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There was a god in her mirror and she didn’t even realise. Tears would fall and blood would stain the rim. Nothing ever seemed to soothe her. Not the screaming melodies of metal bands, not the constant drone of the tv or the radio. Not even the comforting words of friends and family.
The god in her mirror however, saw all of her pain. Absorbed it and let it ripple outwards instead. It sat beside her, talked to her when she was cracking, told her it would get better. Like a nagging sense of right.
She never listened though. She didn’t think that she ever would. Because right wasn’t always realistic. Right didn’t always win. Right died before it could reach the history books.
The god wouldn’t reach the future like the losers of wars. It would never be voiced, would never be acknowledged, it was a secret specter to her suffering. The god could only stand by and watch as the girl drove herself into the ground. Cursing and muttering empty promises sealed with a bracelet.
When broken the tide is turned on its head. It must be turned back again. Stained crimson but no longer facing in the wrong direction. Everything is right.
Because the god in the mirror didn’t exist. The god was the hope she didn’t dare harbour when the arrows angled inwards. When the fight was lost and had to be lost again to make it go back to normal.
The god in the mirror is me. And I am no real god.