One a sweltering summer day in a long-forgotten land, a small young woman was walking home from her work as a stall keeper’s assistant. The long days in the acrid smoke of the bazaar have weathered her skin, and for a girl fresh into her twentieth year she already looks to be well into her thirties. Dusky, rough skin blends with a simple cloth tunic, and her hair is frayed and unkempt—perhaps straight by nature, but frizzled to such a point as to look no better than a gorilla’s coat. How ironic, that her being born to such a prosperous city in the wrong social caste has condemned her to a harsher life than had she simply been raised in the outlands…what’s more, if she lived that far out then she wouldn’t have to face the higher echelons of society every day. Witnessing their flamboyant wealth, how effortless their lives seem…some days, it’s nearly too much to bear.

As she walks along the alley path, winding and waning towards the waterfront district where a shack mere feet from the central canal of the city holds what little possessions she has to her name, a glint catches her eye. Off to the side, beneath a pile of dust and garbage, a bright light calls her attention. She stops, kneeling down to see what’s creating such a glow; she finds a mirror, encrusted with gemstones and flawless, weighty gold. The dust slides effortlessly off of the pristine glass as she lifts it by its mahogany handle, seeing her reflection.

Normally, she’s repulsed by her appearance; the years of witnessing opulence pass her by day after day with no real way to change her fate have worn her raw. But, this time…she likes what she sees. Her hair isn’t as bad as she had thought; and the light gives her skin a warmth, as opposed to a dull sheen from the drying sweat of the day. More than that, the face that stares back at her has something more beneath; confidence—no, not just that…it’s self-assurance. Her inner fire, something she thought worn out of her by the time she came of age.

While she enjoys the sight of such a fine thing in her hands, the girl thinks more rationally for a moment. She could sell this. It’s clearly well-made, and she could not have to worry about money for quite a long time…perhaps she could even buy passage elsewhere; to start a life in a place that might not treat her like she’s either a pretty face, or a tool. In the midst of her daydreaming of a better life however, realization strikes her. They’d think her a thief. No one comes into something this nice, from as low a station as she has unless they steal it; true or false, that’s what people would think. A stab of dejection comes across her mind, but as her eyes drift back to her reflection, she sees herself once more. She does not see a thief; if others wish to think of her as such, then she’ll simply keep the mirror and enjoy its sight—and her own. Perhaps she’ll even try rinsing her hair tonight…

It’s been a week since the girl found her most prized possession, and the week has been one of the best ones she can remember. Falling asleep with the gleaming thing in hand, waking up to the sight of her peaceful expression, it’s reinvigorated her confidence. Confidence enough to let herself smile; to try speaking up instead of nodding and looking to the stall owner when a customer asks about an item; even complimenting some of those beautiful women who stop by. They still look down at her all the same, but she doesn’t mind as much as she used to—she knows when she gets home at the end of the day, she gets to look into a mirror as regal as any of them might have. Indeed, it’s as if the mirror being so wonderfully crafted could make anything look better; she could swear that her hair’s been hanging a little straighter, a little fuller. But, she has been washing it nightly, so it’s certainly just that.

Merely a day later, she’s practically skipping down the familiar path to her waterside home, as happy as one could be—someone had complimented her today! Just some farmer looking for a tapestry for his wife, but he said she had such a nice smile—and pretty teeth, too! The girl can’t remember the last time she had unbidden praise come to her; and she was already doing fine that day, so it wasn’t as if it was a pity compliment! Oh, she’s almost tempted to visit one of the many evening bars in the city’s nicer districts—not to go in of course, they’d never allow her; but to just, be near such enjoyable, lovely people and perhaps envision what she’d be like if she were one of them…

Two weeks pass, and now the girl sits bared in her canal home—the hour is late, and she feels secure enough to douse herself without fear of lecherous men straying too close—or worse. Her hands run through sleek, full locks of sable strands that flow from her scalp, finding them to feel as soft as any of those nobles she sees at the stall. They run down, guiding more water along her form…and she pauses. She always follows the same routine; the same motions in washing. So much so, that she picks up the slightest of differences…such as how her form feels decidedly less malnourished than it was merely a day prior. She hasn’t changed anything about her routine…

After her bath, the girl slips back inside, not even bothering to put her sack of a dress on. Inside, she goes straight for the mirror, placing a hand on her hips as she angles the reflective glass, keeping part of her face in the frame as she looks over her figure. It’s still thin, but…no longer does she look scrawny. By her gaze, svelte; perhaps even supple…maybe it’s the fire, but she looks positively glowing right now. Petite with full locks of hair, self-possessed surety that beams from her visage…perhaps it’s time to take a chance.

Nearly a month since that day, the day where her life started turning around, the former stall assistant walks towards one of the more popular bars in this part of the city. She’d seen this one a few times, from a distance, always working, never loitering—that was for those who had time on their hands. Now? In a rich, dark purple gown with gold embroidery she walks up to the entrance—her gown ‘borrowed’ from the stall of some brute of a seamstress. Before, she wouldn’t have dared steal from others, but now? She’s earned the right to wear something fine. It was better that she, someone with character, charm and class got it than one of those arrogant tarts that she used to be intimidated by at the bazaar, flaunting their hollow looks and attempts to distract from plain features. You can dress up a pig, it’s still a pig.

This diamond in flesh, taking the first steps into the smoky, dimly lit bar, knows just what she is. It’s a shame she took this long; a shame she waited this long to quit her old job—but tonight, she knows things will be different for her. Someone with her grace and looks doesn’t need to work all day…With enough confidence in herself to talk down to an Empress and the poise to know not to do such a thing, the night passes as none other have for her before. Smiling with flawless, numerous teeth, flashing her naturally divine eyelashes; and of course, plenty of times to admire herself in her mirror, kept with her at all times now. Others occasionally want to see it and she lets them view themselves in it; never telling them no, but always being the one to hold it. It’s hers, after all. They never look as good as she does in it anyway…

That first night as the socialite she was meant to be went better than she had hoped! She had not only managed to attract the eye of a wealthy trader—young, rising in influence, handsome to boot—but he had requested her to spend the following evening with him, alone! She couldn’t just sit in her drab shack to pass the time…so she decided she’d take a stroll through her old life, and the bazaar that felt like a prison mere months ago.

Rows of fine spices, opulent silks and gleaming jewelry…how could she hate such a place? It’s made for her! If only she had the coin available to buy what she pleased…but if tonight goes well, that won’t be a concern any longer. Still, perhaps she could abscond with just one necklace…something golden, to go with her skin—and her mirror. She hasn’t let go of it in days now, always stealing glances into it when not paying mind to anything else…it’s such a pleasing sight, to see someone like her. Someone better than the harlots she used to envy.

Just when she was about to steal another glance at herself through it, a particular necklace catches her eye. Lain out on a velvet cloth, fine, small links of gold interwoven with rubies meet her gaze…it’s perfect. It’s hers…and as luck would have it, the shopkeep isn’t around—just his assistant, some unimportant girl that won’t even dare to meet anyone’s gaze. With arrogance to match any other in the city she saunters over to the stall, glaring down at the cowed assistant girl. Messy black hair, drab, revolting clothes; such an ugly sight for her gorgeous eyes to take in! That’s price enough for her to pay for this necklace she thinks, clutching it tightly as she glides away from the stall as her old life raises their eyes up to stare enviously at her.

Dolled up and ready to impress the divines themselves, she’s spent much of the evening in constant bliss; drinking and smoking with the trader from before without a care in the world but to seize the moment. When she meets his gaze, seeing the same look in them that she had when she saw her necklace, she knows it’s time. Asking for just a moment to freshen up, the girl departs with a sultry wink, eagerly stepping out onto the trader’s balcony as she takes her mirror from the folds of her gown, staring deep into the glass while she primps her hair.

Beautiful, aren’t you? The words echo in her head, spoken but not so much heard as felt. It’s deep yet feminine, warped yet enticing…but not a natural allure. Something…otherworldly. She freezes in place, unable to look away from the mirror even as unease fills her psyche. She finds she can’t even move at all…forced to look at that mirror. Her appearance, regal and alluring shifts, briefly becoming exactly as she was before she found the mirror—and then instead of her face, someone—no, something else’s entirely.

Her looks, her newfound boldness…suddenly she realizes just how little of it was truly from herself. So beautiful…and so fortunate to have found me…or did I find you? Every word emanating within her mind is another spike of anxiety, coalescing into pure terror within her. Still unable to move, that alien presence only grows inside her psyche, drowning out any chance for her to form even enough coherence to respond. The entity relishes the growing panic within the frozen girl, its unearthly eyes within that mirror locked on the girl’s beautiful gaze. You’ve done well for yourself…or, it says with a self-indulgent chuckle, Should I say myself?

Terror unknown by any human overtakes the girl as she opens her mouth to a silent scream; a lifetime of wants, hopes, dreams and goals flooding her mind in an instant before being consumed, burnt away like kindling. The pain lasts for an eternity and an instant, her last moments of existence felt as Hell, while being able to remember nothing but that final moment until the last vestiges of the girl’s twisted mind fade from her mind, drawn to the mirror she so adored as its reflection fades, the gilded metal turning a charred black.

“Yes,” the girl’s body says, her voice just a little deeper, more befitting a seductress than a young woman but still the same voice, “I think I should.” The demon tosses the befouled, gnarled mirror from the balcony into the canal below, chuckling to herself as she feels the anguish of that foolish girl trapped within. Gliding forward with smooth, practiced steps that accentuate, entice and flaunt as only a being that’s learned how to do all at once over countless years could, the girl slips back inside, finding the trader this body’s former owner was so kind enough to bring to her.

He looks over just as she takes a seat, smiling politely. “I was wondering where you went, you were gone for longer than I thought.” An amused smile from her follows suit, “Does beauty this good look like it’s done in an instant?” She asks with a wink.

“I suppose not. What name does such a beautiful woman carry, then?” The demon in a dead girl’s body preens with self-satisfied pride, leaning in to whisper into the man’s ear.

“Lucretia.”