“Get out of the way!” Dendroba barked. “Don’t go in there!”
“What happened to Rapunzel? Why is she crying?” Snow asked following Dendroba back down the hallway.
Dendroba carried Rapunzel out past the rubble of the collapsed wall, placing her gently on the floor.
“What happened to her arm?” Snow asked.
Rapunzel, covered in the curtain drapery, writhed about on the floor. “He’s so lonely!” She cried out. “My children are dead! No! No! No!”
Dendroba tried to explain, his tone calm but serious. “The Magic Mirror was trying to eat her. She’ll be okay, in time. The mirror manipulates you. Makes you think you see things and hear things, all very real. It can read your thoughts and you think you are talking to someone when the reality is there is no one there. Give the mirror a bit of light and it can manipulate it; a trick of light and reflection. It’s ancient and magical; far too powerful and too evil even for the witches.”
“Why not just break it. Or throw it in a box?” Snow White asked.
“Locking it away was the only option. And there is no way to destroy it. Anytime we covered it, the cloth and binding were gone the next day. The mirror consumed it. As for moving it or packing in a box, that required people to get close and touch it; which is very dangerous. Many didn’t survive. Some were driven insane. The mirror gets in your mind,” said Dendroba, his breathing rushed.
“It tricks you to stay with it as it consumes you,” Snow White repeated, understanding how dangerous it really was.
“Mentally tricking you— yes,” Dendroba agreed. “So you don’t even realize you are being eaten. It tries to convince you that you want to be with it. And it is very good at it.” Dendroba cautioned. “It reflects not just a physical image but any mental or emotional recollections that it can read. You are engaged in the most wonderful dream as it slowly kills you,” he said. “It killed many witches before we were able to lock it away.”
“I’ll have my dwarves seal off this hallway,” Snow White decided, “immediately.”
Dendroba caught himself staring at Snow White. A flash of recollection of what the mirror had shown him. Dendroba was suddenly uncomfortable; it must have shown on his face as Snow White gave him a quizzical look. Somewhat embarrassed, he looked away.
Rapunzel wailed with tears as she buried her face into the velvet drapery that wrapped about her, her words muffled with sobbing.
“It reads your mind and shows you what you want to see and uses it against you,” he continued, as he tried to forget the sultry vision of Snow White in the silky gown.
“But,” he added as he tucked the drapery around Rapunzel. “It augments negative feelings if you try to escape. It must have tapped into Rapunzel’s memories about her children. Knowing the mirror,” Dendroba added, “Rapunzel probably felt that loss all over again as real as it had happened the first time.”
“How horrible,” Snow White remarked as Rapunzel curled into a fetal position and continued to sob.
“It will get better, the emotional trauma will fade,” Dendroba assured her. “Even her hand will regain its strength in time.”
“How did you survive?” Snow White asked.
“I’ve spent my entire life horribly disfigured, shunned by others for my appearance.” Dendroba answered gruffly. “My reflection was never something I sought out. Vanity was my lifelong enemy. And after a while that was something I grew accustomed to. Even now with my disfigurements gone, it’s not who I am on the inside.” Dendroba then added with a smirk, “I never trusted compliments and I was never one to pay much attention to the opinions of mirrors.”
Snow smiled, and then puzzled she realized something. She gave a quick looked about. “Where’s Phillip?” She asked suddenly.
Being caught up in conversation, Dendroba suddenly realized he had not seen Phillip since he rushed past him out of the room. He shook his head. Snow White looked around, suddenly alarmed. “I was worried about Rapunzel. He was with me when we found you.”
Dendroba angrily pounded the floor in frustration and quickly got to his feet. “Damn it, I said not to go in there!” He raced down the hall, “Stay with her!”
Dendroba darted back down the hall, barging into the storage room again. Keeping his gaze from the mirror, he found Prince Phillip in the room staring blankly ahead, transfixed as he walked slowly towards the mirror.
“Well I am a prince; handsome and charming does come with the territory,” he said aloud as if he was speaking to someone, but there was no one else in the room. Fully entranced by the magic mirror Phillip answered aloud in a conversation only he could hear. “What brings such lovely girls all the way from Bremensport?”
Head down and eyes to the floor, Dendroba was in front of the Prince in a few quick steps. His back to the mirror, he blocked Phillip’s path. The Prince’s head darted eagerly about as he tried to keep eye contact with the mirror. With a sigh, Dendroba knew the only way to break the entrancement without wasting anymore time. With no hesitance he drew his fist back and landed a punch directly into the prince’s face, dropping him to the floor. Quickly, Dendroba pulled the unconscious prince from the room.
“Magic mirrors,” he grumbled.
Prince Phillip regained consciousness as Dendroba pulled him down the hall near where Snow White hovered caringly next to Rapunzel.
“What happened?” asked Phillip groggily.” I feel like I’ve been punched in the face.”
“You were,” answered Dendroba dryly. “I punched you. It was the only way to break the mirror’s hold. You are lucky you weren’t there very long. Also, I punched you because I told you not to go into the room.”
From further down the hallway towards the main the corridors, echoes of conversations could be heard.
“Sounds like some of the staff are starting to leave through the tunnel,” Snow White nodded in the direction the sounds were coming from.
“Coming down here is a bad thing with the wall compromised,” Dendroba said. “We need to get this passageway blocked.”
“Phyllo,” Snow White whispered with a grim urgency. “What’s wrong with Rapunzel’s eyes?”
Rapunzel was staring off into the distance, her eyes open but her stare was blank. Her pupils were large, dilated and light grey, like drops of quicksilver staining her eyes.
Then Rapunzel whispered, in a moment of lucid clarity. “Snow,” she said, her stare looking off past Snow White. “Are you there? I can’t see you?” Then Rapunzel closed her eyes and slumped down again.
“Mirror blindness,” Dendroba said grabbing Rapunzel’s cheek and spreading her eye open with his fingers, “from staring too long at the Magic Mirror.”
“Is it permanent?” Snow asked.
“She was there longer than I thought- if she has mirror blindness. It’s hard to say,” Dendroba admitted, and then adding reluctantly, “It might be permanent.”
Dendroba ripped a long piece of the red velvet drapery that had covered Rapunzel and clutched it in his hands. “Go find your dwarves. I’ll see what I can do to cover the mirror up, might buy us some time.” He looked at Snow White with a grimace of seriousness that furrowed about his eyes. “If I’m not back to you in an hour, then I wasn’t able to cover the mirror. Don’t try and look for me. Just block up the wall so no one else finds it.”
“Be careful,” Snow White cautioned. “We’re going to need you up there when the battle starts.”
Prince Phillip slowly got to his feet, helping Snow White, they gathered up Rapunzel in the folds of the drapery. With Phillip carrying the sleeping Rapunzel in his arms, he nodded silently to Dendroba. Then with a last unspoken look as they parted, Dendroba turned and trotted down the hallway.
At the door to the room that contained the mirror, Dendroba stopped, leaning against the wall. He quickly peered inside wary to not make eye contact with the mirror. The torch that Phillip had carried now burned softly on the stone floor, giving enough light to see and for the mirror to be seen
. Quickly glancing about to get a fresh recollection of the room’s layout, he spied some canvas covered boxes inside against the near right wall and not far from the doorway.
With the strip of red velvet, Dendroba blindfolded himself as he mentally steeled his thoughts against the mirror. Arms outstretched, Dendroba stepped inside the room.
“Back again? Come to give yourself to me?” The mirror sneered. “After you stole my dinner… She was fair and square mine. Fair and square! Square and fair! You are the monster this time not me!”
“Shut up, Mirror,” Dendroba replied. He reminded himself to not speak any more to the mirror. Continuing on, his hands felt about as he shuffled his feet blindly in the direction of the canvas. Dendroba could feel the mirror’s anger and rage in his mind, trying to hurt him to get him to react and give the mirror a mental opening. Dendroba remained stalwart and focused in his thoughts, however. And soon his attention was rewarded, as his hand came in contact with the canvas. With a tug, he pulled the canvas sheet off and gathered it in his arms. Turning to his left he faced the mirror, blindfold still intact.
“Look at yourself, Dendroba, wandering blindly about. You look ridiculous,” the mirror said. “Take the blindfold off.”
Slowly Dendroba stepped forward toward the Magic Mirror.
“I sense doubt in you, ex-Prince of Frogs,” the mirror shouted in Dendroba’s mind. “The new look takes some getting used to? Not the fear-driving, intimidating monster you used to be… those flowing locks of hair getting in the way of your command?”
Dendroba moved closer, the blindfold obscuring the mirror from his eyes. His foot stepped upon a piece of bone. He knew he was getting closer. Visions from his moments of doubt and memories of sadness flashed quickly in his mind. He could feel creeping insecurities as he started to question himself, doubting his plan to secure the mirror would work. Dendroba tried to push the forced thoughts away. He could feel he was close to the wall, close to the Magic Mirror. He felt the mirror probing his thoughts, desperately searching for something its psychic tentacles could grab and use against him.
“Remember what you looked like, General Dendroba? A vision to be feared— your right hand! When you used to lie in bed at night you looked at the bright blue and yellow colors on your poisonous hand, marveling at and resenting your power at the same time. Don’t you recall that sense of freedom when your soldiers dare not even look at your face, those were the days. That was who you are, Dendroba. Not this pretty boy that stands before me. You look like the rest of those typical, pathetic commoners now. I can sense that you miss the power and strength your deformities had given you. Replaced by the lonely feeling of being accepted and forgotten like everyone else, like you had compromised the real you.”
Dendroba hesitated. He had blindfolded himself so he couldn’t see the mirror and had told himself, he would not engage in any conversation with the mirror; wouldn’t give it an opportunity, to trick him in conversation. But against his better judgment, he replied to the mirror’s goading.
“I did not choose this appearance,” Dendroba said calmly, “just like I did not choose to be born with such deformity in the first place,” Dendroba was measured and even toned as he spoke. With one hand holding the canvas and his other hand outstretched, he touched upon the stone wall near the mirror.
“Do you remember how you used to look? I do. Let me remind you what the true Dendroba looks like. Take a look,” said the mirror, its voice wavered slightly. “Just a quick peek?”
“What you don’t get, Mirror,” Dendroba smiled with growing confidence. “Is that as much as you can read a person’s mind to get them to do what you want you’ll never understand what any of that means. You are only able to reflect someone else’s vision. You have no vision of your own, no thoughts of your own. You have never loved, you have never achieved anything more than your own desire to feed. You only see other people for how they look. In the end you are just a mirror. And I’ve spent a lifetime hating mirrors,” Dendroba sneered. “It doesn’t matter what I look like. Because you aren’t capable of reflecting what a person truly is on the inside. You could show me what I had looked like before my curse was lifted but you can never really show me how important that was to me,” Dendroba paused, hearing his own words and his own revelation. “Your kind could never show me what looking like I did -the deformations - for so long truly meant to me and what it makes me on the inside. I am more than what I look like on the outside, monster or otherwise.”
With that Dendroba ripped off the blindfold from his head. He was standing face to face with the mirror looking directly at it.
“This is what it is like to look upon someone as they are, without any of your tricks, and not as a next meal. You will never know what it is like to be anything more than a mirror!” Dendroba looked directly into the magic mirror of his own free will.
For a moment the Magic Mirror did not know what to do. No one had ever willingly or intentionally looked into it, certainly not so close up. It had always been while under the mirror’s enchantment; under the mirror’s control. This was the first time the magic mirror had been confronted in such a manner that the mirror was taken aback. It was perhaps the first time the mirror had been afraid.
“Reflect on that!” Dendroba growled angrily, and with that, he threw the canvas over it and hurriedly covered up the Magic Mirror.
CHAPTER 35
JUST ANOTHER’S ONCE UPON A TIME
“Now that’s a lovely sight to wake up to,” Hamelin’s voice was soft but it had startled Elizabeth awake.
“Though you didn’t have to sleep on the floor for me,” he said, leaning over the edge of the bed with a broad smile. “The boxes are probably a little more comfortable,” Hamelin nodded toward a nearby corner. They were in one of the castle’s small guest rooms, but the only guests the past few years had been boxes and forgotten old mops.
“You are awake?” Elizabeth said. Still somewhat puzzled and groggy from sleeping, she brushed her walnut colored bangs from her face. Then, a quick fit of panic overcame Elizabeth and she suddenly jerked alert checking to make sure she had her cloak. She did and was surprised to find she was clothed as well.
“Must have awakened at some point,” she muttered to herself. Typically she could not recall when or how. Normally on mornings after her wolf transformation Elizabeth would awaken naked and alone and on most occasions in an unfamiliar place. Now she was confused, but for a different reason. She woke upon the floor next to Hamelin. She was able to gather her clothes, although she didn’t remember how she found her clothes. Her wolf-fueled memories were disjointed; she had a vague recollection of the fairy god mother flying them to the castle, Hansel and Gretel in a cage, and some sort of dragon-like creature that had attacked Hamelin. Yet her recollections were more cohesive than they had ever been.
“How are you feeling?” she asked. Elizabeth tried to hide her nervousness about how long Hamelin had been awake and how long she had been asleep and if he had seen anything before she had time to explain.
“Fine, I think; some cuts and bruises, a little sore,” Hamelin stretched a bit then winced. “A few cracked ribs and a headache that would make a ram rethink its meaning in life,” he said. “How long were you sleeping on the floor?”
“I guess all night,” she said, giving Hamelin a reassuring smile. Elizabeth was relieved. He had just woken up and had not seen anything unusual. She stood up slowly and stiffly, still unsure of herself. As she collected her thoughts, she realized that her week of transformations was over, until the next days of the full moon next month.
“Aw, my pipes,” Hamelin sighed with disappointment, finding them on a box next to the bed as a makeshift nightstand. He quickly inspected the broken instrument; with a few configurations he tried playing a quick tune.
“Doesn’t sound broken,” Elizabeth mentioned offhandedly she tested out a crate nearby to sit on. “That sounds pretty, actually—very soothing,” she said with a smile.
Hame
lin looked at her, his face breaking out into a bright grin. “Very funny! No, these are certainly broken,” he corrected her as he continued looking them over. “The parts that play the regular musical notes are smashed. So people wouldn’t be able to hear anything. The only part that still plays works only…” He looked at some markings on the side, “on canines—dogs, wolves, foxes, etcetera. So much for the family heirloom,” he grumbled. Then Hamelin looked up at Elizabeth “Thanks for trying to make me feel better though,” he offered.
Elizabeth paused. The back of her neck burned and her stomach felt like it had dropped to her feet. The only part of Hamelin’s flute that still worked was the music only she could hear. Did she just jeopardize her secret to Hamelin? Did she accidentally tip her hand by not realizing what she said? Elizabeth had a nervous look on her face. “No, Hamelin, I heard it,” she insisted. It was time, Elizabeth realized, she had to tell him.
“Listen there’s something I have to tell you, Hamelin,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve wanted to tell you, I’m just not sure how you’ll take it. I’ve never told anyone, really. Just don’t be mad, okay.”
“Okay,” Hamelin replied meekly as a knot grew in his stomach. “You’re married?” he guessed.
“No.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes mockingly. “Just please… I hope you’ll understand.” Elizabeth found herself already choking with tears.
Hamelin sat up gently, mindful of his wounds, and repositioned himself on the bed, sensing Elizabeth was serious and concerned. Elizabeth gathered her thoughts, trying to calm her shaking hands as she nervously began to explain.
“No one has ever rescued me before,” she started. “Aside from Goldenhair, I mean. No one has ever showed me that kind of consideration since I’ve been on my own. I’ll just come out and say it,” she paused nervously, lips trembling. “I like you, Hamelin, and not just because you rescued me from Hansel and Gretel. Even though we only met two days ago, there’s a connection I’ve never been able to feel with anyone else. It’s frightening. But when I realized I might not see you again, I realized I wanted to know more about you. I can’t really explain it.” she said looking at Hamelin’s face, trying to gauge any reaction from him.
Shards Of The Glass Slipper: Queen Alice Page 10
