The Mirror Pool Lina — Story 04

The creature was a delightful puzzle. It looked like a scurry-fluff, with a body made of soft, dandelion-like fluff and far too many ears that swivelled independently, but it moved with the hopping gait of something that had misplaced most of its legs. Lina had been trying to sketch it in her notebook when it had given a flick of its fluff-tail and bounced away into a part of the woods she rarely explored. Her curiosity, as always, was a stronger guide than her sense of direction. She followed, and the creature led her on a merry chase before disappearing entirely into a thicket of bell-vines. But its disappearance had served a purpose. It had led her here.

Before her lay a pool of water, so perfectly still and round it looked like a giant silver coin that had been pressed into the soft green moss by a careless god. The air around it was hushed, reverent. No insects buzzed above its surface; no breeze dared to ripple its face. It was a place of deep, ancient stillness, a mirror left behind by the sky.

Drawn by its profound quiet, Lina knelt at its edge. The reflection was flawless. She could see the impossible blue of the Vaelinyan sky, the intricate branches of the trees overhead, and even a lazy jelly-bird—a creature that looked like a floating jellyfish trailing ribbons of light—drifting high above. And there, in the centre of it all, was her own face, framed by its familiar messy curls.

She smiled, pleased with the secret she’d found. But something was wrong. Her own lips had curved upwards, but the face in the water remained still, its expression serious and watchful.

Lina’s smile faltered. She tilted her head, a question in her eyes. The girl in the pool didn’t move. Her reflection just stared back, its gaze steady and unnervingly direct. Lina blinked once, twice, a flicker of unease fluttering in her chest. And then the girl in the pool smiled. It was a slow, knowing smile that didn’t match her own nervous expression at all.

“I know you,” the reflection said, its voice not an echo, but a clear, resonant sound that seemed to rise from the depths of the water.

Lina stumbled back, her heart thumping against her ribs. She scrambled to her feet, staring down at the impossible image. “You’re… you’re not me.”

The reflection stood up, its form shimmering but solid within the watery world of the pool. It was her, no doubt about it. The same wild curls, the same sprinkle of freckles across her nose, the same deep, thoughtful eyes. But this version of her stood differently. Her shoulders were back; her chin was high. She looked brighter somehow, bolder, as if the light she held inside was turned all the way up.

“I am you, you that doesn’t hide,” said the pool-girl, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m you, you who answers the teacher’s question even when you’re not sure you’re right. The one who climbs the tallest branch of the singing tree just to see how the world looks from up there. I’m the one who sings her song out loud, even if it’s wobbly.”

A flush crept up Lina’s neck. She thought of all the times she’d known an answer but stayed quiet, afraid of being wrong. She thought of the tall, inviting branches she’d only ever admired from the ground. “I can’t do those things,” Lina said, her own voice sounding small and thin in the quiet woods. “I try, but my voice gets stuck. My feet get scared.”

“Not yet,” the reflection corrected softly. “You don’t do them yet. But you did once. And I remember how. I think that’s why you came to find me today.”

Lina crept closer to the edge of the pool again, mesmerized. “How can I remember something I’ve never done?”

“But you have,” the pool-girl insisted. “You did, once. A long time ago. Before the world taught you that being quiet was safer than being loud. Before you learned that being wrong felt worse than being invisible. That memory is still in you. It’s just… sleeping.”

Lina frowned, her brow furrowed in concentration. She tried to remember a time she felt that brave, but the memories were hazy, like the reflection itself. “But I don’t feel brave,” she confessed in a whisper. “Right now, I mostly feel like running away.”

The pool-girl knelt, bringing her face level with Lina’s, their noses almost touching at the water’s invisible barrier. Her eyes were full of a powerful kindness. “Feelings aren’t facts, Lina,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re just weather. They pass. Sometimes you don’t have the feeling of bravery to help you. Sometimes you just must choose the brave action first. You take the step. You speak the word. You sing the note. And you let the brave feeling catch up to you after. It almost always does.”

Lina stared at the girl who was and was not her. This girl believed in her. With a shaky hand, Lina reached down toward the water’s surface, wanting to feel if this was real. The reflection mirrored her exactly, her own shimmering hand rising to meet hers from below.

Their fingertips touched the surface at the exact same moment.

And then—splash!

It wasn’t a normal splash. A jolt of cool, clean energy, like gentle electricity, shot up Lina’s arm. The reflection didn’t just break apart into ripples; it shattered into a thousand motes of shimmering, silver light. For a breathtaking second, the light swirled in the water like a tiny galaxy before spiralling inwards and rushing back into her own true reflection. The ripples spread out, touched the mossy edges of the pool, and vanished.

When the water settled again, only Lina’s real face stared back at her. But something was profoundly different. Her eyes looked a little taller from the inside. Her gaze felt a little steadier. There was a quiet hum of readiness in her chest. She was still just Lina, but she felt more like herself than she had a moment ago.

Later that night, as her mum tucked her in, she asked her usual question. “Did you find anything interesting in Vaelinya today?”

Lina nodded from under her warm blankets. “I found someone. She reminded me of me.”

Her mum smiled, smoothing her hair. “That’s a very good kind of someone to find.”

“She was loud,” Lina whispered, her voice getting sleepy. “And strong.”

“Maybe you are, too,” Mum said gently.

“Maybe,” Lina whispered back, her eyes closing. But tonight, the word didn’t feel like a doubt. It felt like a promise.