We All Fall Down

Faith tapped four spots on the desk, watched a slot roll open, and put the parchment she'd been writing on inside. It slid smoothly back into place with a click at the same time as she stood up. Her wings clicked, too, when she stretched them out, and she noticed that it was dark outside the window, which struck her as odd. It struck her as odd because Mirror wasn't home yet. For twelve years, Mirror had been devoted entirely to Faith. She had come to their clearing each day, had read to her, had put a cloak over her on cold nights even knowing Faith would not feel the difference. She had told Faith everything that happened, and when she went off in search of ingredients, she told Faith that, too. She had grown weary at times, but she had never given up on the task however impossible it had seemed. Once, she had even stolen a golden apple for Faith. So why was she late? The storm was no excuse. Mirror had come to see her in worse. After another hour, Faith began to grow angry. She had guessed already at Mirror's whereabouts, and she did not like to think of her fiancée spending so much time with someone else, someone Faith had never even met. Something would have to be done. With that thought, she crossed the room and began going through Mirror's desk. No thoughts were spared for the corners of books or for the wrinkles imprinted in scrolls. She rummaged through each drawer until finally she found what she had been looking for: the paper Mirror had used to write the spell that had freed her. If she remembered it correctly, then Mirror had made several critical errors in the wording. Poor, stupid, trusting Hebe. All alone in the world. Everyone around her had betrayed her over and over, and she still hadn't learned her lesson. There. She shut Mirror's desk and took the paper back to her own, laying it out and placing stones at the top and bottom to hold it open so that she could read the whole thing over. For your safety, and happiness, Any price I would pay; In any fight I would partake, To sway the winding, weaving road of fate. This sacrifice I offer in your wake: No curse, no threat, your life nor limb shall take. I shield you, from evil’s whim, And when at last this day grows dim, I seal my fate, however grim.. ...And pray that you’ll forgive me. Let your blight consume my marrow. For you, I give my every breath, And offer even my own death… Yet still love you to my barrow. So fate be damned, and, Transfer all your pain to me. To break this spell, I forge three keys; A golden apple, from her tree, An honest plea, and finally, Taken - though, not forcefully, My own blood set free. Now at last, stone walls abate, From this sleep you must awake, And your freedom you retake. Three lines in particular were what she was looking for, and a smirk crawled onto her face as she read over them: No curse, no threat, your life nor limb shall take. I shield you, from evil’s whim. Transfer all your pain to me. There it was written in ink. Mirror had sworn to take any injury dealt to Faith on herself, however it might have hurt her, and in so doing had created a glaring weakness for herself. Nevermind the rest; Faith had what she wanted. From another drawer in her own desk, she drew a small silver letter opener. It would never have raised any suspicion to Mirror - she had never even opened the drawers, let alone looked through them. She trusted Faith absolutely. No one would spoil that. No one would take away her secret weapon. Experimentally, she pressed the point of the blade to her hoof, and scraped off a thin layer of the keratin. If she was right, it would vanish, but if she was wrong, it caused her no harm and would simply regrow given a week. A few seconds passed uneventfully. Faith pondered how best to use this, if it worked. She could be direct... Or she could be sneaky. She could make Mirror associate whoever it was she had gone to see with a sting of pain, and eventually, Mirror would begin to dislike this stranger. Simple psychology. It all hinged on whether or not she was reading the wording of the spell right. Better not to count her chickens before they hatched. And then the peeled off keratin regrew. The stage was set. Mirror was hers to control as long as that spell remained unbroken. "I'll be home soon, mother dearest."