The Lantern Keeper's Garden

Chapter 7: The Mirror's Reflection

The moon hung low in the sky, its light weaving through the branches of the ancient trees like a silver thread. Aina stood in the clearing, her hands still warm from the lantern she held. The air around her was thick with the presence of memories, old and new, and the gentle murmur of the garden seemed to beckon her forward, urging her to continue her work.

She had freed the soul beneath the roots, helped him find peace, but there was something in the air now—something new. The garden had changed since the encounter with the trees. It felt different, alive in a way that made her skin prickle. The lanterns flickered more brightly, their light seeming to pulse with a life of its own. The silver-winged creature, now perched on a nearby branch, chirped quietly, almost as if it were calling her attention to something.

Aina turned her gaze to the center of the clearing. There, amidst the tangled vines and low-growing flowers, stood a large, ornate mirror. It hadn’t been there before. Aina’s heart skipped. The frame was crafted from twisted wood, dark and weathered, its edges carved with intricate patterns that looked like ancient symbols she couldn’t understand. The mirror itself was clouded, its surface reflecting the faint light of the lanterns, but in a distorted, wavering way.

The silver-winged creature fluttered toward the mirror, landing on the ground beside it. It chirped again, this time more urgently.

“What's this?” Aina asked softly, though she knew the answer wasn’t one that the creature could give.

Tentatively, she stepped closer. As she approached, the air grew cooler, and a faint hum vibrated through the ground. The mirror seemed to pulse with a strange, quiet energy, almost as though it were alive. Aina felt drawn to it, a deep, undeniable pull that made her heart race.

She hesitated just before the glass, her fingers brushing against the cool surface. The moment she touched it, the reflection in the mirror shifted.

At first, it was barely noticeable—a ripple across the surface, like a distortion in the water. But then, slowly, the image changed. The reflection in the glass shifted from her own face to something else—something unfamiliar.

Aina stepped back, her breath catching in her throat. She didn’t know what she had expected, but this wasn’t it.

The figure in the mirror was not her. It was a woman, standing tall, her features delicate but marked by a sorrowful strength. Her dark hair fell in waves down her back, and she wore a gown made of something that shimmered, like starlight woven into fabric. But it wasn’t her appearance that unsettled Aina; it was the look in the woman’s eyes—deep, haunted, as though they were looking right into Aina’s soul.

The figure in the mirror raised a hand, as if reaching out to her. The air grew colder, the hum growing louder, vibrating in Aina’s bones.

“What is this?” Aina whispered, her voice trembling. The reflection seemed to answer, its lips moving, but no sound reached her ears.

The woman in the mirror beckoned again, her hand extending, as though inviting Aina into the glass. The space between them felt thin, fragile—like a veil ready to tear.

Without thinking, Aina stepped forward.

As soon as her foot crossed the line of the reflection, the ground beneath her feet shifted. A wave of vertigo overtook her, and for a moment, everything spun. The air felt thick, heavy, as if the very fabric of the garden itself was pulling her into something deeper, darker. The whispering trees, the lanterns—everything faded into nothingness.

Then, the world stopped spinning.

Aina found herself standing in a different place, though it looked eerily familiar. The clearing was gone. She was no longer surrounded by lanterns or trees. The space she stood in was vast and open, but its atmosphere was cold, still. The ground beneath her feet was smooth and glass-like, reflecting the pale light of an unseen moon. She looked around, but there was no sign of the garden. No signs of life.

The woman from the mirror stood before her now, the same sorrowful expression on her face, but now Aina could hear her words—clear, as though spoken directly into her mind.

"You are the keeper, aren’t you?"

Aina’s breath caught. She wasn’t sure how to answer. Was this the same woman from the mirror? Had the garden transported her here, or was this some part of the memory she was meant to uncover?

“Who are you?” Aina asked, her voice steady despite the confusion bubbling inside her. “What is this place?”

The woman’s gaze was filled with quiet pain. She stepped closer, her form shimmering like the light of the moon, almost too beautiful to touch.

"I am a memory," the woman replied softly, her voice echoing in the stillness. "A memory trapped between worlds. I was once the keeper, long before you."

Aina blinked. The keeper?

The woman seemed to sense her confusion, and a sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Yes. Before the garden. Before the lanterns. I was tasked with guiding the souls of the forgotten. But I... I failed."

Aina felt the weight of her words settle over her. The air grew colder as the woman continued.

"The garden was not always as it is now. It was a place for the living and the dead to meet—souls in need of guidance, their memories carried on the winds of time. But then... I made a mistake. I lost one soul. A soul that was too precious to be forgotten."

The woman’s eyes grew distant, as if lost in the past. "That soul... it was a part of me. And by losing it, I lost everything."

Aina’s heart clenched. A lost soul?

"I failed," the woman whispered, her voice breaking. "And so the garden became what it is now—a prison for forgotten souls. A place where memories can never rest."

Aina’s thoughts raced. She could feel it now—the pull, the coldness, the sorrow hanging in the air. The garden had always felt like a place of healing, a place to remember. But if this woman had once been its keeper, and had lost a soul, could the garden truly be the sanctuary it seemed to be? Was there a deeper sorrow buried here that even the lanterns couldn’t heal?

She took a deep breath, the weight of the woman’s confession settling in her chest. “What can I do?” she asked, the question feeling heavier than any she had asked before.

The woman’s gaze softened, but her sorrow remained. “You must find the lost soul. The one I failed. It still lingers in the garden. It has become the shadow that haunts this place, the darkness in the light. Only by freeing it... can the garden truly be healed."

Aina’s mind spun. The woman’s words echoed through her like a warning. The garden wasn’t just a haven for lost souls—it was a place of unfinished business, of mistakes that had been forgotten by time. And now, it seemed, it was up to Aina to undo the error of the previous keeper.

The air around her rippled, and the garden returned to view, the lanterns glowing softly, the silver-winged creature circling in the distance. But something was different. The shadows were deeper now, heavier, and the quiet murmur of the garden carried a subtle undertone of unease.

Aina looked down at the lantern she still held, its flame flickering with an uncertain light. She wasn’t just the keeper of forgotten memories anymore. She was the keeper of the garden’s balance. And now, she understood that there were some shadows that had to be faced—some memories that had been lost for far too long.

With a final glance at the woman’s fading form, Aina turned back to the garden, determined. The lost soul was waiting for her.

And it would not remain forgotten.

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