BREATHE

When looking in the mirror, she didn't see her own reflection, she saw that of a strangers, that of her mother's.

"Be careful of mirrors, my saffron," her silky, gentle voice rang through her ears. "They never show you the truth."

"Why?" She now heard her own childish tone, innocent and curious.

The answer wasn't spoken to her, but now she understood. She didn't see her own face, but her mother's petrifying features. Her smooth, porcelain skin, her long, dark eyelashes, and her deep, shocking red lips.

"Mirrors will try to deceive you, but do not worry, my dear, and just resist their traps," she had told her.

Breathe. Mirrors want to deceive you.

She closed her eyes, putting the lies of the mirror at the back of her mind. She grasped hold of the magical force around her, letting the sensation comfort her.

"But what if I can't?"

Her childish tone rung through her again. She felt something inside of her rattle, before she hushed the fear inside of her.

Breathe. Focus.

"Why couldn't you, darling?" Her mother's voice was still as smooth as satin. If she hadn't been so used to it, the certain silk of it could have been eerie.

She felt the force run through her hands as a gentle breeze would on a sunny day, igniting a sensation inside her, which could only be described as the balance of the forces inside her.

"I'm- I'm not strong enough."

With a hitch of her breath, her eyes shot open. The voice was so familiar to her, though it was the familiar sound that made it so strange, such a cryptic.

Breathe. Don't let it get to you.

"Oh, dear, you are strong enough, you are more than strong enough. You are just as strong as me, if not, stronger."

She looked at the reflection once more. Though this time, she focused on the eyes of the reflection. How piercing the emerald green eyes were, how they seemed to be seeing inside you what you didn't want to be seen.

"Mama, I'm scared."

Breathe, please. Breathe.

"Mother, I'm, I'm scared." Her own voice parallels that of her younger self, the same unknowing nervousness and the same childish desperation, a cry for comfort, for help, for anything.

The room was silent. She felt the power run faster through her palms, as if it had something tightening around it. She felt it latch on to objects around her, from the windows to the mirror.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Please, breathe.

Please.

The power went silent, and for a second, she couldn't feel anything, not even the force within herself.

"Katima," whispered the reflection, its lips curling into a slick smile.

She looked up, as the power return to her, overwhelming her with a sheer force she couldn't control.

Then, she screamed. It was the scream you'd hear from a scared child after a nightmare, and it racked her body in fear.

She heard the shattering of a window, the glass breaking and falling with a loud smash. She even heard the mirror break, the cryptic reflection fading into the fist as the mirror shattered into a million shards.

It wasn't her mother. It wasn't her childish self. It was all a trick, a trick her own mind and power had played on her, and she had caved in, because of her own desperation and fear.

Because a child could not handle such power, especially not a child as broken and as desperate as Katima Grishenfell.