It’s What She Wanted All Along
It’s what she wanted all along, I now see it, I now feel it. I have no idea, justify it somehow. I QUICKLY smashed the mirror anyhow. I still have it, and everything the pieces. It could be fixed Maybe, I have no idea. I’m uncertain what I’d inform her if it was, and I back went. I’m not sure I’ll live that long anyway. This accepted place is beautiful, and interesting, she didn’t lay about this. No deception there, she over carried the mirror all, showed me the wonders. They still awe me, sometimes, the vibrant colors, the exciting creatures.
Even now. At night Even. In this long Even, long night. I smashed the mirror throughout the day. Near the final end from it, actually, throughout a truly spectacular sunset. I think that’s what set me off, that sunset, the thought of never seeing it again. I suppose I could view it again through the mirror if she were accommodating, but that isn’t the same, this plain thing covered the whole sky, and to stand under it was to touch the numinous.
Also, the colors, their power, and depth, it generally does not really come true through the reflection, the glass fades and drains it somehow. Twilight was spectacular too. Powerful. All-encompassing, just like the sunset. Only rather than vastness now, there was a closing-in, a lowering of things, a turning-about. Still beautiful, exceptionally so, only this was beauty made and reshaped awful, like the long elegant claw on a bird of prey.
Things have recently come out. I believe they know I’m here, in the bunker I came across beneath her house. She held weapons here too, she will need to have been expert with them. Almost all of them have bloodstains. Almost none of those stains have fully dried. I could hear pounding on top of the doors. I’m keeping in mind that scar she had, on the right part of her face that she I want to see. I figured the scarf was some cultural thing, and I used to be too polite to enquire about the long, ugly gouge. Some youth accident, Perhaps. There’s some kind of glue in here.
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= $ =p> it is hoped by me. I cannot read her language, I hardly understand the instructions written on the back. I have no idea how I understood her when we were speaking. Some magic of the reflection, maybe. My hands are shaking. My hands are bleeding; the glass is sharp. I could hear things thumping and moving overhead.
I knew I’d strike a nerve. Anubis shifted uncomfortably on the bench. His eyes flashed with irritation. For an instant I thought he was planning my funeral, but he simply sighed in exasperation. He opened his hand. There was a burst of light, and a glowing feather floated above his palm–a snowy plume such as a writing quill. I said, although demand did leave me strangely unpleasant.
Why would Anubis ask something like that? My mouth all of a sudden sensed dried out. As he handed it if you ask me, the feather stopped glowing, but it felt warmer and heavier than a feather should. I said, which must’ve been truthful, as I didn’t burn. Anubis actually smiled, which was quite dazzling. I know. It surprised me too. But holding I was compelled by the feather to be truthful.
Anubis nodded, apparently not surprised. How may I answer something like that? It wasn’t a straightforward yes/no. Of course I knew the “right” answer. The heroine is meant to won’t sacrifice her dad. Then she goes off, and saves her father and the world boldly, right? But imagine if it really was one or the other?
The entire world was an awfully large place: Gran and Gramps, Carter, Uncle Amos, Bast, Khufu, Liz and Emma, everyone I’d ever known. What would my father say easily selected him instead? The feather started to glow. Horrible guilt smashed down on me. What kind of child was I?
I clutched the amulet on my necklace–my one remembrance of Dad. I know a few of you lot will be thinking: You hardly ever saw your dad. You barely knew him. Why can you care so much? But that didn’t make him any less my father, did it? Or the thought of shedding him permanently any less horrible.