Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. I seem to be on a Wanda kick lately. R/R if you enjoy it.
It's a funny thing about mirrors, about what you see in them. Scientifically speaking, what you see in a mirror is really just an illusion. Light hits the glass and reflects off of it. The image you see is actually behind the glass. It's weird to think about that since what you see in a mirror is a reflection of what's in front of it.
Mirrors can show you a lot of things. I stand before the one in my room and contemplate what I see. This image I see, is it really Wanda Maximoff? Do I really have such sparkling cerulean eyes and such alluring raven-black hair? Certainly Todd would say so. But what about what I would say? Is the image in the mirror Wanda Maximoff or just an illusion? I look beautiful in the mirror. The light makes my eyes sparkle and my skin look smooth and creamy. But is that really me in the glass or just what I want to see?
Perceptions are like mirrors in a way. They're illusions, reflections of what could be true or false. Todd perceives me as the most beautiful girl on Earth. Am I really? Probably not. See, the trick is how you perceive yourself. I used to think I was worthless and unloved. Therefore I couldn't have been beautiful or pretty. But Todd's starting to change that. I used to look in the mirror and see an ugly monster staring back at me. Now? Now, I see a very pretty girl. But am I really either of those things? Am I an ugly monster, a pretty girl, or something else?
"Do you really need to ask the question?" My reflection distorts before my eyes, turning into the girl I used to be.
"No," I reply, "He knows what I am." The reflection smirks. It haunts me sometimes, the person I used to be. It is the darkest part of me, the part no one should have to see anymore. She's done enough damage already. But still, she haunts me sometimes. I can't escape that person. She's always in the back of my mind, waiting till I fall to strike.
"Sure he does," replies the reflection with a smirk, "and I suppose you take his word for it. But how do you know for certain? How can you say he loves you? He lied to you before about your memories, maybe he's lying now."
"That's not true," I tell the mirror, "He does love me; he's always loved me."
"But will he always be that way?" questions the reflection, "Look at you, you're an ugly monster. Maybe he pities you so he throws you some scraps. Maybe loving you makes him feel better about the way he looks."
"That's a lie," I retort, "Besides, you're not even real. You're just an illusion."
"Maybe you're the illusion," suggests the reflection, "Maybe I'm looking in a mirror and seeing you as a reflection. How can you know for certain?"
"Stop," I tell the mirror, "He loves me. He cares about me. He hugs me and kisses me and makes me feel like a human being again."
"But are you really a human being?" asks the reflection, "You remember what it felt like to have those murderous thoughts in your head. You enjoyed it, loved it. You love losing control, giving yourself up to all the darkness inside you. It's why you can't get rid of me, why you still have me around. You're a monster and deep down you love being one."
"I hate you," I snarl at the mirror, "I hate the way you look, the way you talk, the way you make me hurt everyone around me I care about. I hate you!"
"Then you hate yourself," replies the reflection, "and since you hate yourself so much you'll always wonder whether or not he really loves you. You'll always lie awake at night wondering if he's dreaming of some other girl. You'll never be good enough for him, not as long as I'm around to remind you of how horrible you really are."
"Then I'll get rid of you," I tell the mirror. I concentrate my fury, my anger, my rage. I tap into that part of me, that part that's still an animal locked inside a cell. It all congeals together into one single glare. My hex slams into the mirror, the glass fracturing into millions of different reflections.
'You can't kill me so easily,' whispers the reflection in the corner of my mind, 'I'll always come back.' The presence vanishes now but the reopened scars still bleed. Bad thoughts enter my mind as I stare at the fractured and broken glass. I remember what it was like to have hot blood running down my arm. Maybe I am inhuman inside. Maybe all the things Todd says about me are just an illusion. I stare at the fractured glass, the inside of my mind as cracked and broken as the mirror. There was no image behind this mirror. That's quite alright. I know that it's just in my head.
Mirrors are funny things. Sometimes they just show us what we want to see but sometimes they can show us the ugly truths we'd rather not see. Maybe I am a monster inside and all the things everyone else sees, all the things Todd sees, are just an illusion because that's what they all want to see. As I stare at the mirror again, a strange thought runs through my mind. I just broke a mirror; superstition says I'll get seven years of bad luck. It doesn't matter to me much. The voice in my head reminds me that I already had nine years of "bad luck". Now the only thing I can do is try not to let what happened to me turn me into a monster again.