Clay gazed into the mirror regarding the deep lines etched in his unfamiliar face. His thin pale skin sagged, accentuating tired, bloodshot eyes. Dark orbs scrutinized him, sliced through his bravado and accused him. He reached his hand toward the glass and hesitated. Gnarled, fingers wore protruding blood vessels that threatened to burst through parchment.
“Isn’t this a pretty mess?” his reflection mocked.
The image flinched, as the words cut Clay’s soul.
“The magic is gone,” Clay protested, “I can’t fix it.”
“Oh, but you can.”
“How?” Clay watched the tendons in his neck bulge as he spat the question. He reviewed and discarded his options, which he could count on one hand.
“I told you. You must lose to win.”
“You keep saying that, but it makes no sense. What more is there? I’ve given everything,” Clay’s voice broke, he bowed his head in defeat as he grasped the edge of the filthy sink to support his sagging frame.
“I had that dream again,” he admitted. “Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow. But he’s coming for me.”
“Find the answer,” the words vibrated through him.
The command rolled like thunder, shaking every cell in his frail body. Clay relaxed and gave up. With the resistance gone, he felt the curse lift and his power surged in, filling the voids. Intoxicated from the rush, he looked at the mirror again, and saw a familiar face. It smiled at him
“Took you long enough,” his reflection said.
“Time to end this wizard war.”
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer