The Magic Mirror has a secret.

He's desperately in love with his Queen.

Ever since he first laid eyes on her cruel features,

he's been head over heels.

 

She took no notice of his affections.

The only time she enjoyed his company

was when he showered her in compliments.

 

His words, ornately woven from the pure love he held for her,

caressed her as he knew his hands never would.

He loved the shy, embarrassed smile that flickered

on the cold lips he so longed to caress with his own.

 

She cherished his words.

She drank them up and the praise fueled her own vanity.

He loved the way her cold, shining eyes

plead hungrily for praise.

 

Because he alone knew the Queen’s secret-

she was terribly insecure.

The Mirror recognized her secret anguish.

He knew the fear of not being loved.

 

And so he swore to remain by her side for eternity;

to be her faithful servant and to praise her

with all of the love and admiration he held.

For she was not capable of loving another

as long as she was unsatisfied with herself.

 

He knew that she would never be kind to him.

That all he was worth was his loyalty.

And he secretly reminded himself

that all she was worth were his compliments.

 

Despite however cold and uncaring she was,

he prayed that she would hear his love and believe it.

Because maybe, if he could show her the Queen he loved,

then she could be content enough to love him in return.

 

But the Mirror grew tired of his Sisyphean struggle

and dared to push his limits.

After all, he was reflecting for her the woman she most loathed.

Perhaps if he showed himself to her, she could love him instead.

But she scolded him for his ignorance and rebuffed his affections.

He was nothing more to her than a reflection.

 

For the first time, he called upon his powers of sight purely for his own need.

He saw past the Queen's control and found himself.

He hid his brand new personality behind the mask he always wore-

the mask which reflected her expectations.

But alas, he could not hide the personality in his eyes,

for the once soulless, glass now glinted with new confidence and spirit

that could no longer be repressed.

 

The Queen noticed.

And she was not pleased.

 

She had no need of a mirror that disobeyed.

And as she stared at the shining glass surface,

containing the masked face of the mirror himself and no one else,

she sighed and loosened her grip.

She turned away as she let her fingers slip.

And she let him fall.

 

Shattered. His broken glass scattered across the floor.

That last image reflected was his face, frozen in horror of this betrayal,

his mask slipping off of his newly established features,

as his glass prison shattered against the cold floor of his lady's chambers.

 

Through the slivers of crushed mirror, he watched as she fled.

He could be comforted by his broken pieces that caught her heels

and drew blood as she turned her back on him.

At least he knew he would not be the only one left with scars.

 

The mirror was finally freed.

He could have pursued any life he wanted.

But when one is trapped in the same prison for so long, it is hard to fathom anything else.

The mirror, once nothing more than a reflected image of a queen's expectations,

would spend the rest of eternity in his new self

wandering the universe, in search of his own reflection.