“Within the looking glass…

…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!)


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