Carrie Bebris: Suspense & Sensibility

"I imagine so After all, Mr. Dashwood is not getting any younger."

She added several stitches to the bedgown. The mundane task, undertaken in the comfort and security of Pemberley made their encounter with the Mirror of Narcissus seem as though it occurred long ago. However, one had only to recall Mr. Dashwood's matured countenance to remember that awful

day vividly. She raised her eyes to her husband, grateful for the thousandth time that she had not lost him to the mirror's curse.

"You have a distant expression." he observed.

"I was thinking aboul the Mirror of Narcissus," she said. "I have often wondered what image held you spellbound. Where Professor Randolph bade you imagine yourself as you wanted others to see you, did you create a younger representation of yourself, as had so many victims before you?"

"No, older."

"Older?"

"Not advanced in age, so much as in understanding," he explained. "I pictured myself the kind of man my father was. A teacher with wisdom to impart."

"To someone like Harry?"

"To my own son. Or daughter."

She pushed the needle through the muslin and brought it up again. Darcy sat down beside her, observing "That is a handsome dress — I think the finest of all you have made for Jane. Your sister will treasure it, I am certain."

"This one is not for Jane."

"It is not?"

She met his gaze and smiled softly. "No, it is not."

He did not speak, only gently look the dress from her hand, and set it aside so he could pull her close. As he gathered her into his arms, she looked forward to seeing him as he had seen himself in the glass — a father to the child who had been the cause of the mirror's destruction.

A soul for a soul. That had been the mirror's price, and all it could contain. But in that terrible moment when it had tried to claim hers, unknown yet even to herself, her body had held two.

The End