Fractured Infinities

The Golden Boar

We pass a plethora of tents and booths as we make our way deeper into the market. All sorts of gadgets are for sale here, along with a wide variety of food both living and dead. A man in a tan coat and bow tie points a glowing green object, about the size of a pen, at a wire cage, which unfolds into the shape of a snarling tiger. His redheaded companion laughs with delight, while the proprietor beams magnanimously. Farther down the row, a girl with a shock of spiked hair – half bubblegum pink and half sky blue hair – along with a snake tattoo on her neck argues with a shopkeeper over a thick stack of leather-bound tomes. Goblins hawk precious jewelry from a tent ensorcelled to gleam like gold, while food vendors call out to the people passing by. "Chicken legs, certified from real chickens!" "Belladonna tinctures, delicious and nutritious!" "Toasty diracawl slices here, just like your mother used to make!" It's utter chaos, and it's fascinating.

As we turn off of the main road, the din lessens. There's room to maneuver in the streets, and the vendors are a bit quieter. A humanoid with gills and a fishy face gestures for the huntsman to come closer, motioning to a tank full of mermaids with iron collars around their necks. They bear resigned expressions as they float in the placid water, not bothering to glance up as the huntsman passes. He winces, waving away the proprietor's offer to 'try them,' and hurries down the lane.

His steps don't slow until we reach the outside of the Golden Boar, which turns out to be one of the few real buildings in the market. A multi-story construction of creaking wood, its dilapidated façade is a sharp contrast to the rollicking music echoing from within. "I guess this is it," I say, wishing that the huntsman would tip my mirror upwards so I can see more of the building.

"Are ya nervous?" he asks.

Nervous? Why would I be nervous? It's not an emotion that I'm capable of feeling, as far as I know. "I'm simply intrigued by the possibility of finding Quicksilver," I tell him.

He hesitates, running his hand over the top of my mirror. "What if..." He pauses for so long that I'm not sure he's going to complete the question. "What if she's, ya know... dead?" I don't answer, and he hastily adds, "Not that I think she is, or anything. But... would ya be sad?" He sounds like he cares about me for some reason, though I can't possibly fathom why the theoretical sadness of a mirror would matter to him.

Besides, I don't think I'd be sad. Disappointed? Maybe – I would never get to learn how she made me, or why I'm built the way I am. But I wouldn't have a reason to feel sorrow. I don't know her, and if she's dead, I never will. I guess you could call her my mother, but that doesn't sound accurate. My progenitor? More formal, but that still implies a bond. I can't dredge up the slightest shred of memory of my creation or my earliest days; the first thing I remember is that hated question: 'Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?' That particular queen is probably more of a mother than anyone else, though she was a spiteful, smallminded woman who died shortly after I awoke.

Could she have been the woman named Quicksilver? After a moment of reflection, I disregard that hypothesis. She lacked the requisite power, for one thing, and the necessary intelligence for another. Someone strong enough and smart enough to create me would have no need for petty, jealous questions about beauty – she could have simply magicked herself into a more youthful form. No, Quicksilver must have given the mirror to that first queen, then disappeared. Maybe she gave out all the mirrors, scattered throughout the multiverse, or maybe she sold them from a stall here. Either way, she must not have activated them until they left her hands, or I would have seen her.

The huntsman is still waiting for my answer. "I guess I'd be disappointed that I didn't get to meet her," I decide.

He looks worried. "Will ya be alright?"