Dinah sat at the dusty table, the dog-eared books with tea-stained pages lying next to her. She was tired, very tired and after so many nights of trawling through the endless piles of ancient tomes to find something, anything, on what Vincent was looking for while he was still here, her heavy, kohl rimmed eyes were just about ready to shut. She leant back on the creaky, splintered chair and ran her pale fingers through her short raven hair, sighing. She stared up at the detailed ceiling, following the complicated patterns with her ice blue eyes. The minute carved leaves and cherubs were beyond her. How could someone have the time and effort to spend so long carving? And then it came to her in a burst of inspiration. An idea that would finally give her somewhere to channel her feelings, and maybe even contact Vincent again, if only in a one-way manner. She leaned forward and pulled a piece of crumpled line paper towards her, dragging a pen out of her pocket. She placed the nib to the paper and began to write.

Through the Mirror

The devotion to the darkness,

Spreads through the inky water,

Flowing weakly through the shadow valley,

Staining the white rocks black.

The chalky pill I force myself to swallow,

Dulls my haunted mind,

Loosening the sharp pain's grip

On my mind.

The cross around my neck,

It hangs so discreetly,

With lace and vines entwined so delicately,

I feel as if it is the lock,

Binding my heart to earth.

The fear of the darkness,

It causes me to hide away, far, far away,

In white shadowed corners,

And in labyrinths made of riddles.

Mazes, through their twisted gates I flee,

Losing myself in the murky waters.

The powder courses through me,

In a sickening pulse,

I become so comatose,

I can hear the soft thudding of my heart as it slowly beats to death.

The people,

The stare at me,

Look down at me,

Worry for me.

But I do not need to be worried about,

My wide eyes are covered by gentle hands,

The pale hands of my golden-haired prince,

Who came to me one misty day,

Out of the shadows,

And into my light.

He pulls me out of the lurking depths of my own darkness,

And shields me as we walk through this mausoleum of decay,

Of true madness and longing.

I cannot exist without you,

My prince,

Yet you were so cruelly torn away from me!

Wrenched away from me by slender hands,

Cold, stone angels with crooked wings.

In my despair,

I retreat into the depths of my mind once again,

Lost in the maze of lace and frills,

The rose coloured halls of my mind.

I took everything that made me,

And scattered it to the piercing wind.

I put my trust in the deception of spirits,

And let my heart believe that the darkness would clear,

And I could see you again.

But the cold stone I rest on made me realise,

As I clench my fists and let the tears dry on my cheeks,

That you are with me anyway.

Into my warm embrace your memory flies,

Letting me know that it'll be ok.

And the darkness that I so despise,

Is not an enemy anymore.

And so I walk,

Hand in hand,

With my beloved friends,

Treasuring the memory of you,

That rests in the ornate music box of my heart.

And as the lifeless mannequin combs my shortened coal black hair,

I listen to the music box and smile,

So bittersweet,

At you,

Watching me through the mirror.

Dinah stopped the pen suddenly, drawing an end to its frenzied movements. She stared, wide eyed, at the paper and the scrawled words that were on its yellowed surface. The word seemed to resonate with her heartbeat, glowing with passion and emotion. She smiled, still half panting, trying to get a gulp of the crisp, cold air around her. She had barely breathed at all while writing it; she was so caught up with the flow that she forgot how too. The smile widened as she realised what she had done. Even after speaking with the mausoleum, she had felt down, but now, the air was so fresh and she could once again taste the dust in it. She inhaled deeply. A musky scent like old books filled her nose.

The smell of Vincent.

Dinah revelled in it for a few minutes, filling her mind with memories. Then, she got up and began to make her way to the door, passing the old angelic statues and dusty portraits on the way. As she walked, she caught sight of something in the corner of her eye, something she had never seen before. It was a stained, yellowed cloth, draped over a large object. She reached out with her pale hands and pulled it off, sending a cloud of dust cascading into the air. She coughed and covered her rosebud mouth with the purple sleeve of her cat-eared hoodie. The object was a tall, elegant mirror, with peeling gold paint on its delicately carved edges and a lucid surface like calm water.

Dinah took a small step towards it, and placed her hand on it. It was cool to the touch. She stared at it with her sky blue eyes taking in her own perfectly oval face. The corners of her mouth curved up into a smile and she turned away from the mirror, walking out of the door into the bright sunlight, illuminated by the light and leaving.

He emerged from behind the marble staircase and grinned with a spiteful curve to his mouth. His eyes were shadowed and covered by his golden hair, but you could tell this child had something… not human about him, from his ripped, stained shorts to his little black striped waistcoat. That and he was in the mirror. He turned away and vanished into the black gates of the reflection, still grinning.