Damnation

. As I place myself in front of the mirror and look up, I can barely believe my eyes. I see my reflection obviously, but my image is sorta fading as the body of a girl appears by my side. In the real world, I’m alone in this room, only surrounded by the walls and probably the forest out there, but in the mirror I’m not alone. I don’t understand but I can’t talk to ask questions or say whatever my mind wants to say. As her image gets clearer, I can see she’s crying and trying to touch my shoulder, but I feel nothing. She’s only an illusion, some sort of a nymph in an oasis. Her presence is undetectable but my eyes see her perfectly. I touch my face as if I am the one who’s crying, and she gets the message. She wipes her tears away and smiles to me. I smile back, she looks much prettier like that. She’s terribly skinny, even skinnier than me, I can see that as she stands there in her green dress, which covers all her body except her neck. Her skin is dreadfully white; I hope she’s not dead. She’s moving her lips, probably talking, but I can’t hear a thing. I wonder how her voice would sound in my ears… Now she’s pointing at me, and then to her mouth. Does she want me to talk, to say something? Oh… I wouldn’t know what to say to such a bright creature! Who is this girl, mirror? That’s my mind thinking, as my eyes stare the cold surface where I can see this girl pronouncing something with her lips – which I can’t understand even though I recognize the movement she imposes to her mouth. Can you hear me as I think? She nods firmly, looking at me with a smile on her face and the brightest light I’ve ever seen I her eyes. Who are you? She does it again, moving her lips trying to make me understand her name, but I don’t have the ability of lips-reading. However, as I recognize once more the movement of her mouth, I remember and I say her name, forgetting that she possibly can only read my mind.
. Niamh?
. Her smile becomes bigger now, a honest smile that I like a lot. Niamh, the girl who wrote me the weirdest letter ever?! She nods and her smile goes back to a simple expression of calm in her face. It must be terrible, not having the possibility to talk… She looks down… How old are you? With her hands, she shows me ten fingers raised up, and after a short pause, nine more. Nineteen, then… She nods.
. Do you live in this mirror? It’s a stupid question, but she looks down and when I get to see her face again, her eyes are really sad and I immediately feel the answer. Why? She moves her shoulders and looks to her hands, telling me that she didn’t know why she was there, and probably how she got there… Now she’s pointing at herself, you, and then to her heart, both hands landing on her left side of her chest, love, and she points at me. I feel uncomfortable. I read it your letter, you’re our fan? She gives me a no-answer with her head and she points at me again. My fan?! She nods and smiles again, really smoothly. I smile back… I do what I do because of people like her, who enjoy our work and return it back with something, whatever it is. She has written me a letter, telling me about her existence and giving me her house. Your letter was a little weird… She’s looking at me with a deepness in her eyes that kinda scares me. Once again she tries to touch my shoulder, her body showing me tones of hope that I could feel her but I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t feel you… Her eyes look down, so does her hand, and her expression shows me unhappiness… I see no smile now, and a single tear pours down.
. Tell me something. She looked at me. Why did you write me? She is starting to smile again, but her face doesn’t continue it. I see unhappiness again. I see her pointing at herself and then to her cheek, on a descending movement on her face. You were crying… you were sad? She nods. You were unhappy? She keeps nodding. How sad... Maybe she felt lonely when she wrote me that letter. Her words, I remember, were really hard to read, and I’m so sorry for her condition. However, there’s one question I have to ask. Why did you give me your house?