The large room was always filthy, the furniture covered in dirty green sheets and the curtains so thick with dust the colour was no longer discernible to the naked eye.
But the mirror stood proud and golden in the middle of the neglected and musky floor, tilted up right like a robin with a bursting chest of pride it waiting for a visitor. Someone to stare and worship, chew lip and worry about what they see in the clear glass of truth.
The days whirled by and the room got heavy with age. The light outside forgot to hit the windows and let the rest of the house know what time it had. The ceiling groaned as the children skipped and played above and the outside corridor forgot to make room for a door.
A door that had the skin of the wall swallow it whole. Suck it out of existence. it was no longer a fixture. It was a place in another world. A world with no one, a place with no beauty.
But a mirror to watch it all pass by forgotten.
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