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Everyone knows the story of the lady in the mirror. Some versions even claim to know her name, though the name itself varies and is the cause of much discourse: Beast; Feral; Beholder; Bell. All but one seem too cruel for one that is purported to be so kind, though some of the scholars argue that Bellua is the Latin term for Beast, and therefore that is the right one. But in the end, the truth of her name does not matter.
There is the lady in the mirror. How she picks those she appears to is unknown. What she offers and why it is offered is similarly a mystery; those few that have interacted with her and speak of it are reluctant to share details. Maybe that is why the stories are so well-known, so far-travelled. The mystery calls to people and they want to believe they can solve it.
You’re no real exception. Every tit-bit of information is eagerly devoured, put together with other tales and dissected for similarities. There’s something about the story that calls to you, like a promise.
However, that doesn’t mean you’re expecting to ever meet her. It doesn’t stop the day when you glance at your reflection while finishing getting dressed and see something off about your reflection, a toothy smile where your own face is impassive.
You blink, trying to explain it with the light of the dawn glinting off the silver, but no. The eyes of your reflection meet yours, and then it’s not your reflection anymore but someone completely different.
A woman stands grinning at you, hands on hips and chin raised arrogantly in a way that highlights how pale her skin is, like that of the dead, and how her body moves and twists in a way that is unnatural and languid. When you step back in shock the smile that stretches her face reveals sharp, interlocked teeth and squeezes her eyes into crescents. You saw a blind man once, and the woman’s eyes remind you of his. Despite these unnerving features her hair is simple, straight and wood brown and haphazardly brushed out of the way, and she’s in simple clothes of green and brown, seemingly barefoot.
Nothing about her appearance seems to suggest benevolence; then again, everyone knows the stories of the people in the forests, beautiful and beguiling and dangerous beyond comparison. Appearance doesn’t necessarily mean much in terms of things like this.
Besides, there’s only one person it can be.
“The lady in the mirror.” You breathe, and sharp teeth are shown again in a satisfied grin.
“That’s how most refer to me these days.” She agrees.
And maybe it’s because you’ve been thinking about it, maybe it’s because the fact that she has a name is one of the only certain parts of the tales, but what you find yourself asking this infamous spirit is,
“Do you have a name?”
The lady let out a short, abrasive bark of laughter.
“Yeah, I was given one by the person I lived with.” She confirms, and there’s something about the way she says ‘lived with’ that plucks at you alongside the terminology of being given a name. There’s no creature you can think of that the lady fits, no other stories that parallel hers. “Do you?”
Benevolent in stories or not, you’ve also heard enough about the dangers of carelessly giving your name away. You can’t ignore that nobody knows what she is, and there’s certainly enough about her that reminds you of tales of fae creatures.
“I do.” Is all you say, hoping that it doesn’t cause offence.
She simply smiles again.
“Smart little thing, aren’t you?” She asks the room at large. “But don’t worry. There’s nothing I can do with your name. Not my arena.”
You wait for more, but it doesn’t come. She seems happy enough to simply stand there, watching you watching her, and say nothing at all. But considering how she’s reacted so far, you have the strange feeling that she’s waiting and wanting for you to talk to her. So far, she’s done nothing but react to you.
So you take a deep breath, and reclaim that step you took back, and watch for the gleam of approval in her eyes.
“Why are you here?”
“Straight to the chase.” She remarks as she rocks back on her heels, and there’s something almost like wistfulness in her voice. “I have something to offer you, kid. Something simple. You don’t have to accept but this is your one chance to think it over and offer me an answer because the silver is causing me issues and there’s always more people to reach.”
“Okay.” You say when she looks to you for- what? Acknowledgement? Confirmation? Whatever the reason, she nods and continues.
“You do not love like you would be expected to.” The words are blunt but they feel a little like a knife between the ribs all the same. “Oh, don’t look like that.” She rolls her eyes, even though your reflection has been consumed by her image and so you don’t actually know what your expression is saying right then. “She was the same and while I keep an eye out for all outcasts I especially watch for ones like that. Ones like you.”
“What does this matter?” You manage to ask, and her eyebrows rise.
“Matter? Well, it doesn’t at all, at least not to me. The line between possession and love is hard for me to grasp, for all that she tried to impart it upon me. But I could tell that it caused her strife, the way that others responded to the way she lived her life, the ways that they expected her to behave and how she was punished when she didn’t.” She shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t have to do any of this. It can easily be said that I gain nothing from it. But I respected her, so this seems a good use of my time.”
You think, really, that the lady in the mirror has just told a lie without realising. You can read in her easily enough some sort of grief whenever she speaks of this woman that is clearly, in one way or another, no longer with her. A part of you thinks it was cruel of whoever this lady was, to teach someone how to care about other people and then leave them to live out their life alone.
Another part of you realises that life isn’t fair, and she might not have had a choice in the matter.
“Anyway,” She continues, “The offer is this: I can take you away from here, and to somewhere where you can live as you want.” And she presses her hand against the surface of the mirror, making it ripple like the metal is liquid instead of solid.
You stare. This seems to be a fair reaction, because the lady in the mirror doesn’t really respond to it, just takes her hand off and settles into a mildly uncomfortable looking position and waits. There’s something about her that suggests that could wait until the end of the world, if she needed to, despite the way she constantly shifts and moves.
“Where?” You ask in a daze, earning yourself another flash of teeth.
“Nope, you don’t get to know that unless you agree.” She ticks a finger at you as she speaks. “This is a- what’s the phrase? An all or nothing situation, kid.”
That rankles a bit. You like to unearth mysteries where you can, but it’s becoming more and more obvious that there’s only one way to get the answers you want: leave to an unknown fate on the promise of a being that clearly wasn’t born to such benevolence. The lady in the mirror surely has some experience with convincing people to leave-
Wait.
“Can you talk to people that don’t own mirrors?” You wonder aloud, and curse yourself immediately for it.
“Sometimes there is glass or poor metal. More often there is water or ice. I can wait for the opportunity. I have all the time in the world.” Then she shifted her weight again and clicked her tongue. “You’re really very curious. That’s fine and all, love it actually, but if we’re going to leave we’ll have to do it soon. Your family are getting curious about what’s taking you so long. You get one more question.”
You can feel them lining up behind your teeth: do you miss her and is this your version of loneliness and who are you really doing this for? The first two you don’t actually need to know right now; the last doesn’t actually matter. Whether for her own benefit or to benefit those she offered it to, the end result would be the same.
“Are you doing this because you want to, or because she would have wanted to?” You ask, and watch it hit like a physical blow. Her sharp smile was back up again in an instant but you’d seen what she’d looked like before that, wretched and vicious and almost hungry.
It’s this that makes you realise that maybe all of the stories of her are right, in their own ways. She’s a feral beast, a beholder of things she could never truly touch or understand, and maybe something that someone, somewhen, saw fit to smile at and offer a name to anyway.
“Both.” She says, nonchalant in a way that you’re sure isn’t real. “There’s not much difference, really, not to me. Not when-” Her expression falters for a moment before she smirks again and claps her hands together. It doesn’t matter; you’ve got the answer that you want. The lady in the mirror wouldn’t knowingly cause you harm, not when it would taint that person’s memory. All you would have to do is express your unhappiness and you’re sure that you could leave. “No matter. I need your answer, kid.”
You’ve got responsibilities here, not least of which to your family. There’s talk of marriage arrangements, of the possibilities it can bring, and you know your duty. This shouldn’t be an easy answer but the reality is that it is. There’s no denying what you felt from the moment she made her proposition, deep in your chest- a frisson of hope. You’ve got responsibilities here, yes, but they’re threatening to smother you. You can almost taste the slow, noxious death of your spirit that awaits you in the next few years.
So it shouldn’t be an easy answer, but that doesn’t stop your answer from coming so easily.
“Yes.” You say, holding out your hand, and the lady in the mirror smiles her razor smile as you touch the metal.
“Let’s go.” She agrees, and you’re gone.