Day 4Day 4! Here is Clara and a mysterious mirror that reflects a different world…


Clara coughed, flapping her hand in front of her face. The dust was thick up in the old manor’s attic. Obviously, her grandfather hadn’t been up here in years. If you couldn’t see the problem, then there wasn’t one. That seemed to be his life motto.

She took a swig from the plastic water bottle and surveyed her work. Cardboard boxes of musty books, travel souvenirs and what Clara could only describe as ‘junk’ crowded the attic doorway, but only one corner of the attic had been cleared by her efforts. There seemed to be no end to the amount of stuff stored in the old guy’s attic.

She’d been the one to offer her services, but now, she was starting to seriously regret it. It had been several hours since she’d started and her arms were beginning to ache. She’d long since abandoned the light sweater – there was a slight chill outside, but up here, working her butt off, she was overheated and sweaty.

She wiped a hand across her brow and grimaced. There was a black smear across the back of her hand and she was pretty sure it was also smudged across her forehead now.

An ornate antique mirror was in one of the far corners of the attic. She stepped through the maze of furniture, trunks, boxes and coat stands to stand in front of it.

Using one of the rags she’d brought up with her, she wiped it over the mirror’s grimy surface, clearing a patch wide enough to inspect her face. She cringed at the sight that greeted her. The neat ponytail she’d started off with was now drooping, wisps escaping at every angle. She’d somehow smudged her black eyeliner and the mark on her forehead was huge. Frowning, she used a clean corner of the rag to rub at the black mark. Whatever it was, it was stubborn, refusing to come off. In fact, she seemed to be making it worse.

Sighing, she stepped away from the mirror. She was about to forget about the smudge on her forehead and get back to work, when she noticed something strange in the reflection. The small part of it that she’d cleaned seemed to be reflecting a grey, cloudy sky. That seemed about right for the weather they were having today, but looking around, Clara couldn’t see the window it was reflecting from. The only skylight in the attic was near the attic door on the other side of the room. The angle of the mirror wasn’t pointed in that direction.

Grabbing up the rag, she went to work, clearing off the dust that had settled over the years. Her heart accelerated. The scene in the mirror was definitely not the reflection of her grandfather’s attic.

The brooding sky in the mirror hung over a grey, lifeless medieval city. Cautiously, Clara touched the mirror’s surface with a fingertip. It was solid glass.

The bizarre thing was, she could still see her own reflection, superimposed over the image of the city, but the boxes and the furniture around her that should also have been reflected were nowhere to be seen.

A shiver ran up her spine.

This one could make an interesting story, I think… Let me know in the comments if you liked it and what possibilities it could have as a story plot.

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