This is Me
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Story time
Fae mirrors
Nyra was as ancient as the giant oak Wyrmwood, but today was the first day she felt her age. She climbed out of the glen’s tranquil pool where she had been bathing and journeyed through the trees towards Mistbloom’s heart. She needed to confer with the Wyrmwood, the most knowledgeable of trees. Nyra was a dryad, a nymph, a tree spirit, one with the forest, as much a part of Mistbloom as the ancient oak itself.
When she reached Wyrmwood she was dismayed. Its majestic boughs were sagging, leaves spiraled down around her like golden tears. Death should not come to this, the very nexus of life. She merged into the tree’s bark, feeling its embrace; an embrace which normally revitalized her, lifted her spirits, and allowed her to connect with the entire forest through the roots which spread outwards deep and wide. But today she felt nothing, as though the Wyrmwood was distracted, its thoughts elsewhere.
Deeply concerned, Nyra bounded through the trees towards the Sacred Grove. Other dryads called out at her passing, but she didn’t slow to answer. If anything was wrong with the Wyrmwood the entire forest would know about it soon enough.
She arrived at the Grove, pushing through an ivy curtain and looking at the heartwood mirror, a fae relic left behind from an era when even the Wyrmwood was a sapling. She peered into the looking glass, and what she saw made her leap back in shock. For the face
which stared back at her from the mirror was not her own.
Fen, a mire witch from Silvermoss swamps, peered through the mirror and looked upon an unfamiliar face very different from her own. Whereas Nyra was calm and serene, Fen was chaotic and wild, and while Nyra radiated serenity and thoughtfulness, Fen threatened unpredictability and brashness.
“Who are you?” Nyra asked. “What are you doing in the mirror? Are you harming the Wyrmwood?”
“Who am I?” Fen repeated. “I might ask you the same. It’s you who appeared in my mirror. Today, when a blight threatens Silvermoss. I ought to extract you, to be rid of you.”
“Wait. I’ve heard of this Silvermoss. It is many miles away. I’m in Mistbloom.”
“The forest. I know of it, across the Arcanium Peaks. But the mirror has never formed a link before. This is trickery. Fae magic. Is it your doing? What are you, a nymph?”
“Yes. You may call me Nyra. Who are you?”
“A mire witch, and should I need to, I could pluck you through this mirror and fill your mouth with peat.”
“I sense a deep anger in you.”
“My marsh is being polluted, and there is a stranger in my mirror. You sense correctly.”
“Look,” Nyra said, “Let’s see if we can figure out why we have been brought together. Here in Mistbloom, the great tree is ailing, something is wrong with both our homes.”
This gave Fen pause.
“Hm, then I am not alone in this situation… Let me consult the mirror.”
Nyra watched in amazement as Fen weaved her hands, muttering a quiet incantation. The mirror rippled like water, and its frame glowed. An ethereal voice filled their minds.
“Greetings,” it said. “You have come seeking answers, and answers I shall give. Though the solution is to be your undertaking.”
“No riddles, mirror,” Fen said. “What is causing this, and how can I fix it?”
“Maelor, fae born is the cause. And it is your task to fix this together.”
“Together?” Fen said, “I need no help from a tree spirit. Show me where this fae is, and I will deal with him myself.”
“You need each other if you are to enter the Glimmer,” the mirror said.
“The Glimmer?” Nyra asked.
“A fae dimension. Outside of time. When Maelor’s power reaches its potential, he will be free of his prison. You must stop him. Not only Mistbloom and Silvermoss stand to lose then, but all of Vyrindor.”
“And why us? Why is it our realms being infected?” Fen asked.
“When the fae faded from Vyrindor, two of their mirrors were lost. One in Mistbloom, one in Silvermoss. Maelor has another in the Glimmer. The one he is plotting to escape through, and the one through which even now his magic is leaking.”
“The dryad will only slow me down,” Fen said. “I’ll go alone and take the fae’s head.”
“You are reflected, here. If one of you steps through the mirror, then both of you must. Simultaneously. Otherwise, you will not enter the Glimmer.”
“And why should we trust you, mirror?” Fen asked, bluntly. “Are you not fae yourself? How do we know you do not speak with Maelor’s voice?”
“You have no option but to trust me. Maelor will escape if you do not act. You must work together, and swiftly. It is the only way.”
“We are nothing alike. I’d be better on my own,” Fen said.
“You are mirrored reflections. Two sides of a coin, order and chaos, unity and anarchy, serenity and turbulence, harmony and discord. Only by working together will you stand a chance.”
Fen seemed about to object, but Nyra, using the voice of reason, spoke out.
“And how are we to accomplish this?”
“I am no mere looking glass, but a door,” the mirror said. “You must pass though.” The mirror shimmered.
Nyra hesitated, but the weakening of the Wyrmwood was becoming more evident, so she took a breath and stepped through. Fen, never one to overthink things, cursed and barged
her way through. They stood face to face in a nighttime world, on a vast plain, beneath a shroud of stars with an eerie tower shining in the distance.
ACT 1