A Reflection of Secrets (1st Place)

Word Count: 891

To Dannon, the mysterious dark attic was a little girl’s haven. For some strange reason, the dark-haired pretty girl felt so comfortable here, surrounded by the diffused gloom that encased the tiny claustrophobic room. Her guardian, Miss Tetherberry, was quick to deliver severe scoldings whenever she learned that Dannon had ventured up there on her own. The old woman’s words were often scathing and hurtful, claiming it was for Dannon’s safety more than anything else; but Dannon knew better.

Now shackled with raising a little girl whose parents had drowned in a raging storm while crossing churning seas, Miss Tetherberry made it adamantly clear to Dannon that she was more of a nuisance than a wanted soul. Dannon knew this, and in order to escape the sadness infusing her youthful innocent soul, the little girl allowed her imagination to rule her world … a world filled with too much sorrow and pain for someone so young.

Dannon found the attic quite by accident and it proved a far better place than being in the present, and disciplined for being underfoot all the time. She held her misery like an impenetrable shield around herself. If no one saw her tears or pain, then people would assume she had taken the death of her parents in stride; but it could not have been further from the truth. Dannon could have wept rivers of tears whenever she thought about the loss, especially of her mother, and she kept these intimate facts hidden from Miss Tetherberry. That cranky old woman did not need further ammunition to use against her.

Pushing aside dancing spiders that did not scare her and sprays of dust that tickled her delicate nose, Dannon found the magical mirror one rainy day during her explorations of the dusty room. She had leaned it against an old ornate chair, staring at herself for hours and wishing she had been on that ship that sank and took the only people she truly loved away from her. No one knew of the many secret conversations she shared with herself.

“Isabella Marquis,” Dannon would whisper to her reflection. It was her mother’s stage name and quite a famous name at that. Her parents were returning overseas from an opera opening when their ship went down. In the ensuing weeks that followed their deaths, the young girl had saved every article and newspaper clipping that detailed her mother’s operatic success, trying her best to keep the memory of her alive. Even today, however, the pain that scored over her small vulnerable heart remained as raw and vivid as if the tragic event happened only yesterday. Dannon’s most prized possession was a dog-eared magazine that detailed a full frontal picture of the beautiful woman who was her mother, articling the woman’s humble ascent to stardom. For days on end, Dannon sat in front of the mirror and dreamed ... wishing she were anywhere else but here.

Then one stormy night, as lightning flashed like angry rips through the ebony sky, Dannon awoke, bathed in sweat. She had had a horrid dream, hearing the voice of her mother crying out for help. Barefoot and still in her nightdress, Dannon crept up the rickety stairs with her favorite rag doll in hand. Thunder boomed like ominous rumblings in the distance and the little girl shivered despite herself. Once she opened the small hatch-like door and stepped into the musky, humid attic, all her fears disappeared, just as they always did. Sitting down upon the small wooden stool she positioned so carefully in front of the mirror, Dannon gazed at the sad, solemn expression that stared back at her.

“She misses you,” her reflection whispered.

Dannon looked not the least bit surprised. This was not the first time she heard the soft-spoken voice that was not her own rustle through the quiet of the old forgotten room.

“I miss her so much too,” Dannon murmured back. Placing her hands into small balled up fists, she placed them under her chin. The favorite magazine lay perched upon her tiny lap and she stared from the picture of her mother and back up into the mirror.

“Will ... will I end up looking like her … or ... or being like her?” Dannon stuttered at her reflection.

A sigh filled with such sorrow whispered through the empty expanse of the attic. “You will be just like her--and even more beautiful and famous. She will always be watching over you. Dannon. Never forget her, for she will never forget a wonderful child such as you,” her reflection answered. The sound that reached Dannon’s ears held the same lilting intonation that was uniquely her mother’s voice. A stray tear slipped down Dannon’s face.

As Dannon turned away from the mirror to return to her room, she found herself humming Te Deum from the famous opera,Tosca. It was the same musical song her mother used to sing her to sleep when bad dreams visited. Dannon stopped long enough to pick up her rag doll before tiptoeing toward the stairs that led down into Miss Tetherberry’s main house. No one saw the smile that creased over Dannon’s innocent face, nor the reflection whose ever watchful eyes followed the little girl as she left the dusty, forgotten room.