Young Writers Society

Margaret awoke the next morning to a strangely familiar girl shaking her shoulder, in a room that was not her own. It took a couple of seconds for her memories of the previous day to return. When they did, Margaret found that her resolve had fallen tremendously. She sat up in her bed, and the girl waited patiently while she tried to collect the scraps of her willpower and pin them back together.

Her strength back where it belonged, Margaret went to the window and peeked out between the curtains. The sky was still dark and full of stars, the faintest light of dawn brushing the horizon. Incredulously, she turned back to the girl, only to see that she was holding open a door to an outside corridor.

"Well, at least let me dress first!"

"Forget it princess. You're not trying to impress anyone."

Margaret almost didn't argue. Although she was still in the damp dress from the night before, she wasn't sure she had the energy to change clothes, especially if she didn't actually need to do so. She was about to walk out the door when she remembered her decision from when she met the girl. No one would push her around, starting now, even over something stupid like this.

"I'm getting dressed." Margaret said, drawing herself up to her full height. This still left her rather short, but she was at least taller than the girl.

The girl seemed to find this amusing, and she smirked. That irritating, vile smirk of hers. Margaret was beginning to despise this girl.

"As you wish, dear lady, but you might wanna make it snappy. I won't wait forever you know." The girl at least had the decency to close the door.

Margaret pulled open the wardrobe that stood in the corner of the room. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but it wasn't this. The strangest assortment of clothes Margaret had ever seen hung in the wardrobe. Beggars' rags hung next next to dresses fit for a queen. Servant's clothes and farmhand's shirts were suspended beside shawls bedecked in diamonds. Margaret pulled out garments at random: a traveler's cloak, wizard's robes, a queen's riding habit, and what looked like a potato sack with arm holes.

Well, I suppose I have options.

Margaret selected a few of the more practical things the closet had to offer. She donned a pair of riding pants, a soft silk shirt, a pair of work boots, and the gray traveler's cloak she had found earlier. She stood before the intricate mirror in one corner of the room, and decided she looked ridiculous. Margaret realized that she didn't mind her appearance terribly. She was comfortable, and almost giddy. This was unusual, since Margaret wasn't a particularly giddy person. 

Margaret yanked open the door and marched out of her room into the hallway. The girl was waiting there. She looked up and down at Margaret's attire and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. If anything, she seemed amused. Does she always have that look on her face?

The girl turned on her heel and strode off down the hall. Margaret swept after, finding it much easier to keep up in the work boots than she had in her slippers. Thinking along those lines, Margaret realized that she hadn't seen her slippers since she had taken them off at the lake. Oh, well. I have plenty shoes to choose from now anyway.

Once again, the hallways twisted wildly, but the girl walked with sure purpose, leading Margaret down winding passages and tightly spiraling staircases. Margaret tried to keep track of the turns, so that maybe she could get back to the room on her own. Right, left, straight, down the stairs, right, hang on, what was that last one?

Margaret's feet were starting to grow tired by the time they reached a set of intricate double doors. The girl opened one of the doors, and Margaret stepped through into the room. She heard a latch click behind her, and she whipped around. The doors were locked and the girl was gone.

I suppose I should have expected that. Margaret turned back to face the room.

The room was about the size a small study, and mirrors lined the walls. Mirrors with intricate designs on them, mirrors without frames, mirrors of all kinds hung from hooks. From each mirror, Margaret's own face stared back at her. Somehow this made the room seem full of strangers, and smaller than it really was.

She felt suddenly self-conscious in her silly clothes, though there was no solid reason. She was alone wasn't she? Yet somehow, she felt uncomfortable, her own eyes boring into her, judging her, from the mirrors.

Margaret stood for a while, growing more and more uneasy by the minute. She closed her eyes, and could almost feel the mirrors closing theirs as well. She opened her eyes, and again felt self-conscious. She turned to the doors to escape the mirrors, only to find that the doors were hung with mirrors as well.

She turned back to the room, again straightening to her full, rather unimpressive height. She was not going to let Jasmine run off with her family's fortune. She was not going to be cowed by that girl. She most certainly was not going to be bullied by mirrors of all things.

"Go away," She said to the room. Her voice sounded strong and commanding even to her. She knew there was no point in telling the mirrors to leave, but it felt good to hear the power in her voice.

To her surprise, however, the Margarets in the mirrors obeyed. They glanced at each other and bowed out of the frames, leaving only the reflections of the other mirrors in an endless tunnel of frames.

A lock clicked behind Margaret. She stood for a minute, trying to wrap her head around the idea that she had just ordered mirrors to leave her alone and they had obeyed. Then, feeling good about having done something, she turned on her heel and marched briskly out the door. 

To her surprise, it did not lead back into the hallway, but directly into her room. She stepped through cautiously and turned to look behind her. Back through the door stretched a long corridor, the same one she had walked through to get to the mirror room.

"Have fun, princess?"

The girl was sitting on the bed, again fiddling with something in her hands, though Margaret couldn't see what it was.

Margaret ignored her, crossing the room to the wardrobe and hanging up her cloak. She looked out the window and saw that the sun was already high in the sky. How long have I been here? Margaret realized that she hadn't eaten since she had departed for the school with Jasmine. That had been at least a day ago.

As though reading her thoughts, the girl spoke up. "Food'll be up soon."

"What do they generally serve here?"

"Meals, little missy."

"Of course." This girl was exasperating, but she was also Margaret's only companion for the time being. Besides, Margaret felt that this girl had a story. She decided to try again for conversation.

"So what is your name anyway?" The girl's lopsided smirk slid off her face, replaced by something serious.

"I'm not going to tell you. I thought that was pretty clear."

"I told you my name." Margaret could tell she'd hit a sore subject, but she kept going. Any sort of relationship began with a name, and she had to call this girl something.

"So you did."

"Well... I can't call you 'girl' forever. Is there any name you particularly like?"

There was no response.

"If you don't tell me your name I'm just going to make one up for you. You probably won't like it."

Silence.

"I'm going to call you Elena. How about that?"

The girl didn't even reply; she stood abruptly and stormed out of the room.

"Hey, wait!" Margaret called after her as she slammed the door behind her.

Margaret stood for a moment, then sat heavily on the bed. Friendships usually came so easily to her. Why did this girl seem to hate her so much? And as she had rushed out of the room, she had looked... scared. Panicked, even.

- - -

As soon as I was out in the corridors, I broke into a dead sprint. Or at least I thought it was the corridor. I may have run out of the room.

She couldn't give me a name. She couldn't. That was how it had started with Anabelle. I would not fall into a doomed friendship again. No way.

I wasn't quite sure where I was running, but before I knew it, I was up on my roof, staring over the sun-soaked fields to the west.

How had it gotten this bad? I was always so careful about these things. Everyone hated me. I had made sure of that. And why hadn't I thought of some kind of response? I had just panicked and run. What was wrong with me? I didn't want to be friends with this girl, did I?

Of course I did. I had wanted a friend since Anabelle went missing, and I had just been hiding from the inevitable heartbreak. I still was.

My hand ached, and I looked down to see why. I realized I had crushed the butterfly I had been crafting earlier. Bits of metal wings and antennae dug into my now bleeding palm. Angrily I flung the broken insect off the roof. Unsurprisingly, it did not pick itself back up and fly.

It wasn't as though no one had asked my name before. It was just that they had never been so persistent, so determined to get to know me. No one wanted to be friends with someone who mocked them, someone who was cruel and mean. No one except Anabelle. And Margaret, apparently. 

It didn't seem like I could stop Margaret from trying to get on my good side. I sat for a minute, trying to work out what I should do. What was the name she had chosen? Elena? I liked the one Anabelle gave me better, but I couldn't tell Margaret that. She'd ask too many personal questions.

In the end I decided I would just go with it. I would go along with Margaret's game, and it would hurt later, but maybe I would find some actual joy this year. Something to look forward to.

When I got back to the room, I saw that Margaret had saved me lunch. A steaming bowl of tomato soup sat on a tray next to a small loaf of bread. I offered her a small smile. Small, but a real smile, not my favorite smirk. She smiled back.

Neither of us said anything, just ate in silence. I think she understood.