The Woman in the Mirror

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The Woman in the Mirror

Post by Mhuirnin on Mon Sep 29, 2008 9:31 pm

The woman awoke and stared at the ceiling for long minutes, trying to get her bearings. She lay still, slowly registering the soft bed she lay in and the flickering light of a small fire on the stone and timber ceiling. A tall shelf rose sharply to one side, and she caught what looked like a fireplace chimney out of the corner of one eye. She sat up in the pre-dawn glow of a fire in a little fireplace and smiled to find herself in pale blue pajamas that matched the bed sheets of a large, hand-carved wooden bed. She felt a little simple for being so pleased with such a small detail, but there it was. Yawning, she swung her feet over the side of the bed and onto a soft rug that spared her the morning chill of a stone floor. She spent a few moments just brushing her feet on the shaggy pile. This really wasn’t so bad, she decided.

Sleepily rubbing an eye, she wondered about who had started a fire that obviously couldn’t have been burning all night. A servant? A spouse? She glanced back over her shoulder thoughtfully. The bed was big enough for two, but looked like it had only been slept in by one. That ruled out spouse, then. Unless he was in the doghouse and spent the night on the couch… If there was a couch in here. The tall shelf-back next to her bed blocked off her view of the majority of the room. She looked around at what part she could see a bit more, noticing the intricate tapestry on the wall, the stately wardrobe in the far corner, and the delicate paper lamp that shone down from the shelf above. Unless she had friends who made a habit of sneaking in to start a fire before she woke up, which although possible wasn’t really likely, the comfortable surroundings seemed to say she probably had enough money to hire a servant. If this was hers, that is. Was it? …Who was she, anyway?

She stood up and stuck out to explore… Straight into a wave of vertigo. She stumbled and steadied herself on the nearby dresser, only to find herself face-to-face with a pleasant-looking woman. She smiled experimentally, and the other woman smiled back.

Of course she did stupid, you’re making faces at a mirror.

The woman felt sheepish for a moment before remembering that the woman in the mirror was named Lyre. No… That wasn’t right, she was named Lyre. This was Bastok, in her mog house, and that fire was probably lit by her creepy little stalker Mogbert, formerly known as Ted. Her Moogle. At least he’d been behaving himself recently, ever since Verence threatened him.

Verence…

Her heart fluttered and she didn’t bother to hide a small, girlish smile. She had a boyfriend now! Even after getting used to the idea, it still brought a smile to her face... When she was alone and nobody could see it. She had an image to keep up, after all. Speaking of recently…

Speaking of recently, aren’t you forgetting something?

And then she remembered. It wasn’t the trumpets-blaring revelation it might have been, it felt closer to finally taking a deep breath after spending so long underwater that her lungs felt about to burst. Lyre laughed aloud with the relief it brought and grinned at the face in the mirror.

“Lyre, huh. Not quite, sweetheart, but it’s close enough.”

She wasn’t Lyre. Not really. She’d discovered that while wearing another face, in another world that might have been. The damning thing was that she remembered remembering, but she didn’t remember what she remembered. She remembered enough to know who she was though, and that was neither the Miriam who died twenty years ago nor the Lyre who did just the last. She had to admit, it felt good not having to hold a whispered conversation just to find out what she did and didn’t know. She looked down at her right hand and flexed it carefully, wondering why she seemed to think it should be clumsy and stiff. Her slender fingers closed easily.

“No problems there, I guess.”

There weren’t, really. She wasn’t Lyre but she had Lyre’s face, Lyre’s memories, Lyre’s family, and… Actually Lyre didn’t have many friends left. She’d made those on her own, and picked things back up with Lyre’s ex-best friend. Or ex-fiancé, she supposed that was a matter of opinion. But then again, so was her identity. She shrugged and pulled open a dresser drawer.

“No point in standing around in my jammies, is there,” she mumbled to the faint pop and crackle of the fire.

Isn’t talking to yourself supposed to be the first sign of mental instability?

Lyre looked at the woman in the mirror with a scornful smirk. “Come on, Lyre. Time to get dressed.”
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Mhuirnin

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Re: The Woman in the Mirror

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