The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I don’t know when the mirrors first appeared.

Well, I shouldn’t say it like that. To say that they appeared is to say that on some day, the mirrors weren’t there, but then all of a sudden, they were. But it’s not like that at all. I know that there was a time when they weren’t there… but I can’t recall when that was, or for how long they’ve been hanging here.

John tells me not to fret over them, that I’ll only worry myself sicker that way. He’s so kind to me, and he knows so much about my condition. The mirrors are important to my treatment, he says. He never quite tells me why, but I shouldn’t worry about that, either. I know to treat them very carefully. But John also tells me to treat them as though they aren’t there at all?

It can be very strange. But I don’t mind. John was here just yesterday, and he told me that I’m doing much better now. It’s only been a few months since the accident, but I’m feeling much better now than I did back then. Though he still won’t let me write, so I’ve got to keep this stashed away whenever he visits. I found it, in one of the drawers, along with the inkwell—and John left the quill by accident.

Sometimes he comes once a day. After he’s done his business in town, or before, he’ll come by the cottage to say hello. Or, sometimes it’ll be as long as a week before I see him. John tells me, of course, many, many times. It’ll only be a few days, or a handful, or a week, he’ll say. He’s so attentive!

But, I do protest, as much as he asks me not to. He doesn’t need to worry about me so badly. After the accident, I could understand. It was so dreadful to be alone. I couldn’t stand it. Some days, I still can’t, but really I’m much better now.

The mirrors keep me company, when John isn’t here. There’s so many of them, and they’re all so unique, that it feels like I’m never quite alone. It’s peculiar, but it’s comforting too. It may be because they’re special mirrors, and… I must go, I can hear John coming now.

Things have been quite nice, as of late. I was worried, you know, after the accident. About living on my own, being away from people for so long. John says it’s for my own good, too much noise and too many faces could aggravate my condition, he says, and a lot of other words besides that I can’t make any sense of. He’s right, though. Sometimes I hear noises from the wood, or a horsecart going by from the road, and it makes me cringe and cower.

I can’t recall being so sensitive before. And it’s not just my ears, either. There’s curtains hung to block out the sunlight in the morning, as the windows face to the east. I can let a little in… but I much prefer softer candlelight. The sun does make the mirrors sparkle beautifully, though.

And my fingers. It always feels as though they’re meant to be doing something. Rubbing, creasing, scratching, twisting, anything. A few times, John has caught me brushing about my chin, and he’s gotten the strangest look on his face then. He always tells me not to do that, so I try and oblige, but I can’t always help it.

I can’t recall very much about myself at all. John says that this will pass, and already it has begun to. Each time he comes, he helps me remember a little more. I used to be a baker. Which, I think, is quite a silly thought. The dough always comes out wrong, and I can barely knead it for more than a few minutes before my arms tire out. I can’t believe it, but it must be true. What else would I have been?

I had a little shop in the town. It’s still there, all in good condition, I’m told. So I suppose that I still own it. Much of my things were brought from there, my dresses and the like. Even they feel somehow… wrong, though. I know that it’s my condition, and that I only feel as if it’s not all right. It’s all of this upheaval that’s gotten to me. Having the accident, having to set aside my work, having to come out here.

But it isn’t so awful. The cottage is spacious. John keeps the kitchen stocked for me, so I’m never hungry or thirsty. The trees outside are beautiful. My bed is soft, and the divan is lovely. And I have all the time in the world to myself, and my recovery.

Only, there isn’t so much for me to do. I haven’t been allowed any books, but John says that it is for the best. And he only visits briefly, sometimes staying for a meal. I sometimes miss speaking to people. Sometimes, I try to sing… but I can never recall any words. Only melodies. And even those I’m not sure of. Dancing is even more difficult, without music or a partner. And the mirrors so often get in the way of me. It’s much easier to just sit down on the divan and rest myself.

John’s told me not to look at them, but they’re just such a nuisance some days. I’m not to touch them, but they’re strung about everywhere. There’s a least twenty of them that I can see, from where I sit, and they run all through the kitchen and bedroom and hall, too. I can’t imagine there’s less than fifty of them, perhaps even seventy. I once asked him why there were so many, and instead of answering, he asked me why there were so many stars in the sky. And I answered, I don’t know, and he said, now you see. I still don’t see. My meaning, now, is that it’s quite hard to count them without looking too closely at them, and I can’t look too closely at them.

They’re hard to describe, as well. Most of them are no bigger than my palm. But they’re of all different shapes and sizes, so it’s very difficult. And they’re all so jagged. I’ve counted twelve sides on one before, but some have as few as three. And they look sharp, but I’ve never been hurt by them, so I suppose that’s alright.

The thread is at least simple. A little string of white, one coming down from the ceiling to hold each up in the air. Though they’re all of differing lengths, which only lends to my frustrations in moving around them.

But it’s not intolerable. They only become distracting when the light catches them. It only takes a little shaft from the window to illuminate one, then like a pox, they all inherit that same glint! I’d call it beautiful, were it not so tiresome. Sometimes, I like just lying there, watching them flash and twirl in the little breeze. I’m certain that it’s fine to watch them, so long as it isn’t too closely, and so long as it’s just the light that I’m fascinated by. That sounds like what John would say, doesn’t it?

I’ve been growing more restless. The nights are long here, and my slumber always feels less relieving than it ought to. In the morning I have my meal and my water. I’m not allowed any tea. In the afternoon, I sit, and I wait. Always waiting. There’s so little to do, so little to even think of here. I miss portraits, vases, flowers, sculptures, moulding, patterns on the walls, anything that could occupy me or stave away my sloth. I miss bread, my bakers’ tools, my little nook where I plied my business. The friendly faces who might have visited.

I can’t recall any of them. I can imagine faces, but I can’t… know any faces. Only John’s. He’s the only one I’ve seen, the only one who has visited me, the only one who takes care of me. It’s kind of him to do. When I ask him why he does, he tells me that that is what a kind man should do for a kind woman. But I do not always feel like a kind woman, worrying him and distracting him as I do. A kind woman would be well, well enough to leave this cottage and see a different face.

At least this writing is freeing. I can express myself in few other ways, now: I’ve no easel nor brushes with which to depict my feeling. I can only describe it, here, to you. To me? Yes. To myself alone, as I’ll not let anyone catch wind of this account. John would be furious. Not that I’ve seen him driven to rage, I should never like to see that. I’ve asked him about writing, and he has always denied it. My hands are my tool, he says, not some pen and parchment. I am a baker, he tells me. I should not even know which end of the quill must be daubed in ink, for it simply does not matter.

Oh, but I’d nearly forgotten. You can’t speak of this to John. I’ve kept it close for some time now, but I simply must commit it to the page, as it is singularly strange and defies my admittedly weary mind.

I saw someone in the mirror.

It was only for a moment. I was sitting, as I do, spread about the divan and nearly nodding off. The flashing mirrors were my only entertainment, and on such a cool day, the window was open, bringing in the wind to make them spin and sway. I saw their flashing, and I was making another vain endeavor to count them all, and then…

They were there. Barely an instant, but I know that I saw them because of the bright blue gaze that stared back at me. Eyes like I’ve never seen. Or one eye, because as soon as I knew what I was seeing, they were gone. And I’d scrambled up, shaken off my sluggishness, but by the time I was stood on my feet I couldn’t recall which mirror I’d seen them in. There were just so many. And, my condition be damned, I looked into them all. But I couldn’t find them again.

I know, I must sound a bit mad. But I promise you that I know what I saw. John wouldn’t believe me, because I scarcely even believe me, so I must trust this secret to you. I must know who it is that I’ve seen.

It’s been some time since I’ve last written. A week? No, longer, perhaps a month. I’ve ached to, but John has been coming more and more frequently, I fear he might suspect this. I’ve had to hide you in my drawers, where I know he’ll never look! He’s far too much of a gentleman for that.

And I couldn’t write, but I’d had the most astounding revelation, or so I’d thought: a mirror reflects! It isn’t like a window or an ordinary pane of glass, it shows what it sees. And, so, I thought I’d deduced it—that the woman in the mirror was me. My own reflection, making a mockery of me! How foolish I was.

I’ve been seeing her more and more, too. Once a day, or more. And often, it’s no more than another instant. It feels like I’m being watched. There’s a creeping on my skin, an itch on my neck or leg. Something peculiar in the air, a scent or a sound. And when my eyes turn to their periphery, I see her. A blue eye watching me from one of those mirrors, and then she’s gone again.

But sometimes she lingers, once I’ve caught her in the act. I’ve spied more of her face, pale, a bit gaunt, and her hair, brown, a bit disheveled. And looking at a lock of my own, I thought it, for a moment, the same sort of chestnut color. I was sure that I’d found something special there, something of myself, perhaps even something that could help my condition. Something from before my accident?

I had to speak to John, I couldn’t keep it inside any longer. I must know, I told him, I must know why these mirrors are so important, what makes them so special and needed. I told him about what I’d seen, the woman, myself, I told him about the glimpses and the movement and the feeling of being stared at and all the other ways it would make me feel.

And the whole time, I was so… panicked. I felt so short of breath, so anxious, and he was just stood there, watching me, listening to me, and the gods only know why, but I’d thought for an instant that he might strike me. But he did nothing of the sort. He smiled, and he shook his head, and he took me in his arms and told me that I was right, and wrong.

About the mirrors, I asked John, was I right about them. Yes, he told me, and wrong about them. He told me that he knew I would see her, eventually, and that she was part of what made the mirrors so special.

But she couldn’t be you, he said. And why is that, I asked. Because your eyes are green, he said, not blue.

And it made so much sense to me. So much so that I began to laugh, and John joined me, and we both knew how silly I was being. The woman couldn’t possibly be me, but she is very important. I need to keep a close eye on her, but not too close of one. John asked me if I could do this. I told him, of course I can. And it will help my condition. And it will quicken my recovery. And soon, I will be able to leave.

It’s not only a woman in the mirrors. I’ve yet to see anyone but her, I’d’ve written that down fast as anything, but I can tell that she isn’t alone. It’s just a feeling, but my condition gives me all sorts of feelings, these days. I’m gladdened, lately. After speaking with John that day, I feel as though I have so much purpose now, so much that I can do.

I still can’t be looking at them when he comes around, though. He still believes that they could be a danger to my nascent and burgeoning psyche. That’s what he told me, only I don’t quite know what it means. I asked, but he laughed, and told me that it would mean more to a scholar, like him, than a baker, like myself. Bakers do not study reading or writing or any sciences, nor do they study sorceries, and that is why he keeps the paper and quill away from me, to not upset me with its difficulty. I do not have much in common with him to speak of.

I hadn’t known that he was a scholar. In truth, I still can’t remember anything about him, from before the accident that is. He must be scholarly, though, as he has so much wit and knowledge in his head, and when he shares it he does so in excellence. I told him that I wished I could be a scholar, once I’d gotten out of this wretched cottage, but he shook his head sternly. It could aggravate my contemptible and most perplexing malady, he told me, to study like he does. What is it you study, I asked. This and that, John told me. He can be so evasive.

And once, I asked John if he knew anything of sorcery. And he had the strangest, most disquieting look in his eyes. He said, yes, and why? And I said, because perhaps the woman in the mirror is magical? Maybe her home is within the glass? And he said to me, whatever would make you think that? And I said, I don’t know. And he told me that he knew magic, he knew all sorts of magic, and no magic could make a woman live inside of a mirror. She’s simply too large to be accommodated by such small spaces, and I said, that is reasonable. But I asked him, what sort of magic does he study, being so scholarly and wonderfully witty? And he said, this and that. And I said, which and which? And he said that a baker should not trouble herself with enchantments and illusions, in the same way as a fiddler should not trouble himself with horns made of brass. And I thought that was reasonable, too.

Where was I? Yes, the mirrors. I’ve seen more than just her, and I’ve told John as much. I should relate to you the most unusual occurrence thus far. I was on the divan (in the place and way that John tells me to sit, he’s so particular) when I saw, instead of the endless sparkling of white sunlight, a flash of blue from one of the mirrors. But I ignored it: for you see, John has been telling me of willpower, of fighting past base temptations to strengthen my spirit. I was determined to let it go unexamined. But then there was another mirror showing blue, and I felt my eyes trying to stray before I shut them tightly. And I had the oddest feeling, lying there with my eyes shut tightly, that, far from being watched, I was in the presence of another. And as I uncovered my eyes, I saw every mirror holding her gaze, holding my gaze, and the nearest one, a six sided thing, loomed larger and larger before me. And I can only recognize now that it was because I was standing, without truly noticing it, coming close enough to disturb the hanging mirror with my breath. And I saw her face, her whole face, with a crowning braid atop her head and a more puzzling look in her eyes than I had ever seen them bear. And I saw still more, the walls behind her covered in art, paper and tapestries and portraits of all kinds, and again, I saw still more, for no longer was I looking past her head but at her neck, and her collar, and I saw that she wore not a dress nor even a bodice.

No, I saw her from head to toe, and what clothes she might have possessed lay discarded at her feet. And I felt an inexplicable chill coming up my sides, as with a thrill I saw that she was not alone. A second pair of bared legs came behind her, and I saw two hands finding her shoulders, and I saw a face behind her own with brown eyes that I knew. It was John. And John knew this woman, and this woman knew me, though if he knew me I could not say for he only appeared to stare past me, not into me as she did, before his attentions turned to her. The woman’s eyes disappeared, and their bodies came together, and I saw the nakedness of them both and continued to watch. I could do this from the divan, from the place and way that John had told me to sit and watch the mirrors very carefully, and I watched very closely indeed. John did not lift her, nor did she lift him, but he was lifted even still, by someone or something else to the bed where his body splayed out and straps held his limbs and I saw how erect he’d become and I could not resist a tease, for I saw the woman doing the same, and she looked at me and her lips mouthed that this is something I must remember.

And though the room was silent save for my own sighs I tell you, I swear to you that I could hear her mounting him, and hear his moan and her voice while she chastised him for breaking so many rules and how he just couldn’t keep himself away and how he agreed, how he begged for her, longed to touch her and worship her like he knew she needed. But she did not want worship, nor prayers, nor pleas, she wanted his body, and she took it before my eyes, and she ravished it like a beast of need, ravenous and insatiable, hungry and cackling and glowing with the strangest and most familiar light until I saw her, heard her, felt her coming and felt myself, and I heard my own cry and shut my eyes for what could only have been a moment of bliss, but as I opened them again the mirror was darkened.

And I can recall now hurtling to my feet and staring at it, walking around all its sides, trying to see past the shroud of dark that had washed over its surface but it was for naught. Each other mirror was still the same, yet this one had lost its sheen. I was so lightheaded by then that I collapsed into the divan, and slept for what felt like days but could only have been hours.

I did not tell John any of this, and you must not utter a word to him about any of it. He cannot know what I saw and I must understand it despite his impertinent meddling.

He took the darkened mirror this morning. It was no longer of any use to me, but I still regret its loss. He did not tell me he would take it, nor did he ask if he could, nor did he tell me why. He did not even tell me that he had taken it. He must’ve taken its thread and spooled it up with the mirror and hid it in one of his pockets before he left, while I wasn’t looking at him.

John asked me, have I seen anything strange lately? And I said, no, nothing strange. But I saw his eyes, his brown eyes and oh, I could not keep myself from staring. They were just the same ones as I had seen in the mirror, and his face was unchanged, and his body… I knew that it was to be the same beneath his shirt and trousers, also. Oh gods, even now, the things that my mind conjures!

Have you seen the woman in the mirror, I asked him. No, he told me, he had not. And this was when I knew that he is a liar and cannot be trusted with what I see. He knows things that I do not, and I know that what I’ve seen is real. It must be.

Have not seen anything new today. I think that I will make a loaf of bread.

The air is too thick here. There are too many scents, too many bits of flowers, trees, and animals all filtering into my lungs. John has said that a closeness to nature bears great import for my recovery. I think that he is lying. I cannot recover in this stifling place, but I cannot leave. I have tried.

Or I cannot try. The door is right there before me. But there is a crude, ugly thing carved into it. A shape that’s familiar to me, but that I can’t bear to look at. The closer I come to it, the worse it grows, possessed of a strange light, a wrongness clawing at my skull and desperate to break free. I have gone so far as to close my hand around the knob, but as I did I could only stare, I could not move, and I screamed when finally I tore myself away.

She came to me soon after. In three different shards, winking her blue eyes around my head. I was so glad to see her, I needed the reprieve. She came and she showed me her smile, and I heard the sound of laughter, hers and mine. She twirled away from me and I saw still more of the room where she had been before. Beautiful adornments, wondrous trinkets everywhere, and in each mirror she wore a different dress, each more ornate than the last. I saw a window filled with the bluest sky imaginable, and her leaning out to greet it, smiling. I saw a long table covered in tableware most decadent, with meals I cannot even describe laden upon them, all of them there solely for her sampling. I saw a writing desk, and so many books, all of them penned by the quill in her hand, the ink in her well.

And the mirrors became dark again. And I can feel something now. I can feel something that I have not felt for all these months.

I want. Worse, still, I crave. I crave what I saw, what vision she bequeathed to me. It is uncomfortable, yes, but only because I do not have it.

I could give it many names. Gluttony. Greed. Jealousy.

But oh, it is feeling! It is like I have lived in the dark with no light, like I have been devouring meal after meal after meal but with no taste or flavor by which to make it meaningful. This malady has stifled me for so long. And now I am beginning to break it. I am growing better each day. John will see that. Then he’ll let me go. He’ll see that I’m well, and he’ll have no choice but to let me go. He will.

I think that John suspects me. He has been coming at strange hours, I cannot predict when he’ll arrive. And I cannot write because of it. It has been a week now. I have been marking the days in notches at the base of the bed, as my time is more valuable than it ever has been. Now that I am learning, now that I am healing, I must know how long it takes, and how fast I am progressing. John would not care. He still believes, only, that I am afflicted, that I have seen no gain. I could not stand his speech; in fact, it was so intolerable that I had to tell him I’d been seeing more.

Oh, I’m sure he’d known it already, but by the way that he blanched it was so very worth doing. But he was quite rude afterward. He became, suddenly, very stern, and warned me that I do not understand what I am meddling with. He took down the two most recent mirrors to go, and the three before that, right before my eyes. He told me they were a negative influence on my health. And I told him, I couldn’t give a damn.

And that made him upset enough to leave on the spot! But before he left, he told me, if you do not behave I will take the shards away, and we will see where that leaves you.

This is just like him. This is how he always is. Even in the mirrors, I’ve seen him throw his childish and petty tantrums. I’ve seen him tell her that what you do is beyond reason. It is madness. I fear for you, my darling, I fear for what you’ve He never stops. He never stops. He says to her, it is too much power, far too dangerous for anyone to wield. It must be gotten rid of, and if you won’t, then His face is so wretched. He speaks like he is in pain but he does not know pain as I have. He is a liar and that is what he does. And he will bring me nothing but ruin.

Ah, yes. He was leaving.

I nearly followed him out, but the door prevented me. And I was so upset that I threw myself into bed and wept as I did. I don’t know why. I was so angry with him. And angry with myself. And this condition that twists me into knots and wrings me dry. John thinks that he knows best for me. And he is my caretaker. No one else visits with me, and I can’t recall anyone else who might care for me… perhaps I’ve made a mistake. I don’t know.

I have been in such good spirits recently that I’ve not seen fit to write a word of it. There is not much to tell: I’m quite cheerful, having broken out of that last bout of melancholy I described to you. John has been spending more time with me, sharing meals and speaking to me, helping me recover, helping me recall what I’ve forgotten from before the accident. When John is here, I feel so at ease. Those long stretches of loneliness were sorely detrimental, and I’m glad to have him near me so often.

He was here this afternoon; I thought it strange with how busy he always is. But he said, I will always make time for you. My heart beats faster even now. He joined me where I sat, where I always sit, and bid me to pretend that he was not there. Which was difficult, for he was right next to me, and I sat there feeling his warmth and seeing his face from the corner of my eye. And the rest of him. He’s always dressed so smartly when he visits, with a long blue coat and trousers of an even deeper color. And his hair, a comfortable length, dark and with those curls I’d just like to…

At any rate. I soon was able to overcome my distraction. That’s always what happens when I watch the mirrors. It’s only in the afternoon, only when the light comes through in just the right way, that they all begin to glitter like starlight. I swear that it would be blinding, were it not so perfect. And easy. It’s simple to watch them when I lie that way. It’s so easy to overcome my distractions and listen to what I’m told. I always listen and I always forget because it is so hard to think of anything but howbeautifulmirrorsareand mirrors are mirrors and easy and simpleand

John has even taken some of them down. I don’t mind it at all, I’ve no idea how I could. I’ve no need of them but for their beauty. They won’t shine and dance if they’re so dark, and what a shame that would be.

I tell you now, I have seen her again. I know that it was she from the light of her eyes and I saw them lit by the color of the moon. I don’t know for how long I stared, and it felt so strange, because… I did not recognize her. I did not know who I was seeing, and I thought, for an instant, that I was seeing myself. But my eyes are not blue. And though her flesh is like mine it is not mine. And as I stood and watched her, she stood and watched me.

I knew her, I… I know her. Does she know me? I see her moving and whispering and wandering this room, but is she seeing me as I see her? Or someone else? Why does she appear to me? And what does she want?

I remember. He was telling me that I would be silly to dwell on any of this. But I remember. I’ve seen my writings, and I’d thought them nothing but madness. Symptoms of my condition. He told me that I must be careful. He told me to know what is real and ignore what is not—she is real, I am real, this is real. I won’t let it be taken from me. I will take what I need and not suffer these offenses to my dignity and my power.

I won’t forget it.

Hello, again! It’s so lovely to be able to write in the daytime. I’ve just been so busy lately, but I’m glad that we can share this moment, you and I. So much has happened since I wrote you last night. I hardly know where to begin! Well, I suppose that I’ve already begun, so I must know something of how to begin!

I’ve lit some candles to write by. In truth, I lit them last night, as I was so excited that I just couldn’t sleep a wink! It’s a very important day after all: today, my treatment will continue. John is here and all, so it can proceed perfectly!

Oh, yes. John. He came early this morning, ready for an early start I’m sure, with a great bouquet of flowers under one arm! I could not believe my luck. So of course, I ushered him inside as any good host should, and brought him a lovely cup of tea. Oh, that reminds me.

That’s better. I thought to brew another pot for us both; he’s very thankful. Now, where was I?

Yes, our tea! I’ve been trying my hand further at baking, and I do think I’m getting a grasp of it! The pastries did come out a bit dry, but the tea made them more than tolerable. It’s a nice brew, I think, the moonleaves. I can’t recall ever enjoying tea so much, but I suppose I take after her!

Her. Ah, her. She’s been flitting through the mirrors all day long. Winking here, dancing there, and… stripping there. Oh, I tell you, I could scarcely focus my attention on John while she tempted me so! And he was there too. I saw the muscles of his arms and the broadness of his shoulders and I just had to see for myself. John, you know John. He protested, of course, like he always does! But she’d shown me a special little trick. All I had to do was simply run my fingers across his shoulders, up his neck, over his cheeks and up into his hair, and I tell you he was practically purring and squirming like a cat!

He tried to tell me I shouldn’t, that he was my caretaker and friend and it would be inappropriate. But he didn’t stop me. He didn’t want to stop me. And so when I kissed his lips, he kissed mine, and when I chewed at his lip he nearly collapsed! Oh but he couldn’t yet. Not until I’d gotten everything prepared. I tugged his collar, yanked it, wrenched off his shiny brass buttons while he stumbled after me like a lost dog. I peeled the coat back, dug my nails in, heard him moan and tore through his shirt and threw him onto that so very soft bed.

But he’d gathered a lick of sense by then. He knew how to use his hands, oh yes. And while he was so distracted, I took it upon myself to fasten him in. One can do a surprising number of things with a fine bolt of cloth! I hadn’t known myself to have so much skill in tying knots, perhaps I was a seamstress, and he merely misremembered? It’d taken time, of course, last night I’d had to tear the cushions of the divan into these long and lovely strips, and it took so much time to have them properly affixed, but oh, for the look on his face then it was so very worth doing. It’s you, he said. It’s me, I said.

Well he seemed to struggle a few hairs more while I brought his trousers down, but just as soon after he was busying his lips over my breast, so I saw fit to mount him! And I’d thought that would be the best feeling of it all. But it wasn’t, no, for I saw still more. The mirror right before my eyes showed him to me, on his knees, half-buried between her thighs while she laughed and moaned with abandon! And another, she showed me the way he would shiver if I bent down to bite his collar, and how he might twist and yank at his bonds if I teased my way up his arms.

But he was so very good for me. Thrusting dutifully even while he babbled on and on about how it shouldn’t be possible and this couldn’t be real but it was. It was real and it was so perfect I could scream. He came within me while I watched her straddling him and I thought then that it could not have ever gotten better, I tell you, it did! For in her deep blue eyes I saw that she has a mirror too and that it is a great one as tall as she that stands against her wall in her room full of beauty and wonder and I want one just like it and so I will have it. I have already begun! It’s so strange, my little mirrors seem so eager for it, like they’re made for coming together in just that way. A corner of one snuggles neatly with the edge of another, and it’s like a great game to join them all together!

I’ll need a special frame for them, I think. Something opulent, maybe build of gold? Oh, she would like gold. I plan to show her when she comes. You think she’ll come, don’t you? Of course you do. John seems to think so. He won’t stop saying her name! Oh, it does drive me mad how he can ignore me while I stand there, naked before him! He just keeps crying for her and asking me to reconsider, as if I have a choice in the matter! I can hear him, you know how bothersome he is. I’m trying to help, he tells me. It’s for everyone’s good, he says. You don’t know what you were.

But of course, that’s simply the silliest. I was a baker.

And it’s she that wants me to do this. It was she who has shown me how. The candles will help it. The golden frame will conduct it just right. The ever-so-strange words will just pour from my lips once again. Oh, I can’t wait to meet her. We’ll have so much to talk about! John will be ecstatic, too, but I think that he’d like to leave before she comes. Well, that’s alright. He’ll only have to lie there a little while longer. I only need him to tell me where he’s hidden those mirrors that he stole from me.

I do apologize for the mess. These mirrors are so dreadfully sharp. Perhaps John will help me clean, once she lets him go. She wants him, you see. Even after everything he’s done, she still tells me to take good care of him! And he is quite handy with a bandage, scholar that he is. I’ll write you again when I’ve met her. I’m sure she’ll want to meet you, too.