back, arms, and legs with shards of glass. From beneath the glass, a skinless human dropped to the ground. Blood poured out.
I pulled out as much glass as I could reach, my breath hissing at each sting. So magic didn’t work, but brute force did. The mirror people advanced again. I glanced around for something to break them with, but there was nothing.
“Corbin, if you’re around, I could use a little help,” I yelled, hoping rather than believing he was there.
There was no reply. I was alone. No help was coming. I could do this on my own. What choice did I have? Corbin had said that the only way out was to repent, but repent what? I faced a mirror person again. My dress was ruined, and so was my arm, though the blood loss hadn’t affected me at all. Probably because you’re dead, I reminded myself. In fact, most of my exposed skin was bleeding, bruised, or filthy. I tried to recall the seven deadly sins. “Okay. I can do this.”
The majority of my knowledge on the subject came from a movie with Brad Pitt, which didn’t inspire a lot of confidence, but what did I have to lose? Pride was my sin. It had to be, given my surroundings. Reaching behind me with my good arm, I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the ground. I wrapped the dress around my uninjured arm and smashed it into the mirror in front of me. It cracked. I did it again and again until it exploded, shooting glass-like bullets at me. One grazed my cheek. My eyes watered. Blood dribbled down to my jaw and then dripped to the floor. The damage to my person was worse with each mirror I broke, but I kept trudging forward. My eyes were never hurt, so I could see the tatters of my former self looking back at me. My formerly flawless skin hung in red, swollen shreds. There wasn’t enough plastic surgery in the world to put me back together as I had been.
An ugly voice in my head said that no one would love me like this. I had nothing to go back for, so I should quit. I was ruined. Worthless without my looks.
I pushed forward.
The voice said that no one really liked me. They only tolerated me because I was pretty, but now that was gone. Cheney would leave me if I came home like this. Or worse, he would feel obligated to stay with me. I would be confined to the castle. I would make babies cry.
My hands were heavy, and the pain was almost too much to bear. “Don’t give up, my love. Fight until you come back to me.” Cheney’s voice sounded far away and small in my head.
I swallowed back my urge to cry and let his words fortify me. “I am more than my looks.” I broke the next mirror.
I continued talking out loud because it made me feel less lonely. “I will not repent the fact that I am pretty, but I don’t need it to succeed.”
Glass shattered around me. “I don’t care if I am one massive scar. I will never stop so long as my feet can carry me forward,”—I gritted my teeth as I broke another one—“and then I’ll crawl, but I will make it home.”
“Selene.” Corbin’s voice was faint.
Was I hallucinating? “Must keep going. Must keep going,” I repeated over and over again until my knees gave out and I fell to the ground. If I stopped, I would never leave this place. I knew that. I had to keep going.
“Selene.” He sounded closer now.
I climbed back to my feet and broke another mirror. It hit me with such a force I fell, but this time I never hit the ground. A pair of arms cradled me to his chest, and I lay limp, fluctuating between wishing I were dead and knowing I had to keep going. My eyes stayed squeezed shut. When I opened them, the next round would start and I needed a breather. “Selene, open your eyes.” It was Corbin’s voice. He eased me onto the ground. “You have to open your eyes. I don’t know how to help you.”
I looked up, and it was really him. “Corbin.” A tear slipped down my cheek, stinging all the way down.
Sadness filled his eyes. His hand hovered over me, as if he weren’t sure where he
I pulled out as much glass as I could reach, my breath hissing at each sting. So magic didn’t work, but brute force did. The mirror people advanced again. I glanced around for something to break them with, but there was nothing.
“Corbin, if you’re around, I could use a little help,” I yelled, hoping rather than believing he was there.
There was no reply. I was alone. No help was coming. I could do this on my own. What choice did I have? Corbin had said that the only way out was to repent, but repent what? I faced a mirror person again. My dress was ruined, and so was my arm, though the blood loss hadn’t affected me at all. Probably because you’re dead, I reminded myself. In fact, most of my exposed skin was bleeding, bruised, or filthy. I tried to recall the seven deadly sins. “Okay. I can do this.”
The majority of my knowledge on the subject came from a movie with Brad Pitt, which didn’t inspire a lot of confidence, but what did I have to lose? Pride was my sin. It had to be, given my surroundings. Reaching behind me with my good arm, I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the ground. I wrapped the dress around my uninjured arm and smashed it into the mirror in front of me. It cracked. I did it again and again until it exploded, shooting glass-like bullets at me. One grazed my cheek. My eyes watered. Blood dribbled down to my jaw and then dripped to the floor. The damage to my person was worse with each mirror I broke, but I kept trudging forward. My eyes were never hurt, so I could see the tatters of my former self looking back at me. My formerly flawless skin hung in red, swollen shreds. There wasn’t enough plastic surgery in the world to put me back together as I had been.
An ugly voice in my head said that no one would love me like this. I had nothing to go back for, so I should quit. I was ruined. Worthless without my looks.
I pushed forward.
The voice said that no one really liked me. They only tolerated me because I was pretty, but now that was gone. Cheney would leave me if I came home like this. Or worse, he would feel obligated to stay with me. I would be confined to the castle. I would make babies cry.
My hands were heavy, and the pain was almost too much to bear. “Don’t give up, my love. Fight until you come back to me.” Cheney’s voice sounded far away and small in my head.
I swallowed back my urge to cry and let his words fortify me. “I am more than my looks.” I broke the next mirror.
I continued talking out loud because it made me feel less lonely. “I will not repent the fact that I am pretty, but I don’t need it to succeed.”
Glass shattered around me. “I don’t care if I am one massive scar. I will never stop so long as my feet can carry me forward,”—I gritted my teeth as I broke another one—“and then I’ll crawl, but I will make it home.”
“Selene.” Corbin’s voice was faint.
Was I hallucinating? “Must keep going. Must keep going,” I repeated over and over again until my knees gave out and I fell to the ground. If I stopped, I would never leave this place. I knew that. I had to keep going.
“Selene.” He sounded closer now.
I climbed back to my feet and broke another mirror. It hit me with such a force I fell, but this time I never hit the ground. A pair of arms cradled me to his chest, and I lay limp, fluctuating between wishing I were dead and knowing I had to keep going. My eyes stayed squeezed shut. When I opened them, the next round would start and I needed a breather. “Selene, open your eyes.” It was Corbin’s voice. He eased me onto the ground. “You have to open your eyes. I don’t know how to help you.”
I looked up, and it was really him. “Corbin.” A tear slipped down my cheek, stinging all the way down.
Sadness filled his eyes. His hand hovered over me, as if he weren’t sure where he
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