Mirrors

The small girl handed Mary a mirror, one tiny enough to fit in her palm. The girl guided her arm so the mirror’s image bounced off the full length one in the back of the room. There, in this small piece of reflective glass, Mary saw what the girl had been working on. The braid fell down her back, long enough to hit the scratchy rug on which she was sitting.

“Well?” The little girl chimed. “Do you like it?” Mary turned to the girl, her body protesting the movement as it ached.

“I love it. It looks absolutely beautiful. You’ve got a talent for hair.”

Her eye crinkled with a smile that her mouth did not bring. What was left of the other side of her face burned with the flexing of her muscles. The girl gave a huge smile, showing her front two teeth were missing. “Run along now child, before that wretched healer sees you.” She teased.
The girl nodded then ran out the small room, her skirts swishing behind her. When she was finally out the door, Mary let her face fall. She turned back to the mirror in her hand. Without someone to lie to, she gazed back at her reflection. This time, she saw no pretty braid or toothless smile. She saw herself. No, that was wrong. She’d lost herself with her eye and her leg. This time, all she saw was a shell of her former self. A failure.