The Shadow and the Magic Mirror
Once upon a time, a princess was given a magic mirror as a christening present. The mirror was most wondrous, for it enabled her to see herself as others saw her.
No one knew that the one who gave the mirror was a wicked fairy. The fairy had used her own magic mirror to foresee the future and was forewarned that the princess would grow into beauty and magical power to rival her own. Her overweening pride and jealousy could not allow such a future, and so she gave to the little girl a trick magic mirror. The trick was that the young princess would grow up with no image of herself that was not born of how some other person saw her.
Since no two people ever saw her the same, and since the older she grew, the more divergent became others’ images of her, her self-image soon became fragmented and weak. On one day, she might look into the mirror and see a beautiful, poised, proud princess. On another day, she might see a frightened helpless child, a spoiled sulky brat or a sly manipulative seductress.
These conflicting images frightened and confused her, and she began to keep to her rooms as much as possible. Because the mirror encouraged her to believe that she herself changed to cause the differing images she saw, she began to think of herself as an uncontrolled shapeshifter. The magical influence of the mirror combined with her own innate magical abilities caused others to notice her changes as well; she became known for her ever-shifting countenance, so that by the time she was nearly grown she had no face that was truly her own.
One day, while pacing in her rooms, alternately gazing into the mirror and avoiding looking at it, she was startled by a small voice that seemed to have no source but the shadows in the darkest corner of the room.
“You must break the mirror,” the voice whispered.
“What! Break the mirror? Oh, that I must never do!” she gasped, whirling about in a futile attempt to see who had thus addressed her. “Who are you, to advise me so ill?”
“I am your shadow,” the voice hissed. “I tell you now, you must break the mirror.”
“Shadow? Nonsense; I have no shadow!”
This was true. The princess had gazed so much into her mirror that her shadow had slipped away from her to blend with the greater shadows in the castle.
“You had a shadow once, and it was me,” the shadow whispered in dry, rustling tones.
“I think not, for I am a princess and my mirror has assured me that princesses do not have shadows.”
“Every living thing, lest it be utterly transparent, has a true and ordained shadow of its very own. I am yours and I am telling you, you must break the mirror. You will never know your true self until you do.”
“If you are my shadow,” the princess demanded, “then prove it to me. Come now and attach yourself to my feet like a proper shadow.”
Slowly, like flowing oil, a small patch of darkness detached itself from the dark recesses and moved toward princess’ feet.
As it neared, the princess became frightened, and danced nervously about to prevent it touch her. The shadow whispered, “Hold still.”
“I will not,” the princess quavered. “I have changed my mind. I believe you. Don’t touch me.”
“Too late,” the voice rasped. It struck and stuck like glue to the soles of her feet, and nothing she did would detach it. Wherever she moved, the shadow moved also. After a time of futile leaping, twisting, rolling about and desperately rubbing her feet on the carpet, the princess collapsed on her bed, weeping bitter tears.
From beneath her on the bed, its rustling voice terrifyingly close to her ear, the shadow whispered triumphantly, “Too late, too late, too late. We are wed now and can never again be separated. I am your true and only shadow, and you must learn to live with me.
“And I tell you again, for the last time: you must break the mirror!”
“No!” shrieked the princess; but the shadow exerted itself to lift her from the bed toward the great mirror on the wall. To her horror, she could not stop herself raising it high and dropping it onto the stone floor, where it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.
In each fragment could be seen reflected a different face. In some she was old and in others she was young; in some she was ugly and in others she was beautiful; in all of them she was screaming.
In response to her cries a dozen of her housemaids and ladies-in-waiting swarmed into the room. When they spied what had happened, the maids busied themselves to sweep the silvered shards into a gilded wastebin. The princess kept the wastebin by her bed, but gaze into its depths though she might, nevermore did she see any single image, only a kaleidoscope of clashing reflections.
Her shadow stayed, of course, bothering her with its endless whispers. “Each of the images is false, but all together they are true,” it rustled in pleased tones. “Your true self cannot be shown by a single image but is a gestalt of all the images seen together.”
“Oh, be quiet or be gone!” she snapped. “This is all your fault! If it weren’t for you, I should still possess my beloved mirror.” With a tearful sigh, she turned her eyes from the golden wastebin.
“You grieve for the mirror,” the shadow rustled. “Why? Did it make you happy?”
“No,” she admitted, “I don’t suppose I can ever have been happy, for I was always so frightened of what others thought. But my mirror was my only friend, a better friend than you. It spoke to me often, as you do now, but so much more sweetly. I miss it terribly.”
“You will recover, and when you do, you will be grateful the damnable thing is gone,” the shadow hissed. “For though it appeared to be a blessing, it was an evil, and it has stolen your life from you. I should know, for myself it stole first of all.”
“And you, I suppose, are my life?” the princess jeered. “What are you, but a spot of darkness on the floor and a nasty nagging voice in my head? I believe I was fortunate to lose you and unlucky to have you back.”
“We shall see,” the shadow replied.