I frantically climb onto the mantle and stare into the mirror. I see my mother, but she is slowly fading from view.

“Madre!” I am screaming now. “Madre! ¿¡Qué está pasando!? Ayudame!” I can’t breath, can’t think. I suddenly slip, and fall off the mantle, and fall onto the floor. I feel a sharp pain in my wrist, and find that it is bent at a weird angle. That makes me picture the time Madre broke her wrist, and just snapped it back together. I am screaming in hysterics now. I think of Madre in the mirror, and suddenly I remember her telling me something. It was long ago, and the memory is fleeting, but I definitely remember her saying,

“Calanta. Nunca rompas un espejo. El espíritu interior será liberado y te perseguirá.”

Don’t break mirrors, or the spirits will come out and haunt you. The spirits will come out. I suddenly sit up, and feel around for something hard. My hand falls on a sugar skull. Dia de los muertos forgotten, I chuck the skull at the mirror, and it shatters. However, nothing happens, except my room gets filled with a silver mist until I can’t see anything. I feel my eyelids get heavy, and the room is shifting under my feet. I sway, and suddenly everything fades from view.

When I wake up, I am in a large room. In it sits two other girls. One of them has shockingly red hair, and is playing with a small knife. She looks annoyed, tossing it up and catching it. She is wearing a black robe and brown leather leggings. She sighs when she looks up at me, but doesn’t say anything else. To her left sits a princess-looking person, with long golden hair and sparkling blue eyes. She is playing with a heart-shaped locket and whimpering. The red-head glares at her.

“Do be quiet, mate. Your petty whimpering is getting absolutely bothersome. We’ve all lost family, so don’t go whimpering like you’re someone special.” The red-head has an interesting accent, like a mix between Irilandian and Frasilian. Suddenly, some sort of invisible force pulls me toward the red-head. I see she is holding an orb of light. That must be where the wind is coming from. “So, you must be the new girl they were talking about. I’m Flannary. And you are?” I swallow my anxiety. It's been so long since I have seen people my age. I’ve lived for 12 years in that cabin, just my mom and I. And this girl, Flannary, kind of scares me. I don’t know why, just something about her aura of confidence. I don’t know. She is just staring at me, with raised eyebrows.

“Ca-calanta. Mi nombre es- I mean- my name is Calanta. I’m from Spantugal, in the Pyranis mountain range.”

“Much obliged. So, what magic can you do? I know they brought in here because we could do magic. I’m not so sure about that useless princess over there though. Anyway, can you do magic?”

I nod, slowly, I’ve never said anything about my magic. “I-I can speak to the dead.”

Her eyes widen, and she nods,“Huh. How cool.” I take that as a dismissal, and invitation to sit down. I sit next to her, and she starts up with her knife throwing again. It suddenly hits me. She did magic. I thought I was the only one. Thinking about magic makes me think of Madre, and suddenly I fight the urge to cry. I have to stay strong and find her.