The first time...
It's like becoming someone.
The Mirror is lifeless, glass and gold, and it stays that way mostly. Mostly.
It was made to reanimate things, dead things. Not things that are lifeless, like the Mirror, but things that are dead, meaning that they were once alive. For hundred of years, the Mirror took a little bit of the lifeless magic inside of its glass and looked inside the heart of someone alive and made life. It was an important function, an important task. The last of that would disappear with Nicolas Flamel, the second-to-last of it with Lord Voldemort.
So, it's only natural that after It couldn't make life for the wanted dead person, It could show what sort of life a live person wanted.
That was complicated. It was a melding of heart and mind with magic, the ultimate invasion of self and the unconscious surrender of dream and desire. The person who was being soul-raped, violated without a consent other than a stepping of feet and a locking of eyes with a reflection of light, was sensationless.
The Mirror, however, was not.
That bending of light, the return of image to the eyes of the beholder, was the Mirror's one consolation of existence. For one brief moment, It was not just the glass and gold and lifelessness of normality, It was. Everything that made the person in front of that glass was transferred to the Mirror -- no airs, no lies, just the pure and honest soul that knows everything about the person. The Mirror knew more about a lover than did the lover himself, and his partner. The Mirror knew the child better than the parents that conceived it. The Mirror, in one moment, knew everything. In one moment, It was.
It's startling to be lifeless, and then alive. It hurt, a little, but it hurt like ecstasy, like the moment before release; a delicious hurt. It was sensation after numbness, after nothing. The Mirror could endure Its existence because it knew that sometime, It would connect once more.
However, the one pain, the one hurt that couldn't be avoided was the pain of when that person stepped away from the glass. When that connection, that being, was severed and the Mirror returned from life to lifelessness. It was like losing everything that had been important in a lifetime, all at once. It was devastating; crushing. Cruelty in its most sharp form.
The first time the first person stepped away, it was like death.
The Mirror is lifeless, glass and gold, and it stays that way mostly. Mostly.
It was made to reanimate things, dead things. Not things that are lifeless, like the Mirror, but things that are dead, meaning that they were once alive. For hundred of years, the Mirror took a little bit of the lifeless magic inside of its glass and looked inside the heart of someone alive and made life. It was an important function, an important task. The last of that would disappear with Nicolas Flamel, the second-to-last of it with Lord Voldemort.
So, it's only natural that after It couldn't make life for the wanted dead person, It could show what sort of life a live person wanted.
That was complicated. It was a melding of heart and mind with magic, the ultimate invasion of self and the unconscious surrender of dream and desire. The person who was being soul-raped, violated without a consent other than a stepping of feet and a locking of eyes with a reflection of light, was sensationless.
The Mirror, however, was not.
That bending of light, the return of image to the eyes of the beholder, was the Mirror's one consolation of existence. For one brief moment, It was not just the glass and gold and lifelessness of normality, It was. Everything that made the person in front of that glass was transferred to the Mirror -- no airs, no lies, just the pure and honest soul that knows everything about the person. The Mirror knew more about a lover than did the lover himself, and his partner. The Mirror knew the child better than the parents that conceived it. The Mirror, in one moment, knew everything. In one moment, It was.
It's startling to be lifeless, and then alive. It hurt, a little, but it hurt like ecstasy, like the moment before release; a delicious hurt. It was sensation after numbness, after nothing. The Mirror could endure Its existence because it knew that sometime, It would connect once more.
However, the one pain, the one hurt that couldn't be avoided was the pain of when that person stepped away from the glass. When that connection, that being, was severed and the Mirror returned from life to lifelessness. It was like losing everything that had been important in a lifetime, all at once. It was devastating; crushing. Cruelty in its most sharp form.
The first time the first person stepped away, it was like death.