mirror, and still, to my shock, nothing showed my accident. The mirror continued surprising me. The inscription written in an unknown language evaporated into English:

When sunlight doth kiss the surface, let fingertips muse on the desires of thine heart to pass through thine lips. On this wish, it opens a portal thine soul calls for.

The directions being more straightforward than I thought it would be for a strange mirror, I stood it up where I had it before and touched the mirror itself. A gasp escaped me as the mirror shone a brilliant light. Instead of the reflection of myself, it showed a fuzzy image of a bedroom I didn’t recognize–god, I didn’t mean to connect to a bedroom–until it slowly focused into a clearer image. Two windows were on one side of the wall, so the sun brought in enough light into the room. A small bedroom, it had a single bed and a simple night stand with a candle in a lantern sitting in the middle. I squinted when I saw some things I didn't recognize. I would imagine it to be gadgets from a hundred years ago.

I didn’t have enough time to figure out what all of it meant when the door opened and a woman looking to be around my age walked in. Her dress had the style of a maiden from the medieval ages, and a bonnet covered her hair. Wisps of it stuck to her sweat-caked forehead. She collapsed into a chair right in front of the mirror and heaved a sigh. She drooped her shoulders and rested her face in her hands. 

“Oh god,” the woman prayed, “give me strength.”

She must be having a hard time. 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” I said. 

Then I regretted it instantly, imagining what would be like if some strange person spoke to me through a mirror. She didn’t respond, though.

“Um,” I said, “hello?”

Still no answer. 

The next few months consisted of me checking in on her (because the image turns off when the moon comes out) to see if she still came home stressed. I’m not sure if this girl was Amish, or what, but she never turned on the light. She always lit candles instead, but I only know that Amish people didn’t follow the secular world, but not to what extent. No matter how often I check in, the woman always sits down in front of the mirror in a similar way to when I first saw her. I felt like a creep, but I wanted to encourage her somehow, even if she didn’t hear me. I would say things to her, just like I did the first time, but other times I promised I would be thinking of her so I could send her good vibes. That way, maybe good karma will head her way. I don’t believe in that stuff exactly, but I felt it was better than nothing in most situations.

But then the next time I checked in on her, a man came in. He did not look human. His skin was more on the golden side, and his ears pointed at the tip. His clothes were the color of forests, and a bow and arrow strapped on his back. He talked about what ailed her, telling her she needs to come with him already and forget about her deadbeat father’s store. The discussion teetered on the edge of a fight, but it’s clear the man worried for her, and the woman would be more than willing to forget it. She told him that she could handle it.

“When did you suddenly become so sure?” the man said. “Before, you were crying that you would never get out of this situation.”

“That was before…” she said.

“Before what?” the man urged.

“I’ve been feeling hopeful these days, but it’s just–” the woman paused, then she continued, clasping her hands in her lap while holding a gentle smile, “I’ve had rotten luck for so long.” The woman’s eyes teared up, “But lately I felt like someone was watching out for me the past few weeks, cheering me on from the heavens.”

“What are you going on about Meredith?” the man said.

“I’ve been feeling a calming presence for a few weeks now,” the woman looked straight at the mirror. I gasped a little, but realized she didn’t seem to look at me, but her eyes scanned the expanse of the mirror. “It’s like it's telling me, ‘everything is going to be okay’. I know that it’s more complicated than that, but after a while, it felt easier to deal with everything. I trusted that presence, and eventually, it did become okay.”