Chapter Three
Serafina
I found myself standing in a small circle of light. My pale blue night dress appearing as it had before I left my room - clean and pristine.
Not a drop of blood, neither mine or another’s, stained my pale skin.
Sliding my fingers along my middle, only clean fabric met my touch. The grime from my desperate attempt to remain alive vanished. Yet, faintly, the tingling sensation of the wound was still present. Not the pain of it, just physical emptiness from the location of the wound.
The lack of sound was deafening. I clapped my hands together, just for them to remain silent. Just as I was about to experiment further with the lack of vibrations, the light around me expanded revealing three tall mirrors. Their rims gleamed in silver as the light bounced off them. Just past them lay an endless void of soundless darkness. Even as I stepped towards the mirrors, my feet made no sound.
Atop each mirror was a different figure etched in silver facing towards the center of the circle. Facing me. The first was a young female child with long wavy tresses wearing a dress that many school aged girls would wear. It was a dress with no real shape, emphasizing the girl’s youth.
The second depicted a young maiden. Sitting on her head was a simple tiara with long hair flowing about her as if she were otherworldly. Her dress accentuated all of her curves and attributes. The picture of youth and vitality.
The third completed the life cycle - a short crone, her hair mere wisps protruding from a scalp that adorned a crown carved from thorns. Every crease and aged line was displayed in humbling detail. Her clothes were elegant but did not hug her form the way the maiden’s did. She was a warning that anyone’s future was inevitable. We will all appear as she did in the silver. Old and decrepit.
I rested my gaze on the child’s looking glass. Deep within there seemed to be a flicker. Stepping towards the mirror, I raised a hand to the frame. The cool metal caused a web of ice to trickle down my spine. I stared at myself. I looked the same as I had when I left my room.
A ripple began in the middle of the glass, as if it were melting. I stared intently as an image began to emerge.
So much red. It was splattered all over the marbled flooring at the base of the staircase in the Grand Hall. And lying in the middle of it was a young woman. Her hair was a bright auburn, matching the bloody halo that was forming around her cracked skull. She looked so young, perhaps about my age. The freckles across the bridge of her nose and under her eyes, eyes that mirrored my own, made her appear even more youthful. I stood frozen as she stared back up at me through the mirror, as if knowing I was there to bear witness to her tragic end.
Weakly, she lifted a blood stained hand from the puddle surrounding her and allowed it to fall on her enlarged abdomen. She was with child. And she was going to die before the child would take their first breath. A lone tear trailed down the side of her face, as if mourning the future she would never experience.
I wanted to reach for her, to comfort her in her last moments. But the image rippled away, revealing a new event. It was an event I was only ever told about one time, when I had the courage to ask my aunt Leena when she received the scar on her face.
A bassinet laid on its side, a bundle of blankets lay on the floor with flickers of movement from within them as a woman, nearly identical to the one in the first vision, mercilessly cut into a body underneath her. Her face was marred and bleeding excessively but she continued her assault on the female corpse underneath her.
It was the day I was born, making me realize that the first was my mother’s tragic fall.
The door to the room burst open, my father, a much younger version of him, rushed towards the wriggling bundle on the floor. His hair was so much like Zander’s, I noticed - a curly mess. Their features were similar as well. But my father’s eyes, those ocean blue eyes, gazed down at the bundle with great relief and tears as he held it close to his body.
Guards piled in and pulled my aunt off the corpse, as Cicero pushed past everyone to check on the bundle before seeing to Leena’s injuries. I wanted to cry out to her, experiencing her grief unfold. Bloody, screaming in anguish, and pushing the guards away so that she could lunge towards the dead assassin again.
Another ripple distorted the gruesome image before me to reveal a brightly lit ballroom and many influential attendees. It was the welcoming celebration of the reunited royal family. A day I remember all too well.
I stood fixated at an event that would be my cause of solitude. My father, still so young, held me in his arms to display me to the world. To show them all that he had no shame.
As I was set down to roam about, a young boy approached me, bowing and offering his tanned hand. A chain clanked from within my heart. His violet eyes with gold crowns burned into my own as I accepted his hand. He seemed annoyed by my two left feet but would smile at me as I made a conscious effort to keep my feet off his own. It seemed to be in vain as I stepped on his foot again.
I didn’t know who he was, or if he was even from Regnum. Yet, every time I thought of him, of this particular memory, something akin to a tether pulled in my chest the moment his eyes entered my thoughts.
He spun me around and spoke to me. Even though I could not hear what we were talking about, I remembered it being a pleasant experience. My eyes were bright with laughter and pure delight.
When the waltz came to an end, the looking glass rippled away to only show my reflection. A piece of me was grateful that it ended before my being assaulted that evening.
As I looked over towards the second mirror it began to ripple as well. From this distance nothing appeared, as if it were waiting patiently for me to approach.
I placed my hand on the silver frame and shivered as the familiar coolness entered my body. The ripples began again.
I looked downwards at my broken body, as if I were attached to the canopy of my bed. The sapphire comforter was pulled away, exposing a front button down white nightdress, with a stain forming on my side where the wound was. My skin was pale and there was a sheen of sweat on all parts of my exposed skin. My lips were nearly blue and my hair appeared matted and stringy. It felt as though I was looking at my own corpse.
Long tubes ran along my inner arms, that lay limp on my blue satin sheets. Bags hang from metal posts with connecting tubes running into my arms. One was clear and another a dark red.
Around my body was anyone who ever loved me in my life. My brother held on to my hand, his eyes swollen and red. My father stood at the foot of my bed, white knuckled as he gripped the end of the comforter, staring blankly at me. His silver streaked black hair fell into his cerulean eyes, his mouth thin behind his trimmed beard.
Leena and my personal guards sat huddled together on one of the spare beds, holding one another tightly. Laney, my youngest guard, clung to Jelena. Her long sandy hair contrasted with Jelena’s dark waves. Their faces hidden within their arms. Leena hung an arm over Elisa’s shoulder, Elisa’s usually neatly braided blonde plait lay flat and in ruin, her hazel eyes flowing freely. The sight of them made my heart constrict violently.
From a distance away I saw Cicero rubbing his temple in defeat as he packed up his bag. He turned towards my father, saying something. The mirror didn’t allow for me to hear but I made out one word.
‘Cure.’
Perhaps I wasn’t dead, yet. Although, the solemn faces around my body were saying the matter was more complicated than that. Regina’s face came to mind as she loomed over me, slapping me to remain awake. She had said there was no cure. That settles it. I’m not long for the living world.
I frowned as the rippling began again. I was hoping to see if one of my loved ones would come up with a revelation and save me but the ripples spread to the ends of the frame to reveal a young man hunched over a heavy obsidian topped desk, papers strewn about it with no rhyme or reason.
The chain tugged violently. Those eyes were identical to the young boy at the ball. They must be one and the same, I thought as I continued to observe him.
His shoulders were broad and attached to muscular arms that ended in heavily calloused fingers. A warrior.
Those calloused hands rose up to tighten the tie that held his black hair back, the sides of his head were shaved down close to his skin. There was just enough length to shade his scalp on the sides. I was certain that if he were to rise from his seat he would tower over me by at least a foot.
His eyes scanned paper after paper. Occasionally he pinched the bridge of his straight nose, or his jaw would tightened, seemingly in frustration.
A large ornamental shield was nailed to the wall high above him. The rim of it was painted black with the center a bright red. It was the same shade as blood. My stomach dropped remembering the sight of my own pools only moments before. Or maybe it wasn’t mere moments. Perhaps I had been here for an eternity. It was so quiet that I don’t believe I could distinguish the change of time.
Shaking my head, I focused on the shield once more to take in the details. Embedded in obsidian, were the silhouettes of two dragons on their hind legs facing one another. Gold painted crowns sat above their heads as silver blades that met in the middle to form an ‘X.’ It was so similar to my father and brother’s crest of a silver and blue shield and a depiction of a singular crown sea serpent with a sword.
A person with short fuchsia hair and a slender body walked into view from the edge of the mirror. Their spectacled eyes were of pure gold as they lifted their hands to rest on their hips. They appeared to be scolding the man but their stern expression melted away as they turned away and faced towards me. As if sensing my presence, a small playful smile crept up their lips. It felt as though they knew a secret. Could they see me? Then they turned away, as if the exchange between us never occurred.
Whoever the person was, it was evident that they were not human - definitely not human.
Same as the first mirror had done, this one went clear with only my own reflection staring back at me. Sighing, I turned away. Perhaps the chain would break once I crossed over. It was a shame, as well as cruel. To show me something that I was clearly attached to and yet would never cross paths with again.
One mirror left. The theory of what it would show me was running rampant in my mind. What I would be missing. What I lost now that my body was hardly anything more than an empty shell.
The image of my clammy skin and matted hair flashed through my mind. I was a goner.
I took a step forward, raising my hand. I was about to trace my fingers along the rim before a burning pressure spread in the back of my neck. I wasn’t alone in the void.
Closing my fingers to my palm, I pulled it back towards my chest, preparing to face whatever was that had taken a sudden interest in me.
Slowly I turned. Standing before me in the illuminated circle, was a young woman. Her hair was the color of fire rolling in curly masses around her small frame. Light freckles lay across the bridge of her nose and under her eyes. Bright green eyes looked at me with an all-knowing gleam.
She wore a dress similar to the silver child of the first mirror, yet her face was that of the maiden that belonged to the second. We may have been around the same age, perhaps she was a bit older. As she stepped towards me, I noticed that her feet were bare.
I said nothing. I didn’t dare to. Whomever this being was, whatever they were, was not human. They were not human and despite their youthful appearance, my instincts were screaming that she was older than any other being that walked this world.
Belinha, I thought to myself, remembering the old stories of the goddess. Flaming hair and green eyes. The resemblance was remarkable.
“Don’t peer into it, my child.” The voice was that of a crone. Raspy and withered. She was the walking personification of the mirrors.
Rather than be proud of connecting her relation to the mirrors, I kept it swallowed down. Insulting a goddess was never a good idea.
“Why?” I asked, turning my gaze to the mirror behind me, only to find that it had moved away from me. The glass seemed to be taunting me as it gave the barest hint of a ripple.
I returned my gaze to her, now only a couple of feet away from me. Her face was flawless, I noted. Other than the youthful freckles, there was not a blemish or crease to be had. Our eyes met.
So similar, I found myself thinking. But not the same.
“Only gaze into it if you plan to detach completely. Those with completely severed ties can gaze upon it with understanding.” the goddess explained. Her voice hitched as if it were difficult to speak, yet her expression did not give away that she was having trouble.
“What would it show me?” I asked, without so much as a quiver in my voice. My heart thumped hard, yet for reasons I could not explain, my voice refused to reflect the chaos that was rolling with me.
Her eyes continued to hold mine. An unseen force kept me from turning away to glance back at the mirror.
“What the world would be if you severed your ties too early. A soul can become trapped if they look into a world in which their bonds melt away and people who once cared about them forget that they even existed. Those souls would become morbid - changed and unrecognizable. Some even break free to wreak havoc on the mortal world.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up as bumps raised on my arms. Wraiths, tormented souls that sought to cause pain onto others that matched their own. Most only existed in the stories told to children to keep them from sneaking out of their beds at night. Leena tried the tactic on me as well. But I never had much fear in the stories.
The room around us seemed to shift, as the air became dense. Perhaps the remnants of lost souls who had yet to transform or to cross over. Finding out was not a priority of mine.
“However, in your particular case,” the maiden began, raising a finger to point towards my heart, “if you were to look upon the mirror you will not see loved ones. You will not see peace in their eyes as they forget you or their despair for missing you.”
“What would await me if I were to look?” I asked, voice still unwavering despite my inner turmoil.
“Death and destruction. No one will miss you or forget you because they will be gone and the world will fall to darkness and never know balance.” The goddess rasped.
“The old man said something similar. About balance. What did he mean?” I inquired.
Her eyes seemed to flicker with pity.
“Daughter of the sea and daughter of me, if you choose to return, the life you have known will be forever changed. To return is to take a vow to your destiny. To restore the balance that others try to corrupt.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“How do you know I’m the one to bring this balance? I’m no daughter of the sea.”
The maiden moved her hand up to my cheek, grazing it softly with her long chilled fingertips. The touch reminded me of death.
“I am you and you are me. You’re a daughter of me and you are the daughter of the sea. A creation of mine continued my line when a daughter of mine could not do so with her chosen mate.”
She paused, bringing up her other hand and cupping my cheeks with both. Her death like fingers chilled me to the bone.
“But instead of producing one new daughter, he gave her two. One is gone and the other cannot be of use. Only the daughter of the fallen one can cure the land and bring balance to it.”
Pieces were falling into place. I was never all that good at solving riddles, but as her eyes bore into my own a story unfolded at her words. In her eyes it was as if I could see all that she said.
A young woman who looked much like my mother knelt at the edge of a cliff. Her fingers were clasped together in a prayer. A man stood before her, his back to the sea below. Eyes that were green with gold flecks throughout the irises, much like my own, bore down on her. His blond hair reached past his shoulder with hues of green, as it lay in seaweed-like waves.
Again the woman was shown, only with two bundles of blankets in her arms as she laid in a bed and stared lovingly between them. Her image was replaced by the first in the mirror of the child. My mother was lying in her own blood, hand on her swollen belly and light fading from her eyes.
A gasp erupted from my chest as tears streamed from my eyes. I never shed a tear for the woman who gave me life before. But seeing the light fade from her as she cradled me with her last breaths broke something deep within me. It left my heart raw.
Blinking, I cleared my vision and searched the maiden’s face for anything. Sadness, joy, anger. But there was nothing as she peered at me in expectation.
“What must I do to go back?”
Fingers left my cheek to stroke my hair as a mother would.
“Nothing.” She said, turning her gaze towards the maiden’s mirror.
“You will go back and you will heal. But you will return differently. You will leave here and will seek out the black dragon. The Chain of Fate will guide you. Then you will be led down a path of wonder and devastation. Hold onto your dragon and together the world will be balanced once more.”
“The man in the mirror.” I said and watched as the maiden nodded.
“Souls are never truly gone. They always return back into the universe to wait and be born anew. You are me and I am you. He is him. He will be your pillar when others would abandon you.”
Before I was able to inquire more about the man and who he was connected to, she pressed a long finger to my forehead.
“Not all who seem cruel are. Not all who seem genuine are. Don’t forget that.”
The cool tip of her finger grew warm against my skin, heating my body. It felt as if she was breathing life back into a soulless body. I closed my eyes to embrace the warmth as my body began the sink.
