In the Attic Mirror
Awakening to Self
Dear Readers, Friends ~
Some scenes refuse to stay where you put them. I wrote this one for “book two” (not yet published), but I think it belongs in this space between. It’s a moment from Stella’s thirteenth year, when mirror-sight had become something she realized was part of her. I hope you’ll enjoy this standalone piece about identity, belonging, and the coming-of-age experience.
In the Attic Mirror
It ripples, responding to me the way it has since I was ten, in another hallway, another room in this house. I am thirteen now.
The attic air hangs heavy with dust. I’ve ventured up the narrow stairs after midnight, drawn by a humming that no one else seems to hear. In the far corner stands an uncovered mirror in an ornate silver frame. I expect my reflection. I dread the distortions I’ve seen since I was ten.
A half-moon casts its light through a dormer window. The mirror’s surface ripples like disturbed water. The attic behind me disappears, replaced by a small room I’ve never seen.
A woman sits by a window. Her copper-bright hair catches the light. She is working on a bracelet of blue forget-me-nots. I can only see her profile, but the curve of her cheek, the shape of her hands —
Ellen.
The name comes from nowhere and everywhere.
She looks up. Has she heard me? Her eyes — my eyes — widen as she stares at me through the glass. She reaches toward the surface, and her fingertips leave fog-like impressions. She is in the mirror. She is in her room. And she is in the attic with me.
Then we are disconnected. Like a phone line cut.
The mirror clears. My own reflection returns, and I see what I first noticed at age ten: a woman weaving an enchanted forget-me-not bracelet without knowing her name. Like her, my eyes shift color, from amber to watery green. Our hair is the same copper.
I press my palm to the cool glass where her hand had been moments before.
Something has awakened in me. Something that was always there, waiting for the right moment. The right reflection.
That night marked a turning point. The mirrors weren’t showing distortions or frightening illusions. They were windows to connections I carry in my blood.
Thanks for your support!