Here's a sneak peek at tomorrow's chapter of 'Crimson Threads'
Chapter 6
Window To Earth
A thousand years passed before I touched the mirror again.
It waited in its corner, patient as stone, the cloth grey with another millennium of dust. Every morning for a thousand years, I had walked past it without stopping. Each day, the same lie: that I did not need to see what I could not change. The lie had worn thin. I could feel it fraying at the edges each time I passed the covered frame, each time my eyes slid away rather than linger.
On an autumn morning, I uncovered it. Golden light filled the studio, thick with drifting dust motes, the leaves outside turning. The cloth fell away in a single motion. Beneath it, the obsidian surface was as I remembered, dark and depthless, holding its own night where no reflection lived.
My tools waited where I had left them a thousand years ago, wrapped in oiled cloth beside the workbench. I unwrapped them slowly, my fingers finding the familiar shapes of handles worn smooth by use. My palm did not touch the glass. Not yet.
Tools to the frame, first.
Old symbols ran along the border in careful lines, each one an anchor binding the mirror to a specific face, a specific place I had not wanted to forget. I carved them when my first child left for Lucifer's court, when I needed to see what I could not follow. In all the centuries since, I had never added to them. Hell had been enough.
A thousand years of wondering had changed what I needed from the glass.
Hands and fire. My fingers traced the old grooves first, a greeting, a farewell to the anchors that had served me so long. Each symbol was familiar under my touch, worn smooth by the attention I had given them in the early years, when I still hoped the mirror would show me something I could bear.