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I’m on my way by road and rail to visit my father in the northlands. I’m hoping he will love and accept me. Where my father lives, there are few mirror people. Because of this, we are an object of fear to some, an object of magic to others. In the cities, things are somewhat different.
My father is not of the dark mirror people. When he was younger, he was a traveling singer. He and his troupe traveled from region to region praising the joys of love, truth, and sex. He met my mother on one of those journeys and lay with her. He hardly knew her name. Like so many other women, she liked the thought of lying with a great and famous minstrel and one night when those who came to listen to his songs had all left, she spoke to the keeper of the doors and he let her in. She stayed there all night and in the morning she rose up and left. She said he was kind to her, although he did not know her name. A month later, she became pregnant. She told him and he told her to get rid of it. “The child was created from a whiskey bottle,” he said, “and not from love. I could not love it.” He said he could not love it because she was not loved, but my mother heard, “I cannot love this child because it will be, like you, one of the Dark Mirror People.
"The People of the Dark Mirror" by Carole McDonnell
Works by Carole McDonnell:
Turn Back, O Time: and Oher Tales of the Faes of Malku
The Daughters of Men (The Nephilim Universe Book 1)
The Constant Tower
My Life As An Onion
Spirit Fruit: Collected Speculative Fiction