Below, light shimmered and flashed between a thousand panes of glass, coming from nowhere and reflecting from everywhere. Alicia squinted, turning her face upward to the boundless dark that enveloped the space, as if the corridors of brilliance hung suspended in the void. Which, to be honest, they probably did.
“And where are we tonight, O mysterious guide?” Alicia asked.
The old man next to her looked exactly as she thought Merlin might, if Merlin were real. Which, apparently, he was, because Carl here claimed to be Merlin’s nieces’ son, via time displacement. Of course.
“This,” Carl said in his gruff voice, “is the Hall of Mirrors.”
“Ah. I should have guessed.”
“Well?” he barked. “Go look.”
Alicia sighed, but started down the marble steps hanging over nothingness. These dreams–she still called them dreams, though she knew they were as real as her waking life–always held a surreal quality. And a lesson. Always some sort of lesson. Like things weren’t always what they seemed and the world held more things than imagined in your philosophy, Horatio, and silence is a virtue. (She hadn’t really learned that last one yet.) Carl was preparing her for something, she was special, she could see things others couldn’t, yadda yadda.
Strangely, when she was here, in these dream realms, her waking life was shrouded, remembered in abstract ideas rather than images. Oh, she knew she attended high school and she had parents and three siblings, the general contours, but the rest was dark. And she knew she remembered these encounters, even when she woke.
Down among the mirrors, she managed to keep eyes open against the light, but it seemed to be beating against her brain like some death metal chugga-chugga.
“What am I looking for?” she asked.
“What do you see?” Carl retorted.
“Myself. Surprise.”
She was rather short in the polished glass, with short red hair and freckles. Decent-looking.
“Are you sure?”
In the next mirror she was taller, thinner (rather too thin), with black hair halfway down her back. She had been certain the previous reflection was hers, but now this one…
Now that she thought about it, though the line of mirrors faced each other, she saw only one reflection in each and not an infinite line.
The girl in the next mirror was almost certainly a champion shot putter, and Alicia was almost certain this was her true self. Oddly, this didn’t bother her.
If this wasn’t a dream world, she was sure she could just look down at herself and determine which images were not the true her, but as it was, any view of her own body slid away like words skimmed when half-asleep.
Down the corridor she walked, lingering before each image. She felt like she was choosing an avatar in a video game.
“So, what are you trying to teach me?” she asked. “I can be whoever I want to be?”
Carl made a sharp, choking sound. “No! No! That is dangerous, more here than in the waking world. This realm tempts you with possibilities, with lies. You must be real here before you can exert any power here.”
“So…I have to choose my true self?”
“Yes.”
“You do know I’m in high school, right?”
Carl said nothing. He didn’t understand.
“What if I get it wrong?”
“Don’t.”
“No pressure then.” Alicia looked in the next mirror. Light flared off her bald head. She looked good bald. She closed her eyes to rest them.
“Can I complain again about being special and all that? Normal people don’t have to perform trials while they sleep.”
“They have other trials.”
“Yes, of course. “ She paused in front of a beautiful young lady. Elegance radiated from her. “Not this one, I suppose?”
Carl said nothing.
“How do you see me?”
“With my eyes.”
She looked over at him. Not a smile, not even a hint of one.
The next image showed a mousy, nondescript girl. “Is this like Indiana Jones and that cup?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A crowd of young females stared back at her, one at a time–brazen, apologetic, startled, bored, confused, resigned. Her head throbbed. The far end of the hall was shrouded in darkness. Her reflection followed her in a hundred permutations as she strode for relief. She passed from light to dark as through a door. Carl entered behind her and was swallowed. Though she could see the hall beyond, not a glimmer of light fell past the dividing line.
Curious, she held out her hand. It touched the smooth surface of a mirror.
“What does this one show?”
Carl’s voice came from over her shoulder. “What do you see?”
She ran her hand along the mirror. A hand grabbed hers. Her fingers crawled up the arm, and its fingers climbed hers. She felt the face, touching ear and cheek and nose as they touched her face, action for action.
“This is me, isn’t it?”
“Tell me why,” Carl said.
“It’s not an illusion. It’s real.”
“Wrong. This is an illusion, too.”
“We can’t truly know ourselves. That’s why it’s dark.”
“Wrong. This isn’t philosophy class. This is basic. This realm is forgetful, wish-fulfilling. It’s wild and must be tamed by truth. What is the truth?”
“Fine. I don’t know who I am, and I need someone to show me.”
“Wrong. Look at yourself.”
“There’s nothing to see.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m dead?”
“Oh, criminy, no!”
Using both hands, Alicia felt the face before her, let her face be felt. Chin, lips, cheekbones, ear lobes, the soft pressure of eyes–
“Oh.”
“Yes,” Carl said, touching her. “And next time you come, you will remember.”
She woke in her bed. It was dark. It was always dark. She felt her face. Then she lay back down to wait for morning she would not see, blind.