If you've ever tried brushing your hair while a sarcastic spirit trapped in a necklace critiques your technique like a disgruntled hairstylist, congratulations—you're me.
I came back from granny's home and I have to hurry because I'll be late and Marnie thistlewick will bake me with her tarts in the oven–with extra sugar– right now I'm standing Infront of the mirror trying to comb my hair
"Why do you yank it like you're mad at it?" Evanor's voice echoed from the necklace lying on my dresser. "Are you trying to summon a thunderstorm with each stroke?"
I glared at the mirror. "You can't see, Evanor.then how do you know I'm fighting for my life with this hair brush"
"Ofcourse I know, you would be doing nothing in the morning other than untangling your long hairs"
I hummed, pulling my hair into a braid and fluffing the strands near my ears to look like I hadn't just spent ten minutes in a battle with myself. The mirror didn't reflect Evanor's face—just mine, sleep-soft and slightly grumpy. Pim was perched on the windowsill, sunning his translucent wings and watching with mild concern, like he knew my patience had the life expectancy of a mayfly today
With a deep breath and maximum restraint, I grab my blue clock and wear it around my shoulder .
I took the necklace from the table and fastened the necklace around my neck despite the voice inside it, tied a ribbon in my braid, and finally stepped out into the warm cobbled morning of Moonhollow.
The bakery was a fifteen-minute walk from my cottage, nestled in a fragrant corner of Thimble Row. But today, the path felt... different. Air sweeter. Birds nosier. Or maybe it was just Evanor humming the same three notes like he was trying to summon a ghost jazz band.
"Can you not hum the same song over and over?" I muttered.
"It's not a song. It's a summoning tone. You never know who might answer."
I was halfway across the square when a boy stepped into my path. He looked a bit older than me, with messy chestnut hair and the kind of eyes that probably made half of Moonhollow's girls write terrible poetry.
"Hi," he said. "Your necklace. It's... beautiful."
I blinked. "Oh. Uh—thank you. It was... a gift."
"It suits you," he said with a smile, then continued walking as if he hadn't just set my internal temperature to volcano.
I stared after him.
Evanor's voice practically dripped from the chain. "Well that was dramatic. Should I start composing your wedding vows now or later?"
"Oh hush."
"Should I be worried about my competition?"
"He complimented my necklace, Evanor. Calm down."
"and I now you are smiling"
"I'm not smiling. I'm wincing. My shoes are tight."
"Uh-huh." he hissed like he care
Thankfully, the scent of cinnamon and fresh bread welcomed me into the Thistlewick bakery before I had to dignify him with more replies. Marnie was elbow-deep in dough, flour dusting her sleeves.
"You're late," she said.
"I went to see Granny Elowyth," I explained quickly. "She had something... urgent. Magical. Mysterious."
Marnie raised an eyebrow. "Was it her enchanted gnome again?"
"No, I swear it was serious."
"Well, you're lucky I like you. The cinnamon swirls aren't going to roll themselves. Go on, apron up."
I grinned and dove into my work. Rolling dough was a sort of therapy. Predictable. Soft. Unlike mysterious mirror boys who lived in necklaces and threw sarcasm like confetti.
"Why does this dough look like a sad ghost?" Evanor asked an hour later, just as I was proud of my swirl.
"Because I imagined your face while kneading it."
"You're in a mood today."
"You've been talking nonstop. Who asks philosophical questions about bread while I'm shaping croissants?"
"It's important to ponder! Why are croissants shaped like moons? What does that say about us as a society?"
"Off."
I unclasped the necklace, set it gently on the floury counter like a sleeping gremlin, and sighed in relief. "Peace at last."
Pim purred from his perch near the window, clearly approving of the silence.
After the lunch rush and two deliveries, I wiped the last bit of flour from my face, stretched, and spotted Ciela's bike resting on the front porch. She always left it unlocked, trusting the universe. Or maybe just Moonhollow.
I clipped Pim's little harness on him—he hated it, but he tolerated it—and hopped onto the cycle. "Let's go find some quiet," I told him.
He chirped and flapped onto my shoulder, his wings tickling my cheek as we coasted down the slope toward the Meadowing Glade. It was a quiet, sun-drenched field, wildflowers nodding lazily and bees humming without a care. I parked the cycle beneath the big willow tree and sat on the grass, the breeze stirring my skirt.
From my satchel, I pulled the journal. My father's diary.Its pages smelled faintly of lavender and ink. I flipped to the last entry I'd read and continued.
The words felt like a whisper from the past:
> "The mirror chose her. But I fear the consequences. If we fail, we may never return. But if we succeed, she will know the truth. The charm is only one piece. The name is dangerous. The choice... it will break her heart."
My hand shook slightly. I closed the diary and took a deep breath. Then, I took out my pen and wrote beneath the entry:
> "Father, I wish you could see me now. I have the charm. I wear it. I argue with a sarcastic ghost-boy who lives in it. I miss you terribly. And I want to know what 'the name' is. What choice will break me? I'm not afraid of heartbreak. I'm afraid of never knowing. Of losing more than I already have."
Pim rested his chin on my knee, and I stroked his ears gently.
I hesitated, then fastened the necklace back on.
Evanor's voice crackled to life like a magical voicemail. "Miss me already?"
I didn't answer. Just sat there, staring at the sky.
"I read something in my father's journal," I said softly. "He wrote that 'the name' is dangerous. And the choice... will break my heart."
He didn't speak for a long moment. Then: "Your father was a wise man. He wasn't wrong."
"Tell me about 'the name,'" I whispered.
"I can't. Not yet. It's not because I don't want to. But you have to wait."
I hated that answer. Hated the way it echoed the secrets in the diary, the ones my father never got the chance to explain in person. Still, I didn't press. The breeze was too gentle, the glade too quiet, and Pim's ears too soft beneath my fingertips.
After a few moments, I turned another page in the diary. A pressed sprig of forget-me-not fell out, crinkled but still faintly blue. I caught my breath and gently moved it aside.
> Entry: Day 47 in Moonhollow – Mid-Spring
"The Butterfly Glass responds to emotion. It does not simply reflect—it absorbs, protects, remembers.
If she is chosen, she must not treat it as a weapon, nor as a burden. The mirror is not meant to fight evil; it is meant to preserve light when darkness closes in.
She must speak to it kindly. Mirror and Guardian are bound. Its strength is drawn from her hope, her clarity, her courage to still believe in goodness even when it hurts.
Magic will swirl around her like wind through tall grass, but the center must hold. She must guard her heart—but not seal it.
And if the time comes when the power begins to fade, she must not search outside for the solution. The power will be saved by a remembering—not a spell.
She must remember who she is, who came before, and what she stands for. That is how the mirror stays alive."
I stared at the words
"A remembering…" I murmured. "That's so vague. Was he always this poetic, or was it just a side effect of magical trauma?"
Evanor's voice was soft. "It wasn't vague to him. Your father was trying to protect you the only way he could. Without making you live in fear."
I traced the page with my fingertip. The page felt older than it should've been. Like it had survived a storm that hadn't come yet.
Pim gave a little whine and nuzzled closer.
"I don't know if I'm brave enough for all this," I said.
"You are," Evanor said. No sarcasm this time. No dramatics. Just a quiet certainty that made something inside me ache.
"I don't feel brave."
"You don't have to feel it. You just have to keep going."
I sighed and tucked the diary back into my satchel. "You sound like a mentor in a tragic play."
"Oh, I assure you, I'm not noble enough for that."
I smiled a little. Not because it was funny, but because I needed something to keep my balance.
The sun was sinking lower now, casting long golden shadows across the meadow. I stood, brushing grass off my skirt. Pim flapped lazily into the air, orbiting me like a sleepy planet.
"Let's go back," I said.
As I pedaled back into town, the wind cooled and the cobblestones clicked beneath the tires. I kept glancing at the necklace, half-expecting Evanor to say something absurd.
Instead, he whispered, "Liora."
"What?"
"You're not alone in this. I'm here. Even when I'm annoying."
I blinked. "That's… suspiciously sweet of you."
He grunted. "Well. Don't get used to it."
I smirked and steered the bike around a corner, the sun dipping behind Moonhollow's chimneys.
Somewhere deep inside me, I could feel the mirror—quiet, waiting, watching. Not just an artifact. A companion. A reflection of whatever I chose to become.
And I wasn't ready yet. But maybe that was okay.
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