I cross to the door. I want to be done with this, to take my friends and go. But I have to stay, don’t I? I didn’t come here for myself alone. I came to learn as much as I could about the original Verity’s vessel. I’m close to discovering a missing piece, something none of us expected. I feel it.
Then again, I could just have indigestion.
Moving to her vanity once more, my mother takes a regal stance, sets the mirrorglass crown on the vanity. “I am cursed, Ebony. I may remain close to the shadows and, in so doing, keep my youth and beauty.” Fingertips to her crow’s feet, she lifts the skin around her eyes. “The Broken Bridge in the Second was as far as I could venture without being forced to transform. Any other place I went, if I was away from the shadows too long, my curse would take over. I was forced to take on my Troll or some other form aside from my true self. Here I was alone, but myself. Out there I was every form but my own.” Releasing her lids, she sits before her mirror again.
How much time does she spend here? Remind me never to take more than an hour doing my makeup again. Now I know why they call it a vanity. Is this what others thought of me? As vain and selfish and Ebony-absorbed? Ewww. I wouldn’t want to be friends with me either.
“But now.” She smiles at herself. A wicked, self-satisfied smile. “With your help, I can finally be free of this cage. With this crown I will be myself once more, and one step closer to my goal. I came close once before. Unfortunately, my plans were foiled.”
There’s a story I’d like to hear. My mother didn’t get her way? Pass the popcorn and turn down the lights. I’d pay to see that show.
“Tiernan used to come to me in my prison, tired and in need of unadulterated affection from someone who could please him in all the ways his wife could not. Do you remember our home in the Second, my darling? The cottage near Pireem Mountain?”
I clench my fists. Oh, I remember it all right. All too well. It was from said home I fled. If I never see the place again, it will be too soon.
“But I am getting away from myself. What was I saying?” Her airy voice gives me the creeps. Everything she says is backhanded.
Ick. Didn’t I do the same to El? To pretty much anyone? How did I fail to realize the person I most wanted to stay away from is the person I’ve become?
I grew to be my mother’s daughter. Worst career ever.
“Oh yes,” she continues, no reminder needed because the question was rhetorical. Does she speak just to hear her own voice? “My curse.” Hands on the crown, she lifts it above her head. “No more shadows, no more hiding. I was running out of time, growing old. Destined to be immortal but unable to hold on to my youth. Now that will all change, for now I will be able to return to the place I have always belonged.”
My mother places the crown upon her head. Her form takes new shape after new shape. She shifts from Isabeau to Troll to . . . Whoa, a Lioness?
“Mirrorglass reverses.” She confirms my greatest fear. “While before I was limited, now I will be in control. I may go anywhere, be anything. But, most importantly, I may return to my Garden, no longer held within boundaries by an invisible chain.” She cackles with each new transformation, becoming whomever and whatever she wants. An old woman, a swan, a sunflower. A unicorn, a blue jay, a Fairy. The shifts are quick and seamless. When she pauses on one form in particular and turns to face me, I stumble backward, grope for the handle on the door.
“Why, hello, darlin’,” she says.
I find my voice and spit her name. “Regina?”
ASIDE
Joshua
Some good-byes are short-lived.
Others last forever.
If this is my final moment with El, what else can I do but end where we began?
“Hold this.” I press the mirrorglass into her palm. Then I find my way to the stage. Everyone watches. Heads turn and bodies shift. Forget a private farewell. Our ending is a spectacle, but this makes no difference. Not to me. When I’m with her I feel as if I am the lone man in the room.
The band has abandoned their post since the party unofficially ended, probably off boozing somewhere. Not a problem. I do not need the guitarist, only the guitar.
Several to choose from, I decide on the simple acoustic. The wood the craftsman used is much darker than the pine my own is made from. Still, lifting it off its stand feels similar to shaking hands with an old friend. I strum and find the instrument already in tune. Then I turn, ignore those who consider these final moments as entertainment, and begin.
Every song I always desired to sing to her, all the lyrics I restrained when I pretended I felt nothing. Now I pour it all out, holding nothing back.
“One, two, three, four . . .” Ed Sheeran opens the serenade. “. . . fallin’ for your eyes . . .”
“Joshua. What are you doing?” El’s tone is deadpan. She stares at me. Through me? Her love for me is present, but no life resides behind it.
Because I am not the one she needs.
I move on to Secondhand Serenade, combining lyrics and reworking melodies to create a new piece just for her. “. . . fall for you . . . break the silence . . . impossible to find . . . my heartbeat . . .”
She’s feet away now. I’ve commanded the room’s attention. From the corner of my vision I see my brother war between stopping what’s about to take place and letting it happen.
His foot slides forward.
I face him but continue to play. This is my choice, I mouth.
His foot slides back.
My gaze meets El’s again. Each song I touch becomes mine—ours. From the works of A Great Big World to The Fray, the refrain flows as if it’s never been sung before.
“. . . unspoken . . . the stars had aligned . . . you found me . . . I’ll look after you . . .”
No tears form in her eyes that have always reminded me of rich chocolate—sweet and irresistible.
When I’m so close I can smell her indescribable scent, I set the guitar on the floor. With a deep breath I take her hands in mine and finish the lyric I’ve been saving for last. “. . . daydream believer . . . daydream.”
All of me wants to kiss her then. I lean in, ready to steal what I know she will freely give.
Her eyes close, and she waits for me to make the first move.
But I don’t. Instead, I take her hand, which now holds the bottle, and guide it to her lips. Her eyes open and search mine.
“Everything will be okay.” Keep it together. Almost there. “Drink this and you will understand.”
She nods and her lips part. This trust will vanish soon. She’ll no longer be mine. A thought occurs, and I ponder it as the tear slides slowly to the bottle’s lip.
Was she ever really mine?
Our short time together plays on a reel before my mind’s eye. I take a snapshot of each moment, holding on as long as possible.
When my tear touches her tongue, I wait, watch for the change in her eyes.
I know when it happens. Because when her gaze leaves mine, I know it’s been undone. I’ve lost her.
“I am so sorry,” I say for the second time today.
She says nothing, instead abandoning me for my brother.