Tired Doll

stepping through the door, she makes a mark on the floor once more. a tally mark, this time, with a small arrow to show where she came from. she'll pass back though here, she's sure, so there's no reason to bother showing which way she's an about to go. it's always in circles.

the Witch freezes beset by the odd sensation that someone is watching her. she turns slowly, scanning every mirrored surface, every corner, and sees... nothing. no one.

”... right, well... nothing to be done.”

as she sets off down the new corridor, she swears she sees strange movements in the corner of her vision, like an echo, a visual echo, as if someone were intentionally mirroring her movements. yet every time she turns to look, she sees naught but herself.

it didn't take this long last time... last time she got stuck for a while, sure, but she was about to move beyond the first stage fairly quickly. she's already slept a few times, and the floor in front of where the door had been looks like it's been sandblasted. her poor knife. so many marks.

every other surface simply showed her reflection. nothing more, nothing less. just her as she always was.

after another second in eternity passes, she finally hears a door slide open.

pass the arrow, add a mark. pass the arrow, add a mark. pass the arrow, add a mark. pass the arrow, add a mark. pass the arrow, add a mark. pass the arrow, add a mark. pass the arrow, add a mark. pass the arrow, add a mark. pass the arrow, add a mark. pass the arrow, add a mark. pass the arrow, add a mark.

far away, long ago, Daedelus blushes.

“who... was that?” it was only half a second, and the cracks distorted the image, but that wasn't her reflection. strange.

she frowns at the mirror, willing it to open and let her see again, but it doesn't budge. after losing a staring contest to her reflection, she crouches with a sigh, and carves an arrow on the floor with the blade from her belt. she's been here before, she knows that this place will have her going in circles, so she may as well keep track. y'know, for research.

and so the Witch strode into the maze, following her own arrows, her flawless self-assuredness only slightly dinged by that strange reflection.

“who was that?”

“ughhhhh, my head... wh-where am I?” a dark room, a hard floor, cold air. smooth walls, cool to the touch, slippery like... “glass? wait...”

she curls her hand into a loose fist, flexing her fingers out sharply. “... huh?” she repeats the gesture again and again, unhappy with the results. “why isn't it...? no... no no no...” in the time she'd spent fixating on her apparent powerlessness, her eyes had adjusted to the dim light and she sees... herself. infinitely. “so it's brought us here again, then. wretched thing, I should have shattered it the last time.”

she lifts herself to her feet. feeling at her belt for her gear, she breathes a sigh of relier as her palms find themselves wrapped around small satchels and the handle of her athame.

she makes a beeline for the doorway, knowing full well that the only way out of this place is already roaming the maze. she knows she'll find her quarry, even without magic. she did so last time, she'll do it again.

as she crosses the threshold, a glint in the corner of her vision catches her eye. a cracked mirror but...

the door slams shut, dissolving seamlessly into the wall.

the wind has stopped, all is silent.

two painted eyes stare at each other from across the room, shimmering flecks of pearl white and glittering gold lie between them.

footsteps.

only the sound of rushing wind cuts through the all-consuming darkness

somewhere else, somewhen long dead, a small girl holds something cold, something fragile, something lifeless. a small girl crying, a loving cat at her side, relentlessly rubbing his head on her arms. it's the fourth day this has happened this week, and it's only thursday. four days in a row, six weeks in a row, three years in a row. the girl has cried so many tears that they no longer fall. no matter how much she sobs, there's none left to cry.

it would be easier, she muses again, to not feel. to not breathe, to not hurt. it would be easier, she reasons, for others to not have to worry anymore, to not have to fuss about her health or her sanity, or the endless doctor's appointments, or the fights with family over her medication, or the special treatment at school to help keep her out of harm's way.

it would be easier to simply not be. not to die, not to sleep, just to no longer be.

with a single tear, her wish is granted. the pearlescent hand that she holds closes its fingers around hers, the painted eyes shimmering awake as if moistened by her tear. the Doll grows to match her height. it kneels before her, her head in its hands as it gently presses its forehead to hers. cold, hard, yet delicate and frail. she sees her life play out before her eyes, so many happy moments, and so, so much pain.

and then it stops. the memories are gone, she is gone, and all that remains is an empty vessel. an empty vessel, and a Doll to carry on in her stead.

and as she stands to leave, the cat backs away from her, darting behind the Doll.

“Curious.” the Witch tilts her head in askance, just for a moment, then leaves without a trace.

another day(?) in the mirror maze and the Doll, having lost all sense of time and direction, just keeps walking. every so often, it encounters a false mirror with a reversed reflection, and it's forced to confront a version of itself in the form that everyone else sees, in order to step through the illusion and... make progress...

is it making progress? the Doll feels further and further from whatever goal it's been progressing towards. endlessly looking at itself and seeing nothing but a cracked empty vessel is wearing heavy on its soul, yet the maze does change, and each section is different than the one before. however similar this part feels to where the Doll was before, it is new.

with a sigh, the Doll takes another step. looking down, it realises that its reflection here looks... different. is that... flesh? real hair? the woman in the mirror is eerily familiar, but there's some disconnect between her image and the Doll's memories.

the floor shatters. the Doll falls.

24... 25... 26... wait, there should be a wall here. the Doll has been counting steps, suspicious that the walls might be moving. an endless maze of mirrors, invisible passageways, and now shifting corridors... wherever it is, whatever the reason for it being here, it's clear that they're not supposed to leave any time soon.