(no subject)
What is the scariest thing that has ever happened to you?
I suppose the person who made me would have been smarter. I suppose you would think that they'd know what to do to keep me around for a very long time. Place me in the correct hands, start legends and horrible tales about me to try to frighten others into respecting my power. Provide consequences to every action that they may take to become close to my presence; provide horrific accounts of how someone's wish was taken the incorrect way, and all, for them, was lost.
They did all this. The Mirror of Erised is still a hallowed name in many places, and until the Potter boy came into Hogwarts and used me, my magic was feared in all lands.
Decades ago, I was housed in a mansion wherein a family of four blood relatives and tens of servants lived in wait for their master to return. My honoured place was at the eastward corner of the master bedchamber, surrounded by fresh flowers and dark velvet. The Lady of the house would gaze into me hourly, and because she was so vain, she considered me a normal looking glass. She would see a vision of herself so heavenly that she would preen and strut about the room (and the mansion, I gather) as if she were humanity's greatest gift.
Her husband was so livid at the gall she had to order about the servants, as if in his absence she had become something more than a trophy wife, that he brought out his pistol at once to shoot my glass. Had she not stepped in front of me, I would have shattered.
An enchanted glass is still simply glass.
What is so important to you that without it, life would not be worth living? Why?One day it might yet live.
To live a life, one must have one first.
But the Mirror isn't bitter.
To be bitter, one must be a person capable of feeling.
The Mirror was not the first of its kind, but it certainly was the last. Magic mirrors are forbidden items in some gatherings and considered cliched in others. Fairy tales to appease Muggles and hushed words of history classes have spread the knowledge of the futility of the use of mirrors in magic.
While certainly mirrors have their use in the aid of spells and understanding, enchanted mirrors are objects of the past.
Erised was forged of shards, gold and blood; something pulses within it, and yet it has no heart. It has thoughts and words and feelings, and yet it has no mind. It is jealous without the green eyes and heatblush of envy. Erised is a contradiction that wishes it could walk, an anomaly in everything but presence. Had it fingers to clench, its frustration would be seen. For all outward appearances, the Mirror shimmers under filtered moonlight and betrays the hearts of the beings that move into its view. The Mirror is shadow, still water, reflection.
But light does not reflect in the eyes of the dead.
I suppose the person who made me would have been smarter. I suppose you would think that they'd know what to do to keep me around for a very long time. Place me in the correct hands, start legends and horrible tales about me to try to frighten others into respecting my power. Provide consequences to every action that they may take to become close to my presence; provide horrific accounts of how someone's wish was taken the incorrect way, and all, for them, was lost.
They did all this. The Mirror of Erised is still a hallowed name in many places, and until the Potter boy came into Hogwarts and used me, my magic was feared in all lands.
Decades ago, I was housed in a mansion wherein a family of four blood relatives and tens of servants lived in wait for their master to return. My honoured place was at the eastward corner of the master bedchamber, surrounded by fresh flowers and dark velvet. The Lady of the house would gaze into me hourly, and because she was so vain, she considered me a normal looking glass. She would see a vision of herself so heavenly that she would preen and strut about the room (and the mansion, I gather) as if she were humanity's greatest gift.
Her husband was so livid at the gall she had to order about the servants, as if in his absence she had become something more than a trophy wife, that he brought out his pistol at once to shoot my glass. Had she not stepped in front of me, I would have shattered.
An enchanted glass is still simply glass.
What is so important to you that without it, life would not be worth living? Why?One day it might yet live.
To live a life, one must have one first.
But the Mirror isn't bitter.
To be bitter, one must be a person capable of feeling.
The Mirror was not the first of its kind, but it certainly was the last. Magic mirrors are forbidden items in some gatherings and considered cliched in others. Fairy tales to appease Muggles and hushed words of history classes have spread the knowledge of the futility of the use of mirrors in magic.
While certainly mirrors have their use in the aid of spells and understanding, enchanted mirrors are objects of the past.
Erised was forged of shards, gold and blood; something pulses within it, and yet it has no heart. It has thoughts and words and feelings, and yet it has no mind. It is jealous without the green eyes and heatblush of envy. Erised is a contradiction that wishes it could walk, an anomaly in everything but presence. Had it fingers to clench, its frustration would be seen. For all outward appearances, the Mirror shimmers under filtered moonlight and betrays the hearts of the beings that move into its view. The Mirror is shadow, still water, reflection.
But light does not reflect in the eyes of the dead.