Arise - Book Two of The Spinner's Curse

Mirrors and Memories

                                                                 Chapter Two:

                                                                75 Years Ago

                                                                        Eira

My first memory is of the mirror. The mirror I wasn’t allowed to touch. My mother kept it in her room, buried beneath her mountains of pillows. When I was eight, I snuck into her bedroom, my hands searching. I wasn’t supposed to know about the mirror, but I did. My mother was obsessed with it. Oft times, she would slip away from a meal to look upon her reflection in its glossy surface, and sometimes, I would follow her. The mirror was small, a hand-mirror, and made of pure silver.

The handle had been fashioned into the shape of a rose, its bloom bursting out from below my hand. It was heavy and sharp. The edges of the gilded petals dug into my palm. I turned it slowly, curious as to why my mother valued it above all others. I stared into my eyes, into the solemn reflection of my soul. The mirror was grey in places where age had eroded the gloss. I could see nothing special about it. Carefully, I pressed it back into the covers as the door burst open.

My mother stood in the doorway, her long hair wild about her face. “Eira!” she screeched. “What are you doing?” Her green eyes darted to the coverlet, where my hand was still hidden. I quickly tucked it behind my back. She burst across the room and smacked me across the face with the palm of her hand. My cheek burned as I fell from the force. She didn’t look at me. Frantically, she searched for the mirror. She pulled it out and looked into its surface. She stared at it while I sat, hand clutching my face. After a minute she smiled, her face calm again. She set the mirror onto the bed and turned to me, her eyes cold and hard like stones. “Eira,” she murmured softly, “you know better than to touch my things.” I nodded, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. She held out her arms and I moved into them, needing her embrace. She pressed my head into her shoulder, where our hair melted together. “Eira,” she whispered, a hint of malice creeping into her voice. “You didn’t look into it did you?”

Perhaps it was the slap that made me do it, perhaps it was the icy tendrils of premonition, but for some reason, I shook my head. “No, Mama. I just wanted to look at the flower.” She sagged in relief and began petting my hair.

“Good… That’s very good Eira.” She continued to stroke me, but I could tell her thoughts were far away.

It was the first time I touched the mirror, but it wasn’t the last. It drew me like a moth to a flame, becoming more irresistible the more I looked. Six months after I first gazed upon my reflection in its glossy surface, Mother found a way to sever my obsession.

She brought me to a room far below the castle, where the air was heavy with water and the stench of mud. I cringed into myself, careful not to touch her, afraid of what she would do if my gown so much as swished against hers. Her hair was plaited down her back, with a golden ribbon laced between the strands. She looked beautiful, as she always did, but her beauty felt like a mask. Her skin was smooth and flawless, her expression dull as if she were a statue brought to life against its will. A cold sweat bloomed down my back, making my limbs tingle as I did my best to keep pace with her.

Finally, at the end of a long, dimly lit corridor, she stopped. A barred door stood before us and, beside it, was the reedy figure of Ilom. I recognized him even before he stepped away from the shadows, before his gossamer wings became visible. He smiled down at me and, not for the first time, I thought of a skull with stretched skin and hollow eyes. “Princess.” He bowed to me and Mother sucked in a hiss of anger.