They spoke of cycles, like vast clocks,

  Replaying the patterned stories,

  Wrote within the hearts of Gods.

  -Excerpt from The Cordil Diptych.

  The winters of the Soviet Rakkeen hung roughly on Alex’s dire face as he looked out to the stars far above in wonder, then shook his reddened nose as snow tickled it.

  “Alex… come back, Darling!” His mother called from the kitchen window. He replied passively, without turning his head. Hurona watched from the depths of the void, careful not to disturb the pools of snow gathered on the ground. She watched as her plan began to unfold, as the whippoorwills of the forest grew quiet and the sun descended firmly beyond distant mountains in the east.

  Warmth radiated from his home. He could feel it buffet against his back, and the young man wondered if he should rush inside and embrace his mother. He lowered his eyes and started to turn when the Goddess approached.

  How long have you drifted, my son, thought Hurona as she stepped behind Alex and curled her voice around his ears, “look up…” She whispered. Without hearing her, the boy complied and returned his thoughtful gaze to the stars.

  Beneath the rich azure blue sky, he saw a magnificent stream of fire and flame rush through the clouds, crashing loudly in a nearby field. With his curiosity piqued, Alex’s desire for warmth was quickly overwhelmed. He glanced back at his mother in the window before turning away to walk off into the woods.

  Bitter winds of the forest whipped Alex’s pale face, but he persisted and pushed ever deeper into the dark woods, and forest spirits watched him intently, wondering if he would enter their traps and looped trails. He continued until he saw a distant flame in the dimming light of the woods. Surely, that is it, he thought to himself.

  After a few minutes of arduous walking, he approached a small crater in the woods where he spied a shining piece of glass. He climbed down its small crater and inspected the strange object.

  His fingers graced its mirrored surface. It's freezing, he thought as he retracted his hand. He beheld a cracked silver mirror. Curious, he wondered before placing the mirror into his satchel and marching back through the deep woods.

  His mother poured a bowl of borscht as he opened the door and looked lovingly at his father and mother. A smile crept across his face, but the room felt uneven beneath his feet. The walls felt crooked now, and a deep beating drum roused from the distant space. Alex felt his chest weaken, and his breath grew dire before quickly recovering.

  “Best tell us when you’re going somewhere, boy…” Cautioned his wrinkled father. His mother stared at him but ultimately conceded to his point, if not his mode of speaking. He wondered if they could tell that he felt different.

  “Father…” Alex replied, removing his jacket and boots, “I found something in the woods…” He muttered, “a gift from the stars… It fell. Not far from here.”

  His father shot him a curious glance, and his mother forced Alex to sit down, “I-this…” Alex noted, “the reflection is not very good,” he took the mirror from his pouch and placed it on the table. Alex’s father reached out to touch the mirror but quickly retracted his hand. His fingers tingled with a strange sensation as he drew close to it. He shook his head and rubbed his mustache.

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  “Perhaps we could sell it…” Mused his father, “might be worth something to a trader in town… For the silver if nothing else…” He noted curiously. Alex retracted the mirror and returned it to his satchel.

  “Perhaps…” Alex replied—darkness collected in the recesses of his soul. The family continued to eat in silence as an unspoken animosity bubbled beneath the surface of his mind.

  In the depths of night, Alex awoke from a nightmare and pulled the mirror out of his satchel at the foot of his bed, hunched over the glowing object. He could not see his face reflected in the mirror, for it showed a void. Then, in the darkness, he could see the visage of a gaunt face glaring up at him. It had glowing, yellow, jewel-like eyes that shone brightly in the pitch-black darkness. The obscured figure whispered to him in the night, though he could not understand its words; he could not resist their sound.

  Hours passed like moments in the night until Alex finally gathered the strength to place the mirror on his bedside table. Sleep eluded Alex for another hour more, but eventually, he drifted off into another nightmare.

  In an instant, he felt his throat tighten, and Alex’s eyes shot open. Over him, his father loomed with his wrinkled hands wrapped around the young man’s throat. He gasped and choked as his father squeezed tighter.

  Alex’s eyes darted towards his bedside table, looking for the strange mirror. Then, to his father’s eyes, the mirror lay within them, and he felt a shooting, groaning pain within his soul.

  He pleaded, “Father, stop!” As he gasped for air, then swung and hit his father. The body of his father slumped and landed on the floor with a thump. The heavy silver mirror clattered onto the wood floor.

  Blood trickled from the spot where he was struck. He rasped and breathed with great difficulty, but managed to speak.

  “Son?” He muttered, “Where am I?” His father’s eyes were filled with tears of regret, “what happened?” He asked mournfully.

  “End him…” Whispered the figure in the mirror. Alex looked at the wicked figure in the antique mirror and complied. He took the silver mirror in his hand and struck his father’s skull once more. His father’s weak voice rose from the bloody mess. A chittering whisper poured from the mirror, and the whipporwhils of the forest began to chatter.

  “Son?” His father muttered once more, “what is happening?” He asked while looking up. Blood surrounded his piercing white eyes.

  Alex raised his balled fist again and struck for a third time. Silence filled the room once more. The woods around the house were deathly silent, apart from the whirling of the whippoorwills; the spirits and the animals of the woods knew well what had happened. Some spirits wept because the old man had been kind to them and given them offerings. Others watched intently.

  “Your mother, she will know what you have done…” Whispered the figure in the mirror. She will hate you, report you to the authorities, and they will come for us. They will kill you, boy!” Exclaimed the vile figure in the obsidian mirror. Alex’s hands shook. His father’s blood covered them. He dropped the mirror to the floor, which landed with a heavy thunk.

  From the darkness of the cold house, he could hear his mother stirring, waking up. The whipporwhills of the forest rose into a cacophony of song.

  “Petr? Where are you?” She called for her husband. Alex gazed upon his father’s corpse in horror as his mother approached.

  She turned on the light and shrieked in terror as she saw the crumpled corpse of her husband beneath her son, covered in blood. I had no time to react, he told himself, no time to think of a better solution. In an instant, he grabbed the silver mirror and charged at her. She shrieked in terror as he beat her mercilessly with it. The warped being smiled, and even the whippoorwills grew silent.

  For several hours, he stared into the darkness of the mirror; the figure within was gone. The woods were silent, for they saw the wicked beast and knew what it had done.

  Alex grasped a large gasoline container and began to dump it around the kitchen. With the light of a match, his warm childhood home was set aflame. Then, into the frozen forest of the Rakkeen winter night, he fled the house and refused to look back, refused to think. All that he kept was the strange, dark mirror.