Chatterbox: Mirrors

Thursday, March 13, 2014

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For Chatterbox this month (don't know what Chatterbox is? Read here) Rachel selected the lovely and diverse topic of mirrors. I knew this would be a challenge from the start, but until I began writing I didn't realize how many directions I could (and might) have gone if I wished. That being said, I did end up splattering together something to share with you all - and I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

This snippet is from Psithurism - which, by the way, I have started rewriting from the ground up. I've only 3,000 words out yet but it feels good so far.
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"And whatever you do, don't break anything." It was the last instruction Mikaela had given Adara before skirting out of the room to find the proper irons for her hair.

The room was full of curiosities that she had never paid particular attention to, simply for lack of interest, but now the time was on her hands Adara peered at them closely. The most interesting of the objects was a gold-framed hand mirror, engraved with her mother's initials. Funny she'd never seen it before; things like this were usually given as dying gifts or the like, not stuffed away in a curio room and never mentioned.

"What is it?" Sequoia slid into the room like a thief and dropped onto the stool by the window.
"I believe it was my mother's - but I never saw it before."
"It's lovely - may I?" She reached out a slender brown hand for the object, but Adara hesitated.
"I - do be careful, that is. I do not wish to have it broken." With reluctant hands, she turned over the object to the patiently waiting girl.
"'Course I'll be careful, Dara-dear! Why, you silly thing!"She turned the thing over in her hands, examining her Grecian colouring and distinctive nose.
"By Amor, it does make me look pale, doesn't it?" She giggled and turned the thing to Adara's face. "Oh, you look positively sick! Then, you were always a pasty thing."

Adara did not exactly appreciate these remarks, but they did not bother her as much as they might have, had she been a stranger to Sequoia's teasing remarks and flippant words. She was not - and though she did not appreciate it, she did not resent it.

Something was twitching in the corner behind the bureau; a cat, she thought, by the soft throaty grumble that seemed to tremor the shadows.

"Here, kitty-kitty," she purred, though Sequoia glared.
"What are you doing, Adara?"
"Beckoning the kitty."
Both gave the other a withering stare, complete with identical frowns, but the wingy-ness of it all made it impossible for either to hold this face for long.
"I wonder that it should be back there," Adara frowned more pleasantly now, her glass-reflection on the wall mirror looking much like a little girl's.
Sequoia was chuckling. "Look-ye, what a darling it is!"
It was a darling, though scruffy and something of a mixed-breed by the splotchy colour of its matted hair.
"See, let me stand on your foot-stool and I'll fetch it," the older decided, but Adara was not convinced.
"The little old thing will be a pile of firewood beneath you, Quoia. Nay, I shan't let you."
"Then let me slip under the bookcase, surely?"
"As you wish, though I can't say your dress with thank you."
Quoia didn't seem to mind, and shoved her large black-crowned head under the thing, followed by a long white arm. The case rattled.
"Careful, Quoia! I shall be in every manner of trouble should you crack my case!" The other wriggled again, and the thing jilted. "Sequoia!" Adara complained.
"I've almost caught it, hush cousin!" Both became suddenly silent. "Here we are!"
Adara almost smiled, placing the mirror on top of the case and reaching to grab Sequoia's scandalously bare ankles. "Your only change of escape," she began ominously, "is by Tug."
Sequoia giggled, but she let her cousin wiggle her inch by inch from under the bookcase, until only her head couldn't be seen underneath.
"It's lodged, Adara!" she squealed impatiently.
Adara was still laughing, and cried "turn it, gooseling!" to her stuck comerade.
With one final jilt the girl was out on her bottom, her legs stuck out oddly at her sides, a pile of outlandish hair making her head look like a sort of chocolately dessert, and a scragle of a kitten in her breast, laughing.
But it seemed the book case was merry too, reeling forward and backwards on its feet of old metal, sending several items on top spinning to the floor in a rush of gold and glass.
On the underlying tiles, the hand-mirror lay shattered into a thousand reflective pieces, the gold frame glittering like sunlight against diamond-shards.

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