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"She's at it again."
"I know Paul; I've been standing right here next to you."
"Lucy, I'm just trying to say we need to stop this. She's becoming obsessed."
"Well what can we do Paul? Hmmm? Tell me what to do and I will do it. Because I am Just as unhappy about it as you."
They both watched her as she sat on her bed. Her porcelain legs dangling over the edge of it encased in a wide brocade skirt; and her hands in her lap. Her perfect face turned toward them but she was not looking at them. She was looking at the mirror to their right. Paul and Lucy stood just outside their daughter's bedroom door, staring at her as she carried on a conversation with the large ornate mirror just inside the door. They both stood in wonder as it kept going and going.
Lucidia Moore. A beautiful, healthy young girl. But unlike any other.
She was the likeness of Helen of Troy. Perfect in every way, one would think she'd have had several suitors by now. But she didn't. She merely sat, everyday, staring at her reflection and talking to it. Occasionally she would stroll...and when she was alerted it was time to eat, the servants would escort the delicate daughter of the Moore's downstairs and she would silently enjoy her meal. But always she went back to the mirror.
The mirror. Everyday she told herself "I love you." Every morning she stood up on delicate toes and kissed her reflection. And she slept, and then the next day would repeat it's self much the same way.
Lucy turned to her husband, a frown on face. "Paul, we must get her away from it and take it away." She whispered urgently to her husband, her lover. "Then we may remove it and she will simply have to get over her loss. We cannot have a vain daughter, no suitor will come!"
Abruptly their daughter ceased her conversation, her oddly dark eyes moved to them. They rushed down the hall. Lucidia stood, and walked toward the wall.
"I love you." Her shimmering husky voice rang. She left the room to stroll in the gardens. They watched her go down the stairs, and knew it was just the perfect moment.
Lucidia's tumbling mahogany mass of curls fell to her shoulder blades. They hang over her like a dark halo, as she trailed her hand over the blood red roses in their garden. Her expression, as usual was a blank mask and not one of interest or otherwise. Her small, lithe figure was encased in a black gown. It hugged her waist and flared out in a simple black bell to the floor while there was no sleeve, only a small piece of lace hugging her shoulders.
She was beautiful, and left everyone in awe. But she had eyes only for the mirror. Her mother watched her from her daughter's bedroom window, and couldn't keep the sadness from her expression. This would surely crush her.
A bump resounded and several curses resulted.
"Don't drop it you bumbling fools!" She screeched, and the servants carefully removed the mirror from the room. Her daughter's head snapped up, and when Lucy turned back to the window she gasped. For the first expression she'd ever seen on her child's face; Fury. Then it was gone and her daughter hurried back to the house.
She met her mother in the drive, where a fire was built and the mirror sat, Lucidia began to run. She hefted her heavy skirts and ran toward the mirror, intending to save it. But her father's fierce grip held her back.
She spoke for the first alone. "No!" She cried, and the first tear touched her face. "NO!" She struggled; another man was carrying a torch. Her arm sprang free, "NOO!"
The man hesitated, while her father struggled with her, and threw it on the pile. It ignited and surrounded the mirror. The gilt frame caught fire, and she managed to break free of her father for a few moments. She ran screaming to the fire. A man caught her, and she struggled yet again.
"It's for your own good!" Her mother's cultured voice cried, while Lucidia paid no heed. The mirror was warping, and what appeared within it startled everyone. The mirror spoke.
"Lucidia!" It cried, and a man appeared. A dark, mysterious man, a man with whiter than white skin, vibrant red eyes, and a lush fall of midnight hair. "What are they doing to me!?" He shouted, muffled through the glass. His hand beat against it, and his face contorted in a mask of fury.
Lucidia's hand went through the fire, "They're burning you my love!" She wept. And his eyes began to burn with their own fire.
"They won't for much longer." His voice was dark and the mirror burst into flames, it shattered and littered the fire in sparkling shards of glass. Lucidia's cry of anguish echoed through the yard, and all the sound that remained was the sound of her sobs.
Paul couldn't stop drinking, since the fire. All she did was sit in her room and stare at the wall where the looking glass used to be. She wouldn't eat or sleep. She wept, but her face never lost the blankness.
He gazed into the fire of his study, his refuge. The clock struck three. And he still did not sleep, he drank another brandy.
There was a noise. "Lucy?"
Another, it sounded like footsteps. He opened the door and looked out into the night darkened foyer of their plantation home. "Lu-
His words died in his throat; there at the open front door was his beloved daughter, in the black gown she'd worn the day of the fire. "Lucidia?" His voice was quiet, he questioned her.
"What are you doing?"
She looked back over her shoulder at her father, "I'm going with Damien."
And onto the threshold stepped the man in the mirror, he swallowed the space in the doorway, and his red-eyed gaze swept Lucidia with a familiar heat. One a man would have for his lover. Paul stood stunned.
The man's arm snaked around her waist, and in a blink they were gone. Paul's glass slipped out of his hand and he ran to the door. The wind blew his thinning hair and all he saw was darkness and trees.
 The Simi Knows Best · Thu Jun 01, 2006 @ 11:49pm · 3 Comments |
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