Tale 61- The Boy's Endless Reflection

 The Traveler made her way to the other side of the town, where there was a woman hanging up her washing. She dropped several pieces of clothing, much to her frustration, so the Traveler ran over and picked them off the ground before they got too dirty, quietly offering to help the woman wash them again. Grateful, they headed toward the communal well, where the air was punctuated with the chatter of gossiping women, discussing a foreign prince’s recent marriage to one of the village women. “She’d have been a fool to refuse, especially without so much as a dowry. I wonder what he saw in her.” one of them nattered, the Traveler quietly listening as she helped the older woman clean her clothes. Another piped up. “Did you hear about those boys caught together? What disgraceful conduct!” she spoke, the rest of the women murmuring in agreement and berating them. Quietly, the Traveler asked her companion what was happening, the woman explaining that two unmarried boys had been caught in the forest one evening engaging in romantic conduct, something that was absolutely abhorrent. The Traveler felt sick to her stomach, remembering how she and Sarafelle had engaged in similar conduct. Were they abhorrent? But it felt so right… She went back to cleaning the clothes, trying to ignore the pit in her stomach and the colour draining from her face. “They won’t face punishment, luckily, but if it was my daughter she’d be stoned in the square. I wouldn’t protest.” The same woman spoke again, the rest murmuring in agreement. The Traveler felt herself tremble, her mind flashing with images of Sarafelle being pelted with stones that made her sick. Trying to soak the clothes despite her trembling palms, she began to fall down the familiar hole of thoughts. She was without a dowry too, should she have been grateful? He did choose her, and these women…they were right, surely? What did an inexperienced child like herself know? Her breathing increased, the girl holding her palms under the cold water and rubbing at them nervously, as if she was rubbing away their words. She was…she was a waste, surely…but Sarafelle hadn’t seen her that way. Her chest began to feel pained, as if her heart had been stabbed with a needle, and she fell to her knees, the other women staring in shock as she managed to steady herself. Soon, they were whispering, and her companion led her away disapprovingly. As they hung up the washing, the woman sighed. “Apologies for their conduct. They’re closed-minded gossips, don’t mind a word they say.” she spoke, the Traveler shrugging and helping to complete the chore. When they were done, the woman led her inside for a spot of tea and some food, something the Traveler appreciated profusely. The words still lingered in the back of her mind, however. Was it possible for her and Sarafelle to engage in romantic conduct without the scorn of others? Her family would surely view her as a fool for fleeing the knight, just as she’d always known. But to hear that the future she’d envisioned with Sarafelle was also in jeopardy…she tried not to think about it. Behind closed doors, where the walls prevent ears, that’s where secrets lie, for better or for worse.

The woman handed the Traveler a cup of tea and they sat together, the Traveler briefly explaining she collected tales. Curious, the woman offered to tell her one she’d heard recently in the square, the Traveler readily agreeing and taking her book out to write, the woman telling the tale of ‘the Boy’s Endless Reflection’

‘Once, long ago, there was a boy capable of walking through mirrors, hands warping and twisting the cool glass until he could fit. Making his way through the realm beyond, he would appear on the other side instantaneously, travelling with ease. However, there was a witch who was extremely jealous and who wished to harness this power for herself. She captured the boy and tried to steal his magic, but he escaped, though not without her hexing him. Subsequently, the boy tried to walk through the mirror, but found that each time he did, his reflection would follow him. A sea of duplicates was created, following the original boy around as he walked. One day, he grew hungry and entered a town, where they were incredibly horrified by the army. Believing it was an invasion or curse, they shot the group, splintering the thousands of glass children into shards. However, as the final shot rang out, one of the duplicates fell on the ground, bleeding from the chest. As the rest dissipated into shards, the original boy lay on the ground, cold and still, and victim of the cruelty of another.’

The Traveler wrote the tale in her book with her usual precision, the woman preparing some food and understanding she was likely to leave soon. After handing her the food and showing her the door, she gently touched the girl’s shoulder, who jolted slightly in surprise and yet didn’t shift away- this was once again good contact. The woman gave a gentle smile. “Do not concern yourself with the thoughts of others, little one.” she whispered, the Traveler nodding and giving a wave as she walked away.