It didn’t work. My Mother was right.
She isn’t my real Mother, but she’s the only one I have. I speak to her in the mirror and no; we look nothing alike.
She’s beautiful, I mean beautiful; slender, arched eyebrows, violet eyes, ebony hair, long neck and hands to die for. I’m pretty; there is a large difference.
She told me that deceit only works if you want to be rich, it never works if you want to be in love. I thought, (and naturally so) what the hell does she know? She seduced my father and I’m not too sure if he died of natural causes or if she helped him to die of natural causes. Deceit in love? She’s never been in love of that I’m sure.
Okay, listen, let’s get one thing straight before we go on. I loved my father. He loved me. I couldn’t help his natural appetites. My step-mother was there, yes but if he would have said ‘hey, I’m tired tonight I’ll see you in the morning,’ he may have lived longer. I suppose he died of what we all die of; free will.
Anyway, I was up in the attic trying to figure out the spinning wheel and thinking of a guy I just met at the well. Now, Mom always told me not to touch the point of the spinning wheel because if I got a drop of blood on the snowy white wool I was spinning I’d fall asleep for 100 years.
I believed her because she worked like a dog for that snowy white wool. She said that with my dark complexion, big brown eyes and rosy glow I’d look fabulous in white.
She wanted to marry me off as soon as possible. To her credit, she was sizing up a very rich baron with lots of lands and a modern manor house with water heat. I think of what life may have been there every once in a while.
I had other plans. He was fair, noble, handsome and brave, the guy at the well. So I pricked my finger and dropped my blood on the snowy white wool. As I tumbled into that deep, deep sleep my Mother warned me about I heard her yelling my name from the basement. Something about being an idiot.
I think if she would have just left well enough alone she wouldn’t be talking to me through the mirror. She could have stayed in my father’s castle and lead a normal albeit rather evil life making her poison apples and scaring little kids.
“Did you have to lock your door again last night?” asked the mirror.
“Yes, and you don’t have to tell me ‘I told you so’.”
“Move up into the tower, with that game leg of his he won’t follow you up there.”
“He won’t let me cut my hair!”
“Let your hair grow. It’s always grown fast and thick; you might escape by it in a year or two.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“So is being married to that frog of a man you waited to kiss on your wedding night. When you’re down, I’m sure the Baron will still have you and I can get the hell out of this mirror.”
Photo by Noah Buscher on Unsplash
