The post-bath peace lasted just long enough for a full meal without anyone spilling, setting something on fire, or being cursed. A personal record. Even Torin, as he served our stew, commented, "You're all strangely… intact today. Worrying."
The problem with peace, I discovered, is that it leaves too much room for nostalgia. And nostalgia, in our case, led directly to bad ideas.
"Remember that time Vespera shot the boar-monster in the butt?" Elara asked, smiling on the verge of tears. "It was… almost epic."
"It was painful," Vespera recalled, rubbing the symbolic spot. "But the boar agreed to leave us alone after I promised massages."
"A sound business deal," Liriel approved, taking a sip of wine. "Violence followed by negotiation. The foundation of any stable civilization."
It was in that mood of foolish camaraderie that a Guild messenger—a young man who hadn't yet learned to fear us—delivered a new contract. It was from a Lady Evangeline, an eccentric noblewoman who lived in a manor on the outskirts of Vaelor.
"Problem: My Enchanted Winter Garden has become… rebellious. The decorative mirrors talk. They won't stop giving unsolicited advice about my love life and investments. Reward: 60 silver coins for pacification. Warning: Bring selective hearing."
"Talking mirrors?" Vespera blinked. "That sounds fun! I can ask which angle makes my arrows look best!"
"Investment advice?" Liriel raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Finally, someone with priorities."
I just wanted the sixty coins. The bathhouse bill still weighed on my purse.
Lady Evangeline's manor was a structure of pointed towers and stained glass, as eccentric as its owner. She herself greeted us at the entrance—a middle-aged woman in a frilly dress, with a slightly unhinged look in her eyes.
"They won't stop!" she whispered, pulling us inside. "The hallway mirror said my new hat was 'a bold statement, but financially irresponsible.' The ballroom mirror suggested I invest in crystal mining on an ethereal plane! And the one in the winter garden… well, you'll see."
The Enchanted Winter Garden was a massive greenhouse filled with softly glowing exotic plants and… mirrors. Dozens of them, in intricate frames, hanging among the foliage, reflecting light in a dizzying way.
The whispers began as soon as we entered.
"…that haircut, darling? Bold. Very bold for a face with so much… history…" came from an oval mirror on the left.
"…and your investment portfolio? Too terrestrial. You should consider shares in the ambrosia market…" murmured a gold-framed mirror.
Vespera went straight to a large round mirror. "Hey, mirror! What's my best feature?"
The mirror reflected her image, then shimmered. "Your… persistence. Yes, let's call it persistence. As for advice, perhaps consider archery lessons. Or a different weapon. A sling, maybe?"
Vespera was outraged. "I like my bow!"
"And it clearly doesn't like you," the mirror retorted.
Elara approached a smaller, humbler mirror. "You… you really think my magic is useless?"
The mirror showed her reflection—but behind it, a ghostly version of Elara was casting powerful, complex spells. "Useless? No. Underdeveloped. You have potential, little mage. But you spend too much time staring at the clumsy oaf instead of your grimoires." Elara blushed, looking away from me.
Liriel, of course, went straight to the point. "Mirror. Where can I get the best short-term return on investment, considering current cosmic instability?"
The mirror she spoke to went quiet for a moment, as if processing. "Interesting. A fallen deity with earthly debts. My recommendation: sell soul insurance to lesser demons. High demand, low regulation."
"I've considered it," Liriel replied seriously. "The paperwork is a bureaucratic nightmare."
I approached a tall, narrow mirror, expecting the worst.
"Ah, the chosen one," a smooth, insidious voice whispered. My reflection stared back at me, but its eyes were older, more cynical. "Let's see… accumulated debts, a heart divided among three remarkably problematic women, a knack for accidents that defy the laws of physics… your life is a case study in crisis management."
"Thanks, I guess," I muttered.
"That wasn't a compliment. My advice? Run. Take the coins you have, buy a cabin on some distant mountain, and live alone. It's the only way to survive. Or… choose."
"Choose what?"
"ONE of them," the mirror hissed, and my reflection split into three ghostly images. One where I stood beside Elara, in a library — a quiet, studious life. Another with Vespera, in an arena of chaos and reckless laughter. And a third, with Liriel, in a divine hall surrounded by power and wine… but with the same eternal boredom on her face. "Indecision is a luxury you can't afford. Choose, or chaos will choose for you."
I froze. It was everything I feared, spoken by a cursed piece of glass.
The entire garden was now in frenzy, with all the mirrors whispering unsolicited advice, creating a cacophony of anxiety and doubt. Lady Evangeline covered her ears in a corner.
"Enough!" Liriel thundered, her voice echoing with authority. "Your purpose is to reflect, not to deliver moral harassment!"
She raised her hand, and a silver light enveloped the central mirror — the loudest of them all. "You want to give advice? Here's one from me: sometimes the only sensible choice is not to play the game."
She didn't shatter the mirror. Instead, the silver light spread across it, coating its surface like frost. When the glow faded, the mirror no longer reflected anything. It simply showed a serene, silent scene of a tranquil lake beneath a starry sky.
One by one, the other mirrors in the garden, as if inspired, began to show the same peaceful, quiet scenes. The whispers ceased, replaced by contemplative silence.
Lady Evangeline lowered her hands, breathless. "It's… it's quiet. Thank you." She paid us the sixty coins without hesitation.
On our way out, we passed by the mirror that had shown me the choices. It now displayed only the serene image of the lake. But for a moment, I swear I saw the three ghostly images merge into one — me, surrounded not by one, but by all three of them, in perfect, desperate chaos — before fading into the lake's tranquility.
We walked back to the city in silence. The mirror's advice echoed in my mind. Choose, or chaos will choose for you.
Liriel walked beside me. "Mirrors," she said, spitting the word. "Always dramatic. Reality is much more… fluid."
Elara looked at me, silent understanding in her eyes. Vespera punched my arm, as always.
Chaos, I realized, wasn't something to be avoided. It was our home. And maybe, just maybe, I didn't need to pick a single corner of it to live in. Maybe I could simply… inhabit the eye of the storm, with all its contradictory voices.
Of course, the next day, we found a small note from Lady Evangeline.
"Additional Charge: 5 Coins for 'Excessive Pacification.' My mirrors now only show landscapes. I'm dying of boredom."
Some people, much like some mirrors, simply don't know how to appreciate silence.