Beveled and burnished, the ancient Mirror beckons from the dark corner of the room without a door.

Whispers lightly heard, but only in her head.

She carefully opens the heavy, creaky front gate of gilded iron and quietly steps through the tall, overgrown, fresh, dark green grass, into the yard of bliss speckled with bright yellow catsears and brilliant white, wild daisies gently swaying in the soft, warm wind.

The Victorian house, still peppered with remnants of white wash reflect the small, shimmering diamonds of light of the sun refracted, reflecting rays of the bright, hot summer sun.

Inviting. Like an emerald green lake of ripples, flashes and sparks of warm, clear yet cool fingers reaching out, begging you to come swim in its sheer, heavenly delight.

There is no front door and the brass hinges are bare as she steps up the steps onto the veranda and towards the door of the house with no door.

Tattered, musty, dusty tapestry drapes cover the windows of the main room that she sees are past the entrance of the doorway of the house with no front door.

The slow breeze a musical invitation of words unspoken yet heard “Come up. Welcome” the voice calls beyond the waving, broken curtains with barely recognizable patterns of green and gold paisley. They reach towards her appearance, and she walks to the stairs.

Gentle steps on steps, she rises to meet the second floor. Whispers in her head summon in song words never uttered, “Come to me” from the corner room.

She enters the room without a door and sees her reflection in the Mirror.

She is drawn closer to the Mirror in a pull of magnetism in her imagination, an embrace of powerful, pure love envelopes her body and living soul. Oh, how she is beautiful.

“I am beautiful”, she hears in her head, these unspoken words.

Her eyes meet her own eyes. In the Mirror.

She touches the Mirror ever so gently; her right hand ring finger grazing the dusty, old glass. The Mirrors calls her and she feels drawn in by the irresistible force of something not yet known.

Alas! It’s an open window as she walks slowly and without inhibition nor resistance, through the Mirror, only to find she is not she. This is not her reality.

She turned to walk back through the window of the Mirror but the window was gone. Just the Mirror remained in the infinity room of this white, ethereal atmosphere of nothingness, emptiness and barren space.

She walked towards the Mirror and says, “I am beautiful”. Closer, she glides with footsteps that make no sound. She sees her eyes in the Mirror and calls “Come to me. Come up. Welcome”.

She touches the old, reverse beveled glass of the Mirror with her left ring finger and the glass becomes the window. She sees the room with no door. She lays her hand upon the window. It is shut. She can’t get through.

Now she appeals and beckons for a life she can’t remember except for memories of dreams of walking through entrances with no colours and no doors. And she calls for the colours from the already distant thoughts that nobody hears except for her, the thoughts in her head.

For you see, she lives in a dimension that does not know time. Only she exists.

Inside the other side of the Mirror, inside the room with no door, inside the decrepit old, white washed house with no front door. Inside the rustic, Gothic house made of three hundred year old Maple that lies beyond the yard of thistles and overgrown wild brush and interspersed, prickly Rose gardens of then.

Far beyond yonder. Alas! So far from the black and rusty iron gate that isn’t there. In this place, she lives. And doesn’t.

A Mirror of Souls.

And I will take your place.

I have your time. I have your space. Your time is mine.

Now. And forever more.

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Written by Alice Csuka October 7, 2021.