Broken glass, jagged along the edges, set in gilt copper green from age and poor storage. The pattern on the back of the frame was a family crest, faded, with illegible words, probably in French. The handle was slender and elegantly formed, all gentle curves that fit right into the palm of one’s hand. Someone had tied a ribbon below the base of the frame, red and yellow, the words “Up Gryffindor” printed on it. Once the letters had danced, but the charm had long faded.
In the bottom of a schoolboy’s trunk, grey eyes gazed from the mirror’s shards.
1 comment:
I get the feeling of disillusionment. Of the giving up of hope on both sides of the mirror. Both sided trapped without communication. Very well done.
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