lol

Sleep is peaceful. Sleep gives one the chance to retreat from such boring things as lessons in Latin, philosophy, and court manners, for upon which inhumane construct of man did such come to be built so as to envelope one's life without regard for their own personal tastes and development. Indeed it seems only to attempt to indoctrinate the tastes of another rather than to develop one so that one might be able to experience all the jubilance of what makes life worth living, and if I were to describe what these things are, I am certain that sleep should be among them. Sleep truly is peaceful.

But alas, a rapping on the window of our lady has come to interrupt her adventure into her own little wonderland.

"Ma'am Leila! Ma'am Leila! It's 6 o'clock! Please wake up!"

And before long, the servant would depart, off to awaken another member of the manor. And so begins the day of young miss Leila Willsborough.

"Oh dear, is it that time already?" said Leila sarcastically. "Ah, but it would do no good to stay in bed all day. Oh what sights I shall see! Perhaps she will take us to the Louvre? Oh, but it's so very far away. As they say however, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step," she said, yawning as she tucked herself in once more.

Leila had always been a sensible girl. A very wise girl, whom you would find particularly hard to find a replacement or equal, especially one so young as to be only nine years of age, or so she would say. And indeed, she often gave herself very good advice. Very good advice indeed, but nevertheless, advice which she seldom follows.

Meanwhile, Ms. Abigail patiently waited for her students at the fountain in the town square. She was a homeschool teacher, kind enough to be well-loved by her students, but with a presence bearing such command as to keep them well-behaved, or at least as well-behaved as children ought to be.

She had been planning an excursion for the children today, so that they were not so confined to Sir Willsbourough's manor, the library of which he often generously donates as a classroom for all her students, one of which of course, is the daughter of the lord of the manor himself, little miss Leila.

"It's a beautiful coin, isn't it?", Ms. Abigail asked of the young Martin. Martin is one of her subjects, and while not an overly bright chap, he has a perverse curiosity for many things, one of which would be coins. He has nary a coin in his name though for the moment, so for every one he encounters, he meets with an observational eye and an understandable want to add to his collection.

"It is, Ms. Abigail. Can I borrow it?", Martin asked. With a smile and an appreciation for his curiosity, Ms. Abigail handed him the coin.

A moment has passed. Maybe two, thrice at the most. Minutes count away, and nary another student has arrived. It is but a normal occurrence to Ms. Abigail though, for students are wont to be late oftentimes, as are the parents who forget that even teachers had a timetable to follow. Just then, she heard a splash from the still fountain on which stone she is currently sitting on. The coin that Martin was observing just a while ago is now glinting the sun from under the waters.

"It is fine, Martin. Do not attempt to grab it from the waters; you might fall.". To nobody's surprise (especially not Ms. Abigail's), Martin disregarded just that, and is now trying to reach for the coin. She had to quickly grab hold of him to prevent him from taking a second bath for that morning.

"Like I said, Martin, it's fine. A single sovereign isn't of much lost value to either of us. And do kindly fix your clothes; we wouldn't want to be so unkempt for our excursion now, would we?"

"Alright then, Ms. Abie. I wanted to take the coin to my dad so that he'll tell me vivid stories of what that coin's faces meant," Martin replied, his great calm completely hiding his rather reckless action earlier.

Not that far away from where Martin had been trying so hard to retrieve the coin from the fountain’s grasp was another one of Ms. Abigail’s students. Frederick was raring to go as he carried not one but two bags of whatever he had in mind of bringing to the trip. Born of no noble descent, Frederick always had a different air around him. Though this has not stopped him from opening up to everyone else in the manor. Let us just say that Sir Willsbourough has a soft spot for kind-hearted people, Frederick’s parents being one of them.

“I can’t wait to see what wonders Ms. Abigail has in store for us today.” Frederick said as he cheerfully walked towards the Manor’s fountain.

He momentarily stops upon seeing Martin ironing out the creases on his attire as Ms. Abigail calmly observes. Frederick did not have a good track record with regards to Martin. It was a match between a very adventurous young lad versus someone whose curiosity was reserved for trivial things such as coins. Let us just say that there were moments where Frederick pushed Martin to rather dangerous situations where one could get injured or hurt. Martin did not bear a grudge though but the scolding Frederick experienced once word reached his parents was not a site to see.

“I don’t think everyone’s here yet.”

Sensing that it would be best to wait for everyone to arrive before trying to mingle with his fellow students, Frederick decided to sit on one of the park benches nearby. He opens up one his bags to take out his supposedly packed breakfast for today. It wasn’t extravagant, just a small sandwich and a carton of milk of start the day right. While eating his breakfast he noticed a slight rustling near his area.

And quite certainly, he would turn to look at the cause of this disturbance, and find that it was a young blue-haired woman, surely no older than one in her early to middle teens, dressed in strange garbs standing on a nearby beaten path that was covered in leaves. Frederick did not think much of it, and momentarily returned his gaze to his sandwich, but driven by a primal inquisitiveness, immediately turned his attention back to where the woman was. Or rather where she had been, for the woman was no where to be seen.

"Miss Abigail! Miss Abigail!"

Abigail was quick to recognize the voice as that of one of the manor's servants as she approached them in a quick jog, and in her arms was the figure of the young mistress Leila, leaning restfully upon the maid's chest. She had been dressed in a hurry, but as always, and as befitting for the daughter born of nobility, she had been dressed in the finest of autumn coats. The matte black color of her fur cap and her coat served greatly to frame the innocent charm of her sleeping face, white as snow. Her pale blonde hair had partly been tucked into her coat, but not too taut, and softly fell upon her shoulders.

Whilst her coat belied the petite body underneath, her gleaming face was a gift to the world. Ah! For since when did one come upon such an angelic sight. The gently smoothing crescents of her eyebrows. Her cheeks flush red in the cold of the coming winter. Her nose, small as a button. And finally her soft, pink lips. Angelic. Beautiful. Enticing. Drawing one in in such a manner that one would like to place one's lips upon hers, feeling the warm breath of her peaceful slumber caress gently upon the cheek.

I clear my throat. But I, as the narrator, digress.

"Master Willsborough was worried-" The maid heaved, evidently short of breath from her little bit of morning exercise. "-was worried that the young lady might miss the stage coach."

Miss Abigail chuckled.

"No worry. The stage coach was scheduled for seven o'clock. I know Leila here well enough. Just set her down next to the fountain, I'll take care of her until she wakes up."

The young maid bowed and returned to the manor. And so did Leila continue her peaceful slumber next to the fountain, at six thirty two of the year of our Lord 1867; a great adventure set before her.

…
…

An hour and a half has passed since Ms. Abiegail and the three children had rode their designated stage coach. Since the rest of the kids split up into their respective stage coaches, three on each along with one teacher, for three stage coaches in all. Since they left the countryside surrounding Sir Willsbourough's manor, the bright of the day shining upon them all. Truly a marvelous day for an innocent excursion into the relative unknown, as would be imagined by an adult, of a child's world.

Martin could not keep his eyes off the sleeping Leila, who was sound asleep (still, mind you) across his seat in the coach. Leila has her head cushioned by the calm shoulder of Ms. Abiegail; a thin, small book held in place by her free hand as she reads it with silent disapproval. Across her still is Frederick; being on the part of the coach where the window slits are covered, he could do naught but to try deciphering the title of the aforementioned book, given as it was partly covered by Ms. Abiegail's hand.

"Secrets of... la... gic... Black..? Huh."

Exasperated, Frederick turns his eyes on to the unsuspecting Martin, who was still intently staring at the sleeping Leila like she was a lesson in the female anatomy. Surely this is most uncomfortable for Ms. Leila, he thought, should she be awake to witness this. Then again, Frederick thought, "this poor chap beside me won't even steal a glance in fear of making eye contact if ever". Just then, Martin's trance was broken when a glint of blue swiped across his window. Pressing his face onto the wooden touch of the coach's door, he tried to make out what it was.

"Blue hair? How unnatural..."

Leila still sleeps soundly across the boys.

After a while they have reached Louvre. The stage coaches stopped near the canal to give way to others passing by. After getting all the things that would be brought along during the trip, everyone included in the excursion neatly lined up for a quicky attendance check.

“Alright, everyone is accounted, we have until the middle of the afternoon to see the sites here at Louvre. Just to be organized, we would all meet here and do another attendance check before leaving the premise. Be sure to always be with your guardians at all times. That is all.”

With the headmaster signalling everyone to start their adventure, the groups started to go their separate ways.

“Hey Miss Abie, where’s our first stop?”

Before Miss Abigail could answer Frederick’s question. Leila quickly replied

“I’d say we go to Pavillon de Flore. Nearest attraction we could possibly go t-”

“Leila… I asked Miss Abie, not you.” Frederick answered with a slight pout.

Not surprised by Leila’s knowledge about the sites and destinations of Louvre, Miss Abigail agrees to Leila’s decision.

“Now now, I think that’s a wonderful idea. If everyone’s ready, lets head off.”

Miss Abigail having that calm yet commanding aura around here, the three kids agreed that Pavillon de Flore would be their first stop. Holding both Leila and Martin’s hands while Frederick walks in front of them, they pass a small bridge going to their destination.

Not long after they started their stroll, Frederick taps Martin on the shoulder and says

“You’re it!” Frederick runs ahead and starts taunting Martin to run after him.

Martin looks at Miss Abigail with a slight hint of determination. They were kids after all, so the joy of winning these kinds of small challenges was no laughing matter.

“Just don’t over exert yourself Martin.” as Miss Abigail nods and smiles.

It was like a dog chasing its own tail, so close yet so far. Near the end of the bridge Frederick spots a conveniently placed haystack container. He quickly jumps onto the haystack while Martin was still on the dot with the chase.

“I know you’re there! I was right behind you before you even leapt!”

After a few seconds, Frederick pops his head out to try and surprise Martin but sadly he was nowhere near surprised. He was actually laughing at Frederick’s face covered in bits of hay.

“...” feeling the sharp blades of defeat Frederick spews some of the hay the was lodged in his mouth right towards the face of Martin.

Surprisingly, everyone just laughed it off, especially Miss Abigail and Leila who were watching such a brilliant spectacle of youth. With a few shrugs here and there to remove all that hay. They continue towards Pavillon de Flore.

And they soon enough did indeed find themselves in the Pavillon de Flore, traversing through the Grande Galerie under the strict eye of the palace's watchful guards.

The Grand Galerie: the Hall of Mirrors, and mirrors are a fantastical thing indeed, for what is man without a mirror? From the time that an infant suckles on its mothers bosom, one finds a family in joy and wonder at the moment that the infant interacts with the mirror, as if it were another person. It is a game in which one person copies the other, and the infant so happens to be the leader, with the subject of the mirror being the follower. With experience, the young toddler will come to learn that the person in the mirror, is in fact, himself, and from then on, the mirror becomes a focal point in ones perception of the self. The face is seen only through the mirror, as well as the true proportions of the body. Aesthetic beauty, communal warmth, and sexuality are all developed only through a piece of glass covering a thin sheet of metal. It could be said that more than through introspection, it is the only way that the now growing child is able to peer into the windows of his own soul.

But are the eyes in the mirror ever really his own? One never interacts with the image in the mirror the same way one interacts with oneself, as in say, his hands and his feet. Some shy away from the mirror, just as they shy from others and fear to perceive the soul that the mirror presents. Others revel in their image, striking poses for hours on end and developing the art of charisma and elocution with their first audience being their own image in the mirror, who more than others is sensitive and reactive to the way that they themselves behave. In this way, is it wrong to assume that the mirror has its own soul, like that of any other person, only impervious to the effects of original sin such as hunger, disease, and even death?

But we must also not forget that the mirror is a tool of perspective. For example, if one were to stand at the edge of a mirror such that their body is bisected by the reflection, and then subsequently raises the leg reflected by the mirror, it would appear that one is floating. Conventional understanding through imagery is subverted. One can peek into corners beyond the peripheral vision of the naked eye by applying a mirror in front of oneself. And moreso on the topic of perspective, it is through mirrors and refractions that we are able to see the stars of night and the planets in greater detail. Through tricks of the mirror, small can be made large, front can be made back, and in an instant, the entire world can be made to turn in the opposite direction.

As Miss Abigail struggled to keep the boys from rough housing in such a delicate exhibit, Leila wandered. In the sort of curiosity befitting of the child that she was, she took it upon herself to peer into each mirror. Each of the twenty one mirrors within each of the seventeen arcs, one by one, until she had come to the seventh.

It is here that I came upon the challenge of changing her perspective without distorting her perfect features. I took it upon myself to be the one hundred and eightieth degree of the mirror's reflection.

As the mirrors betrayed the guards, with the seventh a blindspot in their perspective vision, and as the mirrors betrayed Miss Abigail, who looked opposite them into the windows to the outside, I plucked young, beautiful Miss Leila Willsborough in between my two fingers, and took her through the seventh mirror, from her world into the world beyond the mirror.

[Abigail]

After briefly lecturing the boys, I turned to call out to Leila, but found that she was nowhere to be seen.

"Leila! Leila! Where have you gone off to?"

But there was no response. I questioned the guards on opposite corners of the hall, and they had said that they had seen no one come or go in the time since they had entered the room.

"Maybe Leila found a secret passage in the room! Those are common in palaces like this one, right?" Frederick said, excitedly.

And so we approached each and every pillar, each and every tile, and each and every mirror, and gave it a slight tug and three knocks to see if there were any hollow walls or hidden passages. One of the guards came to assist us, and we began our search. But upon coming up to the seventh mirror from the right the four of us grouped together, the book in my travellers bag emitted a faint glow, and the mirror gave way, revealing a hidden passage, which we had all fallen through. I felt the weight of my bag lighten. I turned my head, and found the book trapped behind the reflection of the mirror. I do say that through my best estimates, it is very highly likely that this will be a long night.

"Is everyone okay?" I anxiously ask. In hindsight, it is but futility to ask of anyone's concern when you cannot even confirm your own, but as the guardian of those children, I feel that I must.

Recovering from the daze brought upon by vertigo and loss of solid footing, I survey my immediate vicinity. Naught did it took me a minute to realize that I am still standing in the exact same spot as before. Having been secured of familiar territory, I then undertake the quest of finding my charges, for they are but little children after all, and a vast spacious building is no place to get lost at all. I dust off my clothes, then off I go.

...

Fifteen minutes have passed, with nary a glint nor footstep of them. As a matter of fact, I have not seen anyone else either. I made doubly sure to check the concierge's desk at the entrance of the Grand Galerie, but naught can be found. I know there have been but a very few people admiring the Galerie as of the moment, but to find the positions of the museum-holders unattended is quite the queer scenario indeed. The touch of the eerie quite befalls upon me not long after. Something is out of the place, and I daresay hope that I might just be imagining things.

...

Yet another fifteen minutes have passed, and I have returned to whence I came from: the majestic Hall of Mirrors. It is still quite astonishing to see just how marvelous mirrors really are, talking even from the perspective of nature, and of man's discovery of the unknown. For it is but nature's doing that light be allowed to reflect on certain surfaces, yet it is man's doing to harness this matter-of-fact into something so useful, so practical, and so beautiful. But I digress. I shan't be distracted by the glitter of reflections when I should be looking out for my charges. Oh poor them, how I wonder have they fared in the last half hour or so of this confusion?

Just as I was about to return to yet another fruitlessly deep introspection, I saw the glimmer of gold from the corner of my eye. Rounding my sight to accommodate my curiosity, fate finally answers to my uncertainty. People abound across all walks of life, surveying the museum from the central plaza as much as I am currently doing. Free from the shackles of confusion, I run towards civilization, hoping to get myself acquainted with the current turn of events that just unfolded.

Until the unfortunate happened. The people... they were inside a mirror.

Speaking of mirrors, how sure are we that life as we know it doesn’t consist of just mirrors. For all we know everything is but a mere reflection of what we want to perceive. Let’s say we start of with just a single mirror. Useless in itself but still having a purpose, to see what’s on the other side. Though sometimes the other side can be similar to that of a coin, predictable and always the same. If you look at a mirror at face’s length you won’t see your foot nor your body, just your face. Here’s where it gets interesting, you see, what makes everyone so sure that the one seen in the mirror is not a mirror as well. Mirrors are but blank canvasses that take form in many shapes and sizes. From a grown man, to a young woman, the possibilities are near infinite. If it’s that much of a predicament to not know if whether what we see are mirrors or “ourselves” we can always just take the easy way out and assume we are indeed made and formed by mirrors. From what we see as our skin color, our blemishes, our body build, and everything else we see are all mirrors. But how do mirrors feel? Would it be what we have always perceived it was? Hard, cold, with a hint of sharpness around the edges? If ever we become conscious of the fact that we are made of mirrors, would our feelings change? Would the same feeling of what usual mirrors are affect us? The feeling of every bit of our body interacting with one another feel like tiny glass pieces being embedded into our skin. The feeling of blood flowing would now feel like sharp knives coursing through us. Eternal pain causes by no one but ourselves. The lack of understanding does indeed benefit human society. It forces us to try and come up with ideas to keep us in check when in truth it would just be derailing us from what is really happening. Living in a world of mirrors can be lonely and painful don’t you think so?

[Frederick]

“How can mirrors be real if our eyes aren’t real?”

“Oh shut it, Martin. Not even Miss Abigail could praise you for remembering her lesson on Descartes at this point.”

It seems as if Miss Abigail has gone completely crazy! Positively looney! She’s been staring at the mirror we came through for the past half hour talking about how there are people in the mirrors. Of course there are people in the mirrors. There are tourists right behind us.

In fact, there doesn’t seem to be much different around here. The only thing that seems different so far is that the entrance that we came through is now on the left rather than on the right. It’s a bit odd that that book shows up in the reflection through the mirror but isn’t really on the floor. I’ll have to bring it up with Martin later.

At this point, the clock was ticking eight o’clock. But rather oddly, the label was that of a backwards four. I guess left and right are entirely reversed around here.

“I think we better get your teacher somewhere to rest for the night. Lord knows that she needs it,” the guard chimed. He spoke English rather well, but his accent makes it clear that he isn’t a native speaker. Martin and I nodded in approval, and the four of us were off to look for a nearby inn to spend the night.

“Mister, aren’t you a guard? Shouldn’t you go back to your post, even if left and right are the wrong way around?”

“I would if I could. Either way, it doesn’t seem to be my shift. Didn’t you notice that there were already guards stationed at my usual spot? It looks like I’m out of a job for now,” the guard said jokingly. At least one of the adults hasn’t gone completely off the rails. “Let’s get going kids.”

The guard and I propped Abigail up on our shoulders and began to exit the room. We excused ourselves by saying that the tutor was struck by a case of vertigo, asked for directions, and made for the nearest inn.

“Hey. I was just thinking. If the numbers on the clocks were backwards, don’t you think that the pictures on our bank notes would be reversed?” Martin chimed.

[Martin]

"Gahaha, and I swear on me lady, I see another guard who I don't even know standing jolly right about there in my post. Them's in charge really knows how how to shock a man to death. I mean, switching left to right and the other way around as well! Preposterous, I say," rambled the drunken guard. Whatever he might have been drinking sure had been a strong spirit after all.

Night had fallen, and we had to stay in a odd-looking inn not far from the Galerie. While abound to the road towards said inn earlier today, I had noticed quite the same oddities as Frederick did a while ago. While I cannot say for sure that roads and directions had been truly reversed (owing to our unfamiliarity of the place), I could certainly say that the hands of clocks, and letterings on signposts and awnings used by shops that litter the roadside to compete against each other with, were indeed reversed. It is a bit jarring, really, but the four of us had been excellent so far in maintaining our composure. Or three, as Ms. Abiegail is still dazed, and just a little bit very crazy at the moment. She keeps it to herself though, and that is good development so far.

It slips my mind from time to time that I came to the conclusion that this inn does double as a tavern at night, yes. So here we are, Frederick and I, beside the guard we met at the museum earlier, drinking apple juice by the barrel at this point (I have never drunk this much juice in all my life in a single seating). The guard is understandably drunk, having probably emptied double the amount of glasses that me and Frederick had done. Across us three is the innkeeper (doubling of course as the bartender in the evening), who obsessively wipes down every glass at hand's reach, as well as the bar table in which we are currently seated across. From time to time, he opens the large liquor cabinet behind him, releasing the strong musk of cedar and various other hardwoods, owing to the construction of the cabinet from such. We see the glitter of all the bottles, mostly common and cheap imitations of the better-known names, yet some which I presume are authentic and rare as they are but singular, and have no other copy of itself with which to share accompaniment with. All in all, they have but one thing in common: all the labels are written in reverse.

"You see those, Martin?" Frederick whispered upon seeing the reversed labels. "Yes. Very curious indeed," to which I reply. I wanted to say more, but I'm afraid I am as every bit as clueless as Frederick on our current situation as of the moment.

"Did you ever see the book that Ms. Abiegail was reading throughout the trip?" he inquired.

"No, I'm afraid I haven't. What of it?"

"You figure we might want to check her belongings? Might provide us some clues of what maybe happening at the moment."

...That was quite a jump in logic from Frederick, as expected. But I shan't withhold credence to his adventurous spirit right now, especially since I am wont of not coming up with free-spirited ideas myself.

"Alright, let's go to her room," I say.

"No, you go alone. We have to keep in touch with this museum guy next to us. He might prove useful in the long run."

...as expected of course.

“Huh? Am I seeing things correctly? The night must be playing tricks on me because I’m quite sure mirrors don’t work that way.”

Okay, let me rethink what happened.

We were at the Grand Galerie when a small fiasco happened where we couldn’t seem to find Leila. Miss Abie went a little over her head and started driveling non-sense for some reason. Now here I am in the nearby Tavern trying to find out whatever I can to try and explain all these hubub.

But everything seems to be scattered in my memory, like none of them are remotely connected to each other. Whatever, all this thinking plus the strong musk permeating from all drunkards in this area isn’t what most could say as an excursion.

“I’m suppose to go up right?”

Huh? I’m at Miss Abie’s room. That’s weird. Definitely weird.

The room was what you would expect in taverns right outside the piers, derelict and somewhat ready to collapse. Though this room was oddly a bit furnished. The hint of bronze that complemented the redwood on the furnitures, not in perfect condition but you could tell someone was keeping the room in check. Bookcases were chock full of literary works that could rival a scholar’s collection. The lit candles also gave of a warm and peaceful aura that would be perfect for someone who just wants to rest. Given that its almost 9 in the clock, I’m sure Miss Abie is resting right now.

Wait… that’s Miss Abie right there… and she’s writing something?

Oddly enough, that wasn’t the weirdest thing I witnessed…

I see myself sneaking in the mirror even if I’m not actually moving.

I couldn't move. I can't say that seeing yourself move in the mirror while you stand still is a very comforting experience. I watched the figure in the mirror creep up to the desk while holding a stone in a most precarious manner. The desk itself is out of sight of the mirror, but I saw him pass the mirror once more and exit the room. In his hands were a piece of paper along with a topaz gem. After a few moments, the fear that gripped me passed.

"Oh, M-Martin. Is that you? C-come in."

Miss Abigail was visibly trembling. I walked towards her as she folded up the piece of paper she was writing on and placed it in her breast pocket. She took a deep breath and regained her composure. At least, her outward composure.

"Yes, Martin. Did you need something?"

"Well Miss Abigail, I was just curious what you had planned for us. Now that we're stuck in this backwards world."

"I've actually been trying to think something up, but absolutely nothing comes to mind. I'll try to have something by dawn, so you'd best go to sleep for now."

I faintly remember the conversation drawing itself out as word after word slurred on out of our mouths, but I found it more and more difficult to concentrate enough to make sense of the increasingly garbled sounds we were producing. More than that, I was overcome with dread. Something is not right. I was compelled to correct whatever was incorrect. I was fixated on the piece of paper, and was convinced that the one thing that did not belong in this room was Miss Abigail. I bid her goodnight and as she turned her back and I neared the door, I picked up a stone that seemed to be used as a doorstop, and began to creep towards Miss Abigail. I neared her.

"I heard the door creak, Martin. I suppose you mean to take that stone and bludgeon me over the head with it. You are compelled to do it to set things right within yourself, but first ask yourself this: Is this really you?" Miss Abigail said, without turning to face me. I hesitated.

"Good. You seem to know yourself. Now ask yourself: was this really what you saw in the mirror?"

She knew. She knew what I had seen in the mirror.

"No Ma'am. It wasn't. The desk was out of sight of the mirror when I saw myself- I mean Marti-err someone creep up behind you on the desk."

"Then that's all that needs to be done."

She turned around and beckoned me closer until I had passed what I assumed was the point at which the mirror could no longer see me from the doorway.

"Now, what else did you see, Martin?"

"I saw myself walk out of the room with a piece of paper and a topaz in hand."

Miss Abigail paused for a moment, clearly showing hesitation.

"Very well then. Take this," she said, pulling the piece of paper out of her pocket and handing it to me. "But I don't know of any topaz."

This revelation left me with an unmatched sense of hopelessness. I wondered for a second if this is what Miss Abigail had been through while we were still in the Grande Galerie.

Just then, a topaz slid across the floor and next to my feet. My eyes traced its path, leading towards the floor of the door, with none other than Leila there, crawling on her hands and feet, as if purposely trying to avoid looking at herself in the mirror. Miss Abigail turned to look at Leila, smiling in delighted surprise.

"And so long as you don't see yourself in the mirror, you greatly minimize the number of tasks that the mirror forces upon you. And stones are not used as doorstops."

“That was a lucky bluff, Miss Abigail,” said Leila, “and fortunately seems to be the rather correct way of interpreting things.”

I step out of the room from whence Miss Abiegail rests, and turn to a corridor rather less-traveled, evidenced by the rather heavy and musky smell of age-old woods permeating the very structure of the place, signs of which quietly exclaim the non-disturbance of the vicinity for quite some time. It strikes me as strange, really, that there be another corridor parallel to the previous in which I walked down from earlier in order to reach Miss Abiegail’s room; another corridor serving the exact same purpose, leading to and from the exact same destinations. The architect of the place must have quite been exorbitant in his designs, and introduced similar pathways and other forms of redundancy just to satisfy his lust for whimsical creativity, foregoing the practicality of good planning and mindful use of resources. But I digress, especially since I have but quickly found out the purpose of this very corridor which I now think twice about crossing.

Rows upon rows of hardwood cabinets line up both sides of my peripheral, and stretch forward to accommodate up to the littlest inches of the walls that they lean into. These cabinets, upon further study, seem serve the same purpose as the one behind the innkeeper earlier, although leaning to storage more than ready access and consumption. And as such, they are also filled with innumerable aged spirits, glints of the sparkling waters foreboding to the unwary, inviting them to stare as long as time wills (and believe me, time doth not exist when I am caressed by anything worth excessive studying). Upon one glancing look at a label of a wayward bottle, I am struck behest by yet more questions, for the label was not mirrored. In fact, none of the labels in these cabinets are mirrored (or so I presume given what little sampling I have studied).

Surveying the bottles, I almost forgot the etiquette as per required in this mirror world. Catching myself behaving normally on the mirrored panes of the cabinets, I breathe a sigh of relief. Not too long after though, the reflection moves to the right; I follow pursuit, after which he moves back to the left, as if playing the devil’s tricks on me. Wanting to think myself clever, I move to the right instead, but lo. I was driven leftwards (as had been fated by my reflection) when voices came booming from the far-off door. Not long after does it burst open inward with a thunderous clap, slamming into the wooden wall and awakening all the spirits with a fiery shake.

“Go rest on ye bed, lad! You’ve drunken one too many mugs this night, and I don’t tolerate drunkards who ramble incoherent nonsense!” the innkeeper commanded, as he shoved our guard companion into this hallway in which I stand. “I swear, if y’all didn’t pay me the shillings up front, I would’ve thrown y’all in the streets already! You, and you lads (pointing to me and Frederick, who was beside him). Go carry him to your room and have him rest his drunk ass a bit. He’ll need it for the snowy day tomorrow.”

I had nary a second to witness our rather drunk and asleep comrade lying on the floor when Frederick started, “He was riling up a fuss on why the labels on the wine bottles where backwards, just as what we’ve seen earlier. Took me by surprise, he did, since I thought we were the only ones who recognized the anomaly. At the very least, the innkeeper certainly didn’t.”

“Most interesting,” was all I could utter, given that I was more interested in the “normal” labels in this corridor myself. Just then, there was a glint on the blindside of my right eye, tempting me with further inspection as usual. “What’s that, Frederick?”

He promptly picked up the glittering stone and shone it through the lamplight in the corner of the room. It gave off the same shimmer as the topaz that Leila gave to me earlier. One becomes two, two becomes three, and after quite some jump of logic in this mad world, I blurted out, “Can you look at any label of any bottle in any of these cabinets, Fred?”

“Why does it...”

“...They look normal to me.”

Another natural rule found in this quite unnatural world. I feel the high of being a discoverer once again.

But as soon as I felt even just a small hint of relief, dread returns to haunt me. These “mirrors”, what in the world are they? If only it was just my imagination playing tricks on me I could just head onto my room and rest my dreary body but everything was wrong once again. Miss Abie wasn’t entirely correct for what I was witnessing was something that could lead me into insanity. I was seeing myself everywhere I look. It was like I was once again trapped inside a mirror.

I was talking to Frederick…
I was going to my room…
I had blood on my hands…
I saw myself die…

All of these were different “copies” of myself.

But then I felt a sharp sensation emanating from my stomach. Oh… a knife. I was dying and I didn’t even notice it. Who could have done this? I look up to see a familiar face. It was me. It was like staring into a dark pit, empty and hollow. I felt heavy. I was ready to topple over until I saw a familiar sight. It was a mirror… or something that looks similar to a mirror.

All of a sudden I returned to what was “reality” at that time. I look up once again to see Frederick with a bewildered look. I began to feel the cold sweat dripping down my body.

"Fascinating isn't it, Martin?" Leila said as she snatched the yellow topaz from my pocket. Knowing that left and right had switched once more, I had expected to be a tad disoriented. Somehow, the transition was seamless, however, and I had found myself looking at Leila. Disoriented because I had not been disoriented.

"Look into this crystal. Oh wait-"

Leila removed the piece of paper from my pocket.

"Now look," she said, holding the topaz up in between her thumb and forefinger. "Do you see your reflection?"

I nodded in response. She began to twirl the topaz. Now she picked up the knife, which had been sitting on a shelf, and held it in the air, at arm's length from her chest, pointing to the left and with the blade pointing downwards.

"With a slight twirl of the crystal, the lantern's light shifts, and light bends and refracts so that-"

She held the topaz unmovingly at a very specific angle. From this angle, it appeared as if the knife were right in front of my stomach.

"And all it takes is one quick snap-"

She rotated the crystal and snapped to a halt, making it appear as if the knife was within my stomach.

"-at a specific angle, and suddenly, the image on the reflection has changed significantly."

She held the piece of paper in my hand.

"Now where do you suppose this comes in?"

"Well, since I can't anymore feel the knife in my stomach, I would guess that having it means that I can feel the pain of such illusions?"

"Not exactly."

She held the crystal at that angle and hid it out of sight behind her back. With her other hand, she thrust the piece of paper onto my chest.

The pain was unbearable. The sheer agony of the knife embedded in my stomach returned. Unable to bear the pain, I vomited onto the cellar floor and crumpled to me knees. I could see skewed images of myself around me. Some were writhing in agony, a few lay dead on the floor, but yet others stood perfectly still. Leila then removed the piece of paper and pocketed it. The pain was gone.

"This is what happens when the reflections are out of sight. Now envision this," she said, holding up the crystal, still held in the same angle, now within an inch of my face. "What would have happened if this had been there to grace your eyes?" Leila gave a sly grin and put away the topaz.

"It would look like Miss Abigail would know at the very least some bit of black magic if she was able to enchant a scroll like this. It clearly hasn't been completed though. I wonder how the enchantment would have behaved if she had completed it? It likely would have gotten you home if she'd been able to."

"Probably not, to be honest, I don't know much about magic beyond a few enchantments," Miss Abigail said, stepping into the room.

"Hah. And you were content to let the children perform your experiment for you, bravo mademoiselle Abigail, bravo," Leila said, laughing and clapping with the clearest of hostile insincerities.

"That isn't what I had inten-"

Frederick broke his silence, finally speaking the one thing that had been irking him since I had told him of Leila's return. "That's not how Leila would react. Leila would never act like that towards any tutor, or governess for the matter. Who ARE you?"

But the answer was clear. Now that no topaz was held in my hand, the parting of her hair veered left instead of right, and the buttons of her coat were on the left side, with the holes on the right. This was not the Leila we had known. This was the Leila of the mirror!