There’s no prelude. No waiting in the hall to be presented. No butterfly nerves fluttering until my name is called. We’re simply there, in a great hall, surrounded by what must be every resident of the Emerald City and then some.
Like the Second Reflectioners, these Ozidents clean up nicely. All prim and proper and matching the decor. Which is, hello, green. Similar to my Fairy tale coronation with a woodland color scheme, yet oh so far removed. Because one thing is lacking here. Light. This place is dull and dingified, not to be confused with dignified. Unwelcoming. No friends or family greet me with joyous smiles or Kuna-friendly waves. Still, an anticipation buzzes through the air that sets my heart pounding.
“Stay here. I will return for you shortly.”
“Whatever you say, ma’am.”
I’m unacknowledged and abandoned at the punch table while Odessa disappears into the crowd. Isabeau and Jasyn have yet to appear. I’m sure they’ll make some sort of grand entrance. Anything less would make me question their identities. Joshua told me how the Troll showed up after the coronation. She took on her most hideous form and issued threat after threat. The woman is insufferable. No matter where I turn, she’s there. Waiting in the wings. Ready to strike. Asking Haman for Mom’s baby or crashing a party and killing my friends.
“You can’t break me,” I say. “I’ll unbreak you first.” I squeeze my drink cup until punch spills over the sides and splashes the copper floor. The hem of my gown takes a hit, stained permanently pink. Good. I don’t bother picking up the dress. Let it drag. I hope the gown gets ruined. I’m sure Isabeau owns a hundred more like it.
Despite Odessa’s order to stay put, I wander, taking in the eccentric group of attendees. It’s bad enough they all wear masks and I’m the only one with a barren face, but then there are no two alike—some animal, some human, and some a bit of both. A man with an ax for an arm. A woman with hair made of actual feathers. As is fitting, her costume is reminiscent of a peacock, complete with a yellow-beaked eye mask and a gown fashioned from blue and green quills. Another woman is dressed as a mirror, her dress and mask reflecting anyone who passes by. Still another man wears a kilt and green-shaded spectacles, his mask resembling the Phantom of the Opera, which suits his dark, slicked-back hair.
I feel like the girl from Kansas, sticking out like a sore thumb. Why didn’t Odessa give me a mask? This is a masquerade. Isn’t it?
As if on cue she returns, shoves something into my hand before briskly disappearing once more.
I turn the mask over in my hand, tracing its frame with the tips of my fingers. Of all the masks, what would lead her to choose this one? Of all the masks, how would she know this is the perfect one for me?
The music changes, transitions into a Renaissance-happy dance. Fitting the piece into place, I tie the ribbon at the back of my head. The guise hides my right eye while curving up and over my left. Intricate, ruby-colored filigree cambers and coils over my right cheek, stopping at the corner of my mouth. Beading completes the accessory in just the right places, like little roses blooming among thorny vines.
A flashback ensues. I’m aboard a boat in the middle of the Second Reflection sea. My first brush with the Mirror Theory—the me theory—collides with my heart. But it’s not even so much the theory as it is the prelude. The poem I feel I’m living now, in this moment of clarity. The words in my soul drown out the music. I can’t stand it. I have to see. To witness the piece of me that’s been missing for such a short time but also far too long. I compose them into a song, dancing and moving as I search the room.
“Once upon a time is ne’er what it seems . . .”
The bodies jump this way and that, the dancers clapping and skipping.
“. . . and happily ever after oft a mere device of dreams . . .”
A woman bumps me. I keep singing.
“. . . What wicked snares are vines, and thorns cause many throes . . .”
Many throes indeed. This place is a madhouse. Still, I keep going.
“. . . but peer beyond the surface; you may there find a rose.”
I twist left, right, rise on my toes. Yes. There, at the center of the room, stands a column. The green marble is draped in chiffon, the fabric adorned with gems.
Mirrorglass gems.
Another shove, two squeezes, and an oof! “Sorry!” gets me where I need to be. The biggest stone is the size of a CD, just what I require. I peer at my reflection, relief and realization erasing the world.
There I am.
And I love it.
Me as I was. Me as I’ve been since Joshua kissed my baby cheek. The rose beyond the thorns. Only a Kiss of Infinity from the Verity’s vessel can create a Mirror. Why didn’t I think of it before? I am the Verity’s vessel. Could I love this girl enough to create a Mirror in myself once more?
Placing my palm over the mirrorglass, I cast it all away. Every jab. Every kind word. Each and every definition given to me by another, negative or positive. I asked myself once how I could possibly fulfill my purpose as a Mirror without first loving the girl within. So much has taken place since the day I first smiled at my own reflection atop the castle hill. I once desired to change everything about Eliyana Olivia Ember.
And now? Now I wouldn’t change a thing.
The transformation that takes place is internal, the Kiss of Infinity unseen. It’s a kiss from my heart to my soul. An acceptance of the person I am. A binding promise, making me complete and whole. Because for the first time in my life, I don’t want to hide.
I want to sing.
And I feel it. Feel the mirrormark returning as my lips part. I breathe deep as I prepare for my song to flow.
“I’ve lost my way, nothing left to give,
Yet I cannot break, my soul does live.
Past or present, future or beyond,
I’ll find my song until my voice is gone.
This song is mine. It’s been here all along.”
The lyrics are scarce, the ballad short, but it’s original. My very own mirrorsong.
Someone taps me on the shoulder.
Unashamed, I turn to face the curious listener.
I step away.
Then I move closer.
He’s here.
ACT IV
In My Life . . . a Heart Full of Love
ASIDE
Joshua
No, he will not steal this moment. Josh will not be the first to hold her after too much time apart.
“You’re such a baby,” he says in my head. “It’s only been a few days.”
A few days, an eternity, what is the difference?
The trek toward the light is less daunting than the last. I know my way this time. I have gained enough rest, and the time has come to resurface once more. Taking over my own body is easier now. I have no qualms. Soon I will be in permanent control.