Prose by Erica Leal

Edited by Hanna Yang

Deep in the forest, there lay a river, hidden behind foliage and under the protection of the night. Silver tendrils rippled across its surface like shooting stars on land, each bearing the weight of a memory, a soul. It had spent years waiting, stirring but never quite waking, until a deafening sob cut through the air, shattering the balance entirely. From who, it could not be sure, but its essence searched for her, yearned for her.  

The Looking Glass was said to show one that which they desired most. Yet as she sat at the water’s edge, brushing away tears, a seed of doubt took root. She had never quite understood its power, for how could it provide her with what she so desperately sought after? 

She spun the ring on her finger. Once, twice. With each brush of the cool metal, she sank deeper into the dewy grass, convincing herself to take a leap of faith. She had nothing left to lose, she reasoned, but everything to gain.

There was no sensible explanation for her being there other than fate. Each walk led her to the river, but today felt different. She felt it call to her, urging her to dive into its likeness. Come to me, it seemed to say, I’ve been waiting for you.

As she lowered her face to the water, it glittered in the moonlight, winking at her. “Me,” she whispered, “I want to see the real me again.” 

Then, she plunged.

Where she expected water, she landed on solid ground. Walls surrounded her, containing her in a cage of sorts as the Looking Glass assessed her. Pressing a hand to the cold, a shiver ran down her spine and through her scars. Something about the surrounding darkness left her feeling exposed. It was as if it could see beyond her soul, studying the intricacies of her essence. 

“What are you?” she questioned.

Welcome home, it purred. 

Taking a breath, she pushed against the glass, testing its limits. It groaned under her weight, but ever so slightly gave way, allowing her to walk through the threshold and blindly search the space. Unsure of what she sought, she followed Darkness’ call, for it was unfamiliar, but somehow felt right. A tether to the heart of the unknown.

The deeper she descended, the warmer the room became. Darkness’ soft purring turned to growling, but still she followed. 

Somewhere along the path, she felt the tether tug. Breath licked her neck and she turned, only to be met with a beast beyond the images of nightmares. Shadows swirled around it, hiding its entirety to all but the woman in front of it. 

Darkness watched the young woman carefully. She did not scream. Nor did she tremble at its grotesque appearance. Instead, she inched closer as if drawn to the macabre.

“Why do you not run?” he asked as she reached toward the beast, who roared and clawed in the swarm of shadows.

The tether had since disintegrated, but her heart still thundered. “Why would I not stay?” she countered, squinting at the creature, whose bellows increased as the distance between them shortened. Its chaos intrigued her. It felt both reckless and powerful– like a star that might explode. 

Yet, Darkness did not respond. He hid within the beast’s swirling dust, awaiting her next move as if in a game of chess.

Check mate, my love. 

It morphed then, sending coils of darkness flying through the air. 

Claws became hands. Fangs became a smile. Fur became an unruly head of chocolate ringlets. 

Reaching out to cup its face, her hand hit the glass– contained once more. She searched its eyes and as they blinked back at her, she found her answer. 

“I am the monster.”

 Her chest rose and fell, but her voice never waivered. The Looking Glass shows one that which they desire most.

“Not a monster, my child,” Darkness called, beckoning her closer. “A force to be reckoned with.”

A bitter laugh left her throat. She found it hard to trust those words, meant to comfort her into acceptance. “Then why does it appear so vile?”

“We villainize what we do not know,” he explained, “but do not mistake ferocity with evil. You wished to see the real you.” 

Its eyes–her eyes– watched in the reflection of the glass. She gazed into them like a window to her soul, trying to make sense of the creature. Those eyes exuded strength, yet softness, their golden hue ablaze as if powered by the sun itself. 

“Delicate,” he whispered approvingly. “The appearance of a flower, yet the fragility of a bomb. A force to be reckoned with, indeed.”

At her silence, he turned to the young woman. His thumb found her chin, softly prying her eyes away from herself and toward him.

“Like all people, your soul can be both alluring and cruel. You must be to survive in this world. To those unwilling to look beyond the exterior, you are nothing more than a creature the world can shun, blaming for what they fail to acknowledge in themselves. Those genuine enough to search beyond will find the heart of a lion hidden beneath the layers of protection. That creature is the armor you’ve built to defend what lays inside.”

“Why is it so thick and beastly?” she asked, running a finger along her forearm. As if the scaly protection might manifest on her own body.

“The world has not been kind to you, nor has its inhabitants. As is often the case with pure hearts. Spoken for and judged by others with your silence perceived as the confirmation of truth. The love you exude, exploited.”

He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead as she sighed. Her heart sobbed, bleeding for the young girl inside, who once fell for the world’s carefully crafted illusions of love and kindness. If only she had known then what her wiser self knew now. As she ruminated, his wisps of darkness gently caressed her hair– a comfort she did not need, but welcomed.

“Little lion,” he called, “do not let impulsive minds sway your heart. We do not choose the cards we are dealt, but you must now choose how you play your hand.”

As his warmth faded, she found herself on the riverbank once more, clutching the overgrown grass and wildflowers blooming at the water’s edge. She peered down at the river and, this time, saw the creature staring back at her. Yet, its eyes were kind and gentle. A human soul hidden away from the brutality of the world.

“Delicate,” she repeated, “yet formidable.” The words held a finality to them. A freedom. She smiled as the swirling waters swallowed the image and with it, her tears. 

When she finally rose, the world was quiet once again. She brushed off her dress, cleaning more than just dirt. With each swipe, she felt lighter, cleaner, steadier. The time had come– she was ready.

“One foot in front of the other,” she breathed. 

Then, she took her first step. 

The earth cowered beneath her feet, rattled by the woman who was finally standing firm in her truth. A wicked smile crossed her lips as her words echoed through the forest. I am more than the rumors they whisper of me. I am more than the fortress that surrounds me. For when I search my heart, deep down to its core, I love the kindness it bleeds despite the many ways it has been wronged.