Page 48 of A Taste of Silver
A moonbloom petal materialized in the air before him. It drifted down like snow, passing through the mirror's surface as if the glass were merely air.
The petal landed on my bed, as real as the rose in my hand.
But the effort cost him. Scales rippled across his jaw, his form wavering toward serpent before solidifying again. His breathing came harder.
"The more solid the object, the more it takes." His hand remained on the glass. "The rose was easier because you anchor it on this side. Your marks? Your blood? They're bridges."
I stood, moving toward the mirror. My reflection had changed. The silver marks showed through my nightgown now, glowing faintly, and my edges seemed less defined. As if I were becoming transparent.
"What's happening to me?"
"The same thing that's happening to me. We're equalizing. I become more real in your world, you become less solid in it." He leaned his forehead against the glass. "I should stop this. Send you away before?—"
"No." I pressed my palm over his, the mirror between us. "I've had enough of people deciding what's best for me. Stealing my choices in the name of protection."
Heat built where our hands aligned. Not the burning of silver fire, but something else. Connection. Recognition. The mirror rippled like water.
"Try something." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Push your magic through. Not at the glass, but through our connection."
I closed my eyes, feeling for that thread of warmth between us. My silver fire responded eagerly, racing down my arm toward our joined hands. But instead of burning, it merged with his power at the mirror's surface.
Light exploded between us. Not silver or shadow, but both, twisted together like rope. The mirror sang, a crystalline note that made my bones ache.
"Open your eyes."
I did. The glass between our hands had thinned to gossamer. I could see every line in his palm, feel the coolness of his skin. Almost touching. Almost?—
"Well, isn't this sickeningly romantic."
We jerked apart. Syra materialized in every reflective surface simultaneously, the windows, the silver tea service, even the water pitcher. Her usual smirk was present on the water pitcher, but in the main vanity mirror, her expression was tight, her mismatched eyes holding no humor at all.
"Two souls reaching across impossible distance. Very poetic." She coalesced more fully in the vanity mirror. "Also very stupid."
"Syra—" Silvyr began.
"No, no, let me guess the next part." The mirrorborn spirit's form shifted, showing different versions of herself. "You'll find a way to be together. Love conquers all. The realms will surely understand and make an exception just for you."
"You're scared." I studied the spirit's flickering form. "Why?"
Syra's multiplicity collapsed into a single reflection of a young woman with silver and gray halves, her expression ancient and sad.
"Because I've seen this before. Nine times, actually. A Mirror Queen and her chosen. A love that transcends dimensions." Her voice lost its usual melodic quality. "Want to know how many survived it?"
The silence stretched.
"Zero. Zero survived. The lucky ones only destroyed themselves. The unlucky ones took half a kingdom with them."
"We're different—" Silvyr started.
"That's what they all said." Syra flickered between surfaces, agitated. "Two souls, one reflection. Pretty story. Tragic ending. The realms don't like being bridged. Reality has rules."
"Rules change." I touched my spreading marks. "I'm proof of that."
"You're proof of nothing except mortal stubbornness." But Syra's tone held affection beneath the warning. "Fine. Ignore the wisdom of ages. But when you start coming apart at the seams, and I mean that literally, remember I tried."
The spirit began to fade.
"Wait." I stepped toward the vanity. "If it's so impossible, why help us?"
