It burst into flames on a summer night as the girl went on as if everything was alright. A car on a field with gasoline on every inch erases evidence and memories of anything that was to exist. She sits in her room in a castle in a sky, looks at her mirror and begins to ask why.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s forsaken me most of all?”
“You, my dear,” the mirror smiles, “believe in fate and your honor will thrive.”
Shaken, forsaken, the little girl cries. She stares out her window and watches flames take the fire from her eyes. Burning from the inside, the little girl dies.
She lives in flesh, dies in wounds. Gave herself confidence in the world she doesn’t know.
I am the mirror, the reflection of you, ask me a question and it will deflect you.
She turned on herself on that summers eve, someone grabbed her wrist and pulled up her sleeve. She was lost in youth, lacked creativity but not self-doubt, dug herself a grave so deep not even a ladder could get her out.
The measure of faith shallowed by lack of love, for herself the mirror gave an answer enough.
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