The unwed bride

Today the fog looked more menacing than usual. Instead of sticking to the tops of the trees as it would on most days, it stayed firmly planted to the ground.  

I was going to the well to get water for the day, when I was met by a strange sight.  

It was a woman, a beautiful woman, dressed in an even more beautiful gown. I was no expert, but by the looks of it I would say it was a wedding dress.  

The upper part was flawless, with a bodice covered by intricate patterns, reeking of wealth and carefree life. However, the skirt... its once delicate fabric stretched behind her, dragging leaves and twigs, looking as if she had run through a forest. Her veil was burned, its former length unknown as now it barely brushed her shoulders. 

And her face... oh dear...  her pale skin complimented by red lipstick, made me wonder if she could be a vampire but I quickly dismissed that as I saw her very much human teeth. But it was her eyes that startled me the most, probably once beautify lined by make up now resulted in streams of black tears streaking down her face.  

She was clutching a mirror, a big mirror, one that didn’t belong in the woods where people have nothing but the lake to see their reflection. But I guess crying brides don’t belong here either. I could hear her weeping, hugging the mirror as if it was a person who could return her hold. Well, spoiler alert, mirrors cannot do that.  

The fool I was, I didn’t move, instead, I found myself approaching this strange woman.  

“Miss? Are you alright? Can I help you?” 

Startled, she let go of the mirror, “If only you could help me sir, I fear only he can do that now.” the tears began to trickle down her cheeks again, her gaze stayed glued to her reflection.  

“It’s cold today, Miss,” I knew the choice to invite her to my home wasn’t wise, but part of that grieving sorrow in her expression rooted itself in my mind, and I couldn’t let myself to leave her here. “I have a cottage not far, maybe a warm tea would be great.” 

“No no no no no,” she shook her head violently, still not looking at me, “I can’t leave him here.” 

“Leave who Miss? There is no one here.” I quickly looked around us; the fog made it impossible to see past the first two rows of trees surrounding the little meadow with the well. I lived in an isolated cottage, yet it wasn’t uncommon to find lost travellers who came off their path. This only prompted me to urge her more. “It is rather dark today, Miss, you would be safer inside. We... we can take your mirror, too.”  

“You would?” She looked up at me for the first time, the sorrow in her eyes softened by something resembling relief “I cannot leave him behind again.”  

For my own sanity I convinced my ears she said “it”, a mirror is an “it”.  

“Yes, I will.” I stepped closer, waiting for her to let go of the mirror, when she did, I picked it up, surprised by its weight. “It's just past those trees” I said referring to my cottage, the woman just nodded, walking slowly next to me. I looked sideways at her, she was strange indeed, sorrow and grief seemed to have permanently marked her face. 

The journey was longer than I would like. When the familiar wooden door finally closed behind us, I found myself exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding.  

I settled the mirror against the wall, grateful to not feel its weight pressing down on me anymore. I cleared my throat to ease the awkward silence. “Would you like sugar in your tea?”  

The woman, her attention once again captivated by the mirror, sat down on the floor in front of it, “No sugar, just lemon.” She gently brought up her hand to brush off something only she saw off its surface.  

I nodded, and took the opportunity to exit the room, not bothering to tell her the last time I had a lemon in my pantry was 5 years ago. “In her state I doubt she would even recognize the difference,” I thought to myself, then quickly scolded myself for having such unkind thoughts about my guest. Yes, she was a guest, and regardless of her attire and attachment to mirrors I will treat her as I would treat anyone else.  

I can hear my uncle’s voice in my head, “Kindness buried more men than hate did.”. Nonsense, he was a bitter old man, with no wife or children. I will not take his advice to my heart.  

I stepped out of the small kitchen, with tea in one hand, and bread in the other. I stopped short in the doorway. The woman was talking, but not to me.  

“Don’t worry darling, we are okay now.” she said to the mirror, and for the first time I saw her smile. “I can see you clearly now, and you are so happy to be here. The priest must have lied when he said, “All is well in the gardens of Eden”, because you didn’t like it there did you? No, you want to be here, with me.” 

 I was tempted to ask her who she was talking to, but I decided against it. Some questions are better left unanswered. I managed to put somewhat of a smile on my face. “Your tea, Miss”, I set it down on the table, careful to avoid looking at the mirror. Its ornate frame made me think of the Enchanted mirror from Snow White, I pushed the thought down.  

“Thank you, Sir.” She didn’t bother looking at me. “But please, call me Mrs.” 

“Alright.” Unsure how to respond, I made a hasty retreat into the kitchen, muttering something about having to clean up.  

Even from there I could hear her soothing words. “See, we are taken care of. I remember how you’d always worry about me, darling. You needn't anymore.”  

I busied myself with the dishes, occasionally glancing towards the main room, but the woman didn’t move. The lemonless tea forgotten on the table.  

“You promised me you wouldn’t leave me.” I could hear her muse. 

“I haven't forgotten that darling.”  

I didn’t know who she was talking to anymore. I was fairly certain it wasn’t me. Was it the mirror... or “he”? Or was there no difference between those two?  

My thoughts were disrupted by a loud crash coming from the main room. I immediately abandoned the dishes and rushed into the room. I found the mirror face down on the floor, its glass scattered across the wooden boards.  

The woman sat motionless beside it, her laboured breathing cutting through the loud silence. 

“Mi - Mrs, I am terribly sorry...” I crouched down next to her. She could be strange, but no person deserved to be as sad as she seemed at that moment.   

“Mrs?” My words faded into silence. I watched her without another word. 

“Darling?” Her trembling fingers hovered above the broken pieces. As if afraid her touch would make them disappear. “No no no no no, he told me it would work.” 

“Can you hear me? Darling?” Her voice cracked at the end.  

I stared at her, helpless. I wanted to say something, offer her comfort. But all the words I could think off seemed inadequate.   

Her eyes left the shattered glass and bore into mine. For a moment I thought she will cry, instead she offered me a sad half smile, “Thank you for your kindness, Sir.” She stood up, adjusted her veil so it fell down her black streaked cheeks, and before I could respond or stop her, she walked out the door. Leaving the mess that was once the mirror behind.  

“Mrs!” I followed after her, but I only caught a glimpse of her dirt covered dress train, the fog had already swallowed her whole.  

I stayed on the porch for a while, I believed she would return, come back for at least a shred of the mirror she seemed to love so much. She didn’t. I was alone when I came back to the room. Only to find the mirror, or whatever was left from it, gone. Not a trace of it. The woman had left and never came back. 

It started to rain then and I let myself believe if it was all a dream.  

But ever since that day, whenever I wandered into the woods, I could hear her faint sobbing coming from the well, even if there was no one there. And just in that little moment I remember the strange woman who sat on my floor talking to a mirror.