EIRA – THE ONE WHO REFLECTS

It was just there, half-buried in the frozen earth between two roots — pale and misty, like breath on a window. Eira picked it up without thinking and slipped it into her pocket.

A piece of glass, that had once been part of something — perhaps a beautiful decanter that caught the light in someone's kitchen, or a lamp that glowed softly on the hospitable threshold of a long-left home. But time and wind and water had softened it to an oval, smooth as a river stone, and turned it into some kind of mirror. The sharp edges were worn away, and what remained was quiet — and a little magical.

It was the kind of object that doesn’t begin its story until you forget you’re holding it.

One evening, when the trees were blue with twilight and even the birds were quiet, Eira looked into the mirror for the first time. She saw a shimmer there — something soft and full, like the feeling you get before you start crying, even though there’s no reason to.

From then on, the little piece of foggy glass began to speak to Eira. Not out loud, of course. It shimmered faintly when someone carried a heavy feeling nearby. It grew cold in her hand when someone tried not to feel anything, and became warm when the heavy feeling found its way out. Eira felt she had found her own Totootse way: to show the truth that isn’t quite yours until you’re ready to see it.

Feelings are strange things, she thought one day, sitting by a quiet stream. They hide, they change, they sometimes forget what they’re made of. But in the silence, they always return. You just have to be the one that notices.

When others come to her, they don’t feel the need to fill the air. They just sit, sometimes brushing pine needles off their knees, sometimes doing nothing at all.

The forest seems to tilt when she’s near. The wind moves more slowly. Puddles hold their shape longer. Even fallen leaves take their time.