The painted mirror – part 12

Tim veered left and right. Damage and fatigue weighted down his body. His head hung low and his arms swung wide, grazing the sides of the walls. He had the devil of a migraine, and his arm was wet with his blood.

He knew where he would find his brother. His brother, the sacrifice. Would Robin be sawing off his finger when he came, covering the walls with his arterial blood or floored already and the bone cruncher feasting on his face? Would he? Tim dared not think of the scene deep in the cliffs where time had stopped. He kept on moving,

When he reached the opening, the light of the torch had long extinguished but to his surprise he had no need of it. His eyes had accustomed. That, and a blue light came out of the chamber of hands, it flooded out of the mirror. His brother was bathed in its soft light. His features were indistinguishable.

Tim came forward and tried to grab the mirror from his brother´s hands. There was a fierce wrestling between the two. The light dazzled  Tim making it difficult to see his brother but he knew it was him for his touch and his grip. There was a loud explosion, and Tim was thrown to the ground. When he looked up the body of his brother was gone. Darkness had returned.

“Tim,” said a voice. “Help.”

He tried to find the source of the voice but he could find nothing.

“Tim,” said the voice of his brother again but this time more urgently.

It was when Tim looked down and saw the panicked face of his brother burning brightly behind the vine painted glass in the mirror that he fainted.


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