Legends X – The Child from the Third Mirror

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They say there are three mirrors in every room: the one you see, the one that looks back, and the one that lives between. It is said to have happened in that crack of glass and breath, where light pauses briefly before deciding who it wants to be. It began on a rainy evening, in a house with no windows. Only mirrors, one facing the other, along a narrow hallway that looked as if it were built of patient light. A woman stood there with a candle in her hand. The wax dripped, and each flame reflected infinitely—a golden tunnel of itself. Then she saw it: in the third reflection, where there was no more glass, but only the memory of glass, something moved. A child stepped out. Not from the first mirror, which shows the face, nor from the second, which duplicates it, but from the space in between, where forms are still undecided. It had the features of all children and none at once, wore clothes of shimmer and shadow, and its eyes were like circles without edges. It didn't say a word. It simply stood there, breathing, as if it had yet to learn how to breathe. "Who are you?" the woman asked, and her voice echoed through all the mirrors, each echo a little later, a little older. The child bowed its head, and in the mirror behind it, the door that had never been opened closed. Later, it was said that the child cast no shadow, but also left no mirror behind. Where it stood, the surface remained dull, as if it had decided to show nothing more. It followed the woman through the rooms, looking at things, but never directly—always in their reflection. When it raised its gaze, it seemed as if it were waiting for someone to offer it a name. She called it "Light" first, but then the candle flickered. Then "No one," at which the child smiled, but as if it already knew that wasn't right. "What should I call you?" she asked finally. "How you recognize me," said the child, and the words came not from his mouth, but from the reflective wall. With each day, the house grew quieter. Pictures disappeared from frames, her own face faded into the shell of the mirrors. When she looked into them, she saw the child behind her, ever closer, never tangible. Soon she hardly dared to walk past the walls, for in every reflective surface lay the possibility that one of her faces was the wrong one. Once she turned and saw herself standing at the other end of the room, the child holding her hand. She knew only one of them was breathing. So she asked, "Which of us is true?" Then the child lowered her head, touched the glass with her fingertip, and all the mirrors in the house began to breathe.