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username: ♔Voltaire♔ | name: Azella
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what does she see in the mirror?:
Azella's mirror was a family heirloom, one that had been passed down from generation to generation over the decades. The glass had been replaced many times, but the frame remained as ornate as ever- stained with age, but incredibly detailed. Hand-carved decals bordered the glass, swirls and waves so smooth and so perfect, and Azella couldn't help but run her fingers gently across them and wonder of those before her had done the same.
Looking into the mirror she could see a thousand stories painted across the glass, faint illustrations of the lives the mirror had been a part of. She could see a young, proper lady scrutinizing herself in the glass as a group of maids fuss with her curls and pearls. She could see a young man fixing his attire, a small child running around him with a small doll. Young couples admiring their youth, lipstick lines and finger stains, perfume residue and mascara marks.
She could see her great-grandmother fastening her jewelry around her neck, picking at her eyebrows and pinching at her cheeks as if it would make them rosy enough for her first date. She could see her slamming her door and throwing herself on her bed, sobs wracking her body, and as she approached the mirror her tired, red, puffy face so vivid as if Azella was face-to-face with her. All in one blur through the replaced glass she could see her great-grandmother's life as it could have gone, her at the mirror, her doting husband watching over her as she fixes her makeup. She could see small handprints, those of her grandmother's as she is raised to look at herself in the mirror. Her grandmother's life playing out like a movie before her, until Azella's very own mother comes into view, her mother teasingly pointing to the mirror, her mouth forming the words, "Who is that?"
And then there was her mother, as beautiful and as radiant as ever. Her mother had told her many stories from her childhood, ones that Azella couldn't help but imagine as she lay in bed. Looking into the old mirror, she felt jealous; if only she could have lived when this mirror had experienced her mother's teen years, seen the lipstick kisses on the glass and the ink-stained sticky notes posted to the frame. And then there was Azella in her own childhood, nose pressed to the frame and puffing hot breath onto the glass, drawing her name in the foggy space it created through her mother scolded her for it many times. Azella may not have remembered all of the times she used this mirror, but the memories continued to resurface as she looked into it, remembering how she herself smudged it with her fingers, drew her own lipstick lines and cracking the glass when a haywire ball was thrown by her siblings. She could remember the tears she shed as she stared into it, the late nights she scrutinized her reflection in it's silent, cold glass.
Yes, that mirror had seen it all, the pain and happiness of everyday life, the cracks and scratches from years of use. Azella's mirror was truly a gateway into her history, an item that remained to remind her of who came before her, the strong individuals that survived to pass it along to their children and so forth, and down to her. Looking into the glass, she could see the story of her family, one that will forever be carved into the reflection of her dusty, old mirror.
extra: (optional)
This is how I imagined Azella's heirloom to look like!
by hiraeth + hound » Wed May 08, 2019 2:35 am 
