…you’ll find what your heart has lost. Imagine him and he’ll come to you,” the old crone says.
I take the mirror she offers. I picture your face, warm and open, and suddenly you are there before me, arms outstretched, beckoning.
I run to you. It is only when I reach you that I see: your arms speak not of welcome, but warning.
“Run! Go back! Before she steals your soul, too!”
I turn, too late, and stare through the backside of the glass, the witch’s sharp smile and cold eyes gleaming from my own face.
(NOTE: I wanted to see if I could write a story in exactly 100 words. No more, no less. Including the title, which is really just a segue into the story anyway, I did it. Hooray for flash fiction!)