Smoke and Mirrors
Rating: PG
Characters: Sydney
Summary: She doesn't look into mirrors anymore.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.
***
The mirror was foggy after her hot shower: her reflection obscured by the masks of time and deceit. Somehow, all the soap in the world could not make her clean.
She could remember her first disguises, the first time she became a Kate, a Victoria, a Julia… back when she first learnt that mirrors were not her friends. She’d searched for herself, hunted for that shard of truth buried beneath layers upon layers of lies. Did she ever find something of Sydney there, behind the executive, behind the socialite, behind the killer? Had all those women been girls once, longing for the mother they had lost?
She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember what was real back then, what was inside, what was out, what was gone. There was just a pair of eyes staring out at her, dark and haunted, hiding memories of a million lives.
She didn’t look into mirrors much anymore. They never told her anything she didn’t already know; they didn’t offer a morsel of truth to keep her full-not empty, not starving. Instead, they reminded her of things that weren’t or were no longer, a pretense of life when there was only loss.
If there was any honestly left, she might have admitted or realized that it was fear that shielded the mirror, like fog on a cold night or smoke in a fire. Perhaps she was afraid the mist would clear away to reveal nothing, that there was only a pair of eyes left for her, that beneath the disguise there was only another Anna, another Allison, another Lauren-but not Sydney, never Sydney. She was afraid that even naked and vulnerable, there would still be a lie to peel away, and once they were all gone there’d be nothing left but bones.
But there was no honesty. And when cold air from the vents began to circulate, and the fog lining the mirror began to evaporate, she shivered and turned away.
Characters: Sydney
Summary: She doesn't look into mirrors anymore.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.
***
The mirror was foggy after her hot shower: her reflection obscured by the masks of time and deceit. Somehow, all the soap in the world could not make her clean.
She could remember her first disguises, the first time she became a Kate, a Victoria, a Julia… back when she first learnt that mirrors were not her friends. She’d searched for herself, hunted for that shard of truth buried beneath layers upon layers of lies. Did she ever find something of Sydney there, behind the executive, behind the socialite, behind the killer? Had all those women been girls once, longing for the mother they had lost?
She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember what was real back then, what was inside, what was out, what was gone. There was just a pair of eyes staring out at her, dark and haunted, hiding memories of a million lives.
She didn’t look into mirrors much anymore. They never told her anything she didn’t already know; they didn’t offer a morsel of truth to keep her full-not empty, not starving. Instead, they reminded her of things that weren’t or were no longer, a pretense of life when there was only loss.
If there was any honestly left, she might have admitted or realized that it was fear that shielded the mirror, like fog on a cold night or smoke in a fire. Perhaps she was afraid the mist would clear away to reveal nothing, that there was only a pair of eyes left for her, that beneath the disguise there was only another Anna, another Allison, another Lauren-but not Sydney, never Sydney. She was afraid that even naked and vulnerable, there would still be a lie to peel away, and once they were all gone there’d be nothing left but bones.
But there was no honesty. And when cold air from the vents began to circulate, and the fog lining the mirror began to evaporate, she shivered and turned away.