Mirror

Fire and Rain

When I came to I was no longer in the basement of the dusty old house. I was lying on cold, rocky ground. The burn marks on my hand stung. A strong wind, uncomfortably cold, easily bit through my T-shirt and shorts so that I felt chilled to the bone in minutes. Because of my clothes, I knew I was in Mirror.

The ground was nothing but small pebbles and dust in all directions, so flat that the rough terrain ran up to meet the horizon. The gray of the stone and the sky were so close in hue it was hard to tell where the land stopped and the sky began. Besides the crunch of rocks beneath my feet as I stood up there was no other sound to indicate life. This was a lonely place, barren and sorrowful. Why did I end up here? More importantly, where was here?

Having nothing better to do, I stacked stones to mark my landing point and started walking.

Kilometers upon kilometers separated me from where I started. Of this I was sure, but the monotony of the landscape frightened me. Not even the sun had changed position overhead. It had been hanging directly above me the whole time, yet offering no warmth. Not even a wisp of a cloud formed and yet the sky took on such a dreary color. Only the wind kept me company.

More hours passed while the sun still marked noon and the only indication I had that I was moving at all was the subtle changes in the rocks. Sometimes I trekked over fields of sand and other times over jagged rocks, large enough to impede my steady walking tempo.

As the day passed away, or at least as more hours than I thought appropriate for the sun to be shining, I started to feel numb. Detached, as if I didn't really exist. Hours prior I had been determined to stay awake, fearing that if I slept I would I would only freeze. That determination had run so thin that I couldn't help but seek a relatively comfortable place to sleep.

Just as I felt I had no strength left and had found a suitable place to lie down-a place no different than the dirt and rock I had tread on for hours- I heard a sound behind me. The sound of footsteps was a welcome noise. I spun around only to find there was nothing there. Great. I've already gone crazy. Then I heard it again. Behind me. I spun around again. It was the same thing. No one.

Irritated, I plopped down on the ground and folded my arms. "Whoever you are, I know you're there so stop playing games." No response, but there were footsteps behind me again. Closer. I waited and they continued to close the distance between us. I feared that if I turned around I wouldn't see anything and prove my own insanity. If the person or whatever the footsteps belonged to had business with me it could talk to me directly.

"Who are you?"

"Hi," I replied, resisting the urge to turn around. "I'm Lithallia."

"Turn around, Lithallia."

I turned and saw a teenage girl. Except for the fact that she looked the picture of health, she was the spitting image of Silimae. She was close to my height, but of a wider frame. Yet, somehow she seemed less substantial, like the wind could carry her away. She wore a plain beige tunic, billowy black pants, and hardy sandals. Over her shoulder she carried a large bag woven from strips of colored cloth. Even though all of her features were smooth and pretty, her most striking feature was the color of her eyes, framed by her long eyelashes. Just like the girl under the white cotton sheets they were blue, ringed in red, and hypnotizing. "Silimae?" I asked.