Striga

Solitary, Lizabeth sat in her high rise penthouse gazing down at the amber glow of the city lights below. The floor of the penthouse, usually immaculately clean was covered in a littered disarray of boxes and manilla envelopes belonging to her mother. This was only a break for the exhausted woman. An only child, Lizabeth had to oversee her late mother's last wishes and estate by herself.

A long, drawn out sigh ensued from her lips before excusing herself from a pile of papers and photos stacked in front of her.

Not only did Lizabeth have her mother's belongings to sift through, but also her late grandmother's relics and treasures as well. Not much was known about her grandmother, at least not to Lizabeth. Grandma Rosalia, born and raised in Italy, was only referred to as "eccentric" and "crazy" by the girl's mother. Maybe having the opportunity to go through items belonging to her would finally give her a chance to know something about her family, other than what others chose to tell her.

Wearily she lifted herself off of the floor and walked into the kitchen. Clumsily she fumbled through the cabinets. A cup of coffee, she thought. That would help her stay focused. Dropping two heaping teaspoons of sugar into the mug, some of the coffee splashed and ran down the side of the cartoon character's face that graced the front. Uttering a curse under her breath, Lizabeth pulled a paper towel from the roll and wiped her mess away. Turning towards the doorway, she was about to start into the living room once more to begin her chores. Instead something caught the woman's eye. A very large box leaning against the wall behind her dinette set. Vaguely she remembered the men from the delivery truck bringing this in, though the curiosity of the contents had slipped Lizabeth's mind until this very moment.

Bringing the mug up to her lips, she inhaled the scent of the coffee, then sipped. All the while her dark eyes were fixed on the large, mysterious package. Without another moment of thought she sat the mug down on the counter top. Temptation had won. Twisting the corner of her mouth, much like the manner of an inquisitive child, she neared the package and began pulling at the cardboard corners. Within moments the top of the box was torn open and Lizabeth reached her hand inside. Slowly she pulled a long oval shaped object from the box. It was covered in a black cloth. Propping it against the wall she stepped back to look at the arcane wonder draped in black. Even leaning at an angle against the wall, it still measured past the woman's waist. Carefully, Lizabeth held the strange object and tugged at the cloth. It was sewn over it!

"What in the hell?" she grumbled after realizing that someone had gone through much trouble to ensure whatever this was, that it would stay covered. But why?

"If it's in my house...I'll be damned if its going to stay a mystery." she said with a crooked smile. Lizabeth had never been known for giving up easily. The small framed woman had always been stubborn. Her mother had often said that the fact that Lizabeth was so relentless, almost made up for her size. With that in mind, she walked over to the kitchen sink and selected a clean knife.

Meticulously, Lizabeth slid the sharp tip of the knife under the dark cloth, careful not to harm whatever may be hidden beneath. The material shredded with ease. Not doubt it was old and had dry rotted with age. This had to be something belonging to Rosalia! She just knew it.

Pulling the shredded rags away, Lizabeth unconsciously allowed a gasp to pass over her lips. In front of her was the most beautiful mirror she had ever lain eyes on. It was excessively large with a perfect oval shape. It had been obviously hand carved from dark, rich wood, for no machine could have perfected the three dimensional carvings of the little plump cherubs. Their chubby hands outstretched from the top of the mirror, one of the three holding a harp. Even their faces looked so real, the eyes so wide and innocent. It had to be worth a fortune! Looking back at her through the glass was her own reflection, still full of awe with the discovery.

No matter. The antique would make an extravagant addition to her bedroom. Quickly she grabbed a hammer and a couple of strong nails. Soon afterwards her new possession hung adjacent to her bed. She stood back for a moment with a smile collectively gathering the corners of her mouth. It was almost as if she had fallen in love with the very curves of the mirror, with every finely etched feather in the wings of the cherubs. Reluctantly Lizabeth soon returned into the living room to once more bury herself in photographs and documents.

Later that night after Lizabeth had long since crawled into the her king sized bed, silver beams of moonlight spilled through the open blinds and bathed the reflective surface of the mirror. Barely a sound filtered through the penthouse, only the quiet breathing of sleep. This ended all too suddenly. Lizabeth sat straight up in bed and glanced around. She could not explain why she had awoken, the only thing she was sure of now is that she was wide awake.

"Damn it. It's a good thing I don't have to work tomorrow." she whispered to herself while drawing her knees up to her chest. Groaning quietly, she glanced over to the mirror and looked at the reflection of herself sitting there. She looked like something straight out of the movie Lady In White, she thought and made a disgusted noise. Quickly she brushed a hand through her wild head full of dark tresses. Again she glanced at herself in the mirror, only this time, something did not look all together right. Blinking twice, Lizabeth then slid off of the bed and walked towards it.

The surface of the glass seemed to ripple like the surface of a pond in the moonlight of her bedroom. There could be no doubt, this did not exactly make the woman comfortable. A knot of fear welled up in her stomach.

"Okay...I should probably run...but what if I'm dreaming? Who knows...this whole thing could be the result of the outdated milk I used in my coffee." she reassured herself out loud.

In a trumped up moment of bravery, Lizabeth reached her index finger out and touched the mirror. To her surprise it rippled once more, just like a someone had thrown a pebble into a lake. Jerking her finger back she reconsidered what she had just said. The woman was now truly frightened. Slowly, other thoughts entered her mind, seeming almost logical at the moment. If this had been Rosalia's mirror, the same thing had to have happened to her. She lived to be an old woman, Lizabeth thought to herself. Not to mention...it's not like she had anyone that would miss her. No friends. No family left. Only her penthouse, work, and her lone adventures to the coffee house down the street, listening to strangers read bad poetry on Thursday nights. She could only laugh an empty laugh to hide the insecurity and sadness. Closing her eyes tight, Lizabeth touched the mirror again, only this time pushing on it's surface. To her amazement her finger went right into it. Pressing further, her forearm slipped in. Taking a deep breath to muster up one last fit of courage, Lizabeth stepped inside of the antique mirror's oval frame.

Opening her eyes now, Lizabeth stood inside of a small room lit only by the pale flame of one candle. Looking behind her she could see that the exact same mirror hung on this wall too, only when she looked into it, it was not her reflection that she saw, but her own bedroom. That's when she heard the footsteps.

Spinning around Lizabeth looked into the poorly lit room around her as the shape of a man became distinct. He whispered something inaudible before inching closer.

"Who are you?" she asked him, but the response she got was not one she understood. The man didn't appear to speak English. In fact he spoke what sounded like Italian. She could now make out the man's plain white shirt and black slacks. His hair was like wavy rivers of onyx, his eyes a vivid jewel green. He easily put any model Lizabeth had seen in magazines to shame.

He once again whispered something to her and fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his olive cheeks and fell on the tops of Lizabeth's feet as he held to her and kissed her ankles. One thing the stranger said became clear.

"Rosalia..."he called softly between the caresses of his lips.

Lizabeth began to swoon. The very smell of this man and the slight graze of his fingertips sent a shiver through her frail body. Yet he was mistaken and she felt the need to correct him.

"No...no..." she whispered "I'm not Rosalia." Lizabeth protested. A painting on the wall then caught her attention. A woman with dark hair and eyes. The woman could have passed for her twin. It is with this realization that Lizabeth knew she was looking into the face of Rosalia for the first time. On the wall were strange symbols around the mirror. A good guess would be they were put there to keep this man here, as some sort of prisoner. This man must have been her lover. But why was he trapped here?

The questions began to fade as she realized the young man's hands found their way up her pale legs, pushing the nightgown upward as his warm tongue slowly snaked a line up her thigh. Trembling she backed against the wall behind her, yet he was unyielding. Her fingertips stroked gently at his hair as he continued to move upward. Arching her back, Lizabeth lifted one leg over his shoulder as he found the hidden dark triangle of hair and tasted her. The woman's heart raced in her chest, her pale cheeks had taken on a soft pink blush as she felt heat rushing to her face. Lizabeth's whole body began to tingle. It was almost as if he knew exactly what she liked. The urge soon became overwhelming. Tangling her hands into his hair, Lizabeth pushed his head forward, his tongue slipping inside of her as her whole body constricted, a loud cry sounding over her parted lips.

The stranger licked the glistening moisture from her inner thigh before backing away from her. He remained on his knees, their eyes now meeting once more. Gently, Lizabeth stroked the man's hair, marveling at her new found discovery. Adoration sparkled like tiny stars in his eyes as he whispered things to her. Heartfelt things, of this she was sure. As the hours passed Lizabeth knew she had to go. Regretfully she took her leave, trying her best in English to reassure him that she would be back. Stepping once more through the mirror and into her own bedroom, Lizabeth could only smile to herself, wondering what the next night with the Striga's secret would bring.