C
I stepped through the door at home to the sound of cat footsteps and a small bell. The little tuxedo cat that housed the soul of a monster welcomed me into my empty home. The hat man was gone, the mirror, broken. I could enjoy some peace and quiet. The cat, was just a cat. There was no echo of a golden voice, to shadow behind his eyes. I cuddled and stroked it, "Maybe you need a better name than Hat-cat." It purred in my arms. The military had wired me some money for 'remote work' and pulled out Beef and Cole. They did leave a number if any alien emergency arises, but they decreased the threat level now that they could communicate directly to the alien scientists. They didn't need a middleman like me.
It was peaceful for a few days. I did normal things, cooking for myself, cleaning. Rearranging furniture trying to update the house. No alien emergencies. I had fallen asleep in the library, having dusted the place from top to bottom, sneezing from the years of neglect. I loved the house and hated it at the same time; it was so big. My arms ached from all the reaching.
Then came the banging. In one of the full-length mirrors knelt the human form of the hat man, kneeling. "Baby please, I'm sorry. I'll never do it again. I just wanted us to be together." "What the....I bit into one of the couch's throw pillows in frustration. How did you find me!" He pulled open his shirt, revealing a pale white chest, imbedded in the center was a large shard of mirror. "It's still part of you my darling, it pulled me back to you."
"Weren't you a king? Didn't you have a whole world to conquer? Why the hell would you come back to where you're nothing but a pet spirit?" "He sighed and tilted his head coyly. I missed being your partner. Being king was nothing without someone to share the kingdom." "You damned idiot of a spirit. Go back. I'm not talking to you." I stomped away from the library to my room.
He followed me through the mirrors in the house, no longer able to take over the cat's body. "Go back to the other realm. What makes you think I need you here?" I asked as he floated in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. "I don't want too, they're so boring. All I do is eat and sleep over there. I want to go with you." He said petulantly. "I want to be your sidekick again." "How are you going to do that smart guy? My mirror is in your chest, and you're not tied to any body." "I can give you back the mirror, its just that, I need to put a shard in something alive to make it work like before."
"Please, please, I can dance for you." he taps in the mirror, his golden curls bouncing. "Come on doll." I step closer to the mirror. His eyes grow and his smile grows wide and he reaches out through the mirror barrier. I'd forgotten he'd been charged with all that power in the other world.
He was just being polite before. His hand dragged me in, pulling open the front of my button up blouse. I felt a great stabbing pain as a shard of mirror drove itself into my chest over my heart. "Now you're mine, forever and ever. Hehe." His eyes flashed a waxy yellow, glowing with power as his mouth drew close, kissing my forehead as I passed out.
He looks… normal.
Jeans.
A soft sweater in black.
Golden curls falling over his forehead.
No waxy yellow glow.
No sharp teeth.
No impossible height or shadow stretching too far.
He looks like the golden boy you once saw dancing in the theatre — the version of him that existed before the mirror twisted him into something else.
He smiles gently, almost shyly.
"I know what you're thinking, pet," he says, tapping his chest. "How's he here?"
He points to your sternum.
The place where the mirror‑sigil burns faintly under your skin.
"That piece links me to your flesh, and your world."
He says it matter‑of‑factly, like explaining a simple household mechanism.
"I can do lots of things with the spirit energy I consumed. This is one of them."
He spreads his hands, showing off the body he's wearing.
"I formed this flesh out of dimensional magic. A proper vessel. A real one. I can be your partner now, for real."
He beams — proud, earnest, ridiculous.
"Look," he says, lifting a steaming cup from the nightstand, "I can even make tea."
He sets it down with a flourish, like a magician revealing his final trick.
He scoops up the tuxedo cat like it weighs nothing, ignoring the offended little mrrrp that bursts out of it as its nap is rudely interrupted. The cat dangles there, stiff with indignation, whiskers twitching, tail flicking like a metronome of betrayal.
The hat-man tilts it back and forth, examining it like a prop.
"So I looked like this," he says, rotating the poor creature for a full panoramic view.
The cat's paws splay out. Its bell jingles in protest. Its soul radiates put me down immediately.
He grins.
"It seemed bigger on the inside."
I blink at him.
He's not joking. He's genuinely marveling at the cat like it was a luxury apartment he once lived in.
He turns the cat sideways, then upside down, curls bouncing as he inspects it.
"I mean, look at this," he says, tapping the cat's chest lightly. "All this space. I had room for thoughts, for dreams, for snacks. I don't know how it all fit."
The cat lets out a long, offended mrrrroooow, the kind that says it is filing a formal complaint with the universe.
He finally sets it down, and it bolts under the bed, tail puffed, dignity shattered.
He watches it go, then looks back at you with that earnest, ridiculous expression.
"I guess a little of the feline stayed in me," he says, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder in a way that confirms it.
He smiled and slipped back into the bedroom mirror.
"Why go back?" I asked.
He slips backward into the mirror like it's a curtain he's just stepping behind, the surface rippling around him. His borrowed human body dissolves into reflection, leaving only the faint outline of his golden curls and the soft glow of the shard in his chest.
I lean against the bathroom counter, toothbrush still in hand.
"Why go back?" you ask, exhausted but curious.
His reflection leans casually against the inside of the glass, hands in his pockets, looking more like a modern man than a spirit-king.
"Because I can," he says simply. "And because I have to."
He taps the mirror with one knuckle, the sound echoing faintly in your chest where the shard hums.
"It's tiring to be human all day, don't you agree?"
You nod despite yourself. "Yeah."
He smiles — not sharp, not monstrous, just… knowing.
"We all have our limits, pet."
He says it with a softness that wasn't there before, a gentler version of the title he used when he was all teeth and shadow. Now it sounds more like a habit he hasn't shaken.
He glances over his shoulder, into the depths of the mirror-realm.
"Besides, I have to go back to my world and rule. A king is a king, you know?"
He shrugs, as if ruling a dimension is just another job he clocks into.
Then he points at your chest — right where the mirror-sigil pulses faintly under your skin.
"But we're connected now," he says. "So I can feel you anywhere."
His voice lowers, almost reverent.
"Even if you nick your finger. I will know."
The mirror hums.
My chest warms.
And his reflection flickers, the golden-boy body dissolving into something more fluid, more spirit-like, before stabilizing again.
He's choosing to look human for you.
But he's still very much what he is.
He gives you a small, crooked smile.
"Don't worry," he says. "I won't hover. Much."
Then he fades deeper into the mirror, leaving the surface smooth and quiet — except for the faint pulse of the shard in your chest, reminding you he's still there.