[Back To Shelf]
Forest clearing.
Dusty ground, ground that would hurt to breathe if kicked up into the air, where it stays for longer than most ground kicked up.
There is a figure on a jagged, gray rock, at the edge of the clearing.
They never explained why I was sent here, just that I needed to meet someone.
The figure moves, with a sound like it had been part of the rock, and the dust starts to finally clear.
For a moment I feel the kind of fear that is a sharp pain in my entire body, not the sudden one, though, the one that builds up for a moment. Faintly.
The figure moves sharply, jerkily, and what once appeared to be a vaguely humanoid tower of crystal was now staring back at me with my own eyes.
They didn’t tell me the name of whoever I was meeting, or anything about them other than that here was where I would meet them, though I feel as though I have gotten lost.
“Hello?” I release the tension that had been building, the pain disappearing, replaced with the feeling that I am on a stage. I look around.
“Hello?” It responds, in my voice. It reaches up to its face, and pulls at its skin until what looks something like a smile emerges. The eyes are still blank, though, the expression looks hollow.
I don’t like this. It’s like if a mirror was alive, and… weird. I don’t know how to describe it. I feel like I should know more about this, but I only just got here, and I don’t know what rituals they have that decided I needed to be sent here. Maybe they had stories about this that I just hadn’t heard because I haven’t been here for long enough. No, I shouldn't question people like them.
“What are you?” I ask the obvious question, the one on the audience’s mind, not that there was an audience. Maybe asking who would have been better. I don’t know. I look around again, probably looking for the spectators I feel on my back. The forest outside of the clearing is dark, but I think I would have been able to tell if there was a watcher hiding in the bushes, seeing as I am typically the one watching from the bushes.
“The Mimic.” It responds, the voice now beginning to speak words I don’t think I have ever spoken. This isn’t really the question I want the answer to, though, I would rather know where I am. The directions to get here were vague enough that I couldn’t track my location, even if I were to use the true locations of other places I’ve collected. Use familiarity. This is like an incarnation of familiarity.
“That doesn’t really answer much.” I state, calmly. I have returned to my usual demeanor, and I realize I should have known better than to trust a blind-forest tribe.
“I don’t have much more of an answer for you.” It responds, with a different tone. My tone would be all formal and calm, whereas its tone was reflecting the wonder and curiosity I felt for just a split second between the existential fear and my current calm state. “I mimic. I don’t really have a choice not to.”
“That’s… only more confusing.” I keep my gaze solid on it. It looks like a less certain version of me, more visibly scared. I definitely am scared, but the feeling has worn off, and the signs in my body language are gone. The Mimic’s body language indicated anxiety, or something similar.
“I don’t know how to help then.” It responds, turning away, looking up. The moon is in the sky, the stars are visible clearly, shining with a brightness that is unhindered by the light pollution of the city skies. Stars are vital in navigation, but many of the younger people don’t know how to read the sky, something that should be taught to everyone. It’s an important way of keeping yourself in a place that is a place. The moon is also important, a timekeeper when you get lost enough that you need it. My parents taught me how to determine the exact date based on the moon, and how the stars move, but they were astronomers, so I wouldn’t expect children to learn something that in-depth at schools.
I have spaced out. I’m looking up at the moon, though my mind has not automatically tried to guess the date as it normally would with a sight like this. It feels like more of a smile tonight than ever, the cheshire cat. I wonder for a moment if the cheshire cat is anything more than the legend I had heard of it like the Mimic was. Not that I have heard many legends about the Mimic, but I know it is existing folklore that I simply wasn't interested in back home.
“How did I actually get here?” I don’t look away from the moon until after I have finished the phrase. The Mimic doesn’t look away from the moon at all. Maybe this wasn’t the person I was sent to see. Maybe this was a coincidence, the tribe never said the word ‘mimic’ when shuffling me down to the beginning of the path, though I am not completely fluent in their language.
“You must have gotten lost. Not many people do.” The Mimic looks towards the side of the clearing I had come from, a vague trail of trampled ferns was visible, but it somehow seemed to stop not very far into the forest. “The blind forest took pity on you, or maybe you were just lucky.”
I look back towards the Mimic. I spot the rock it had been sitting on before I had made my way here, no longer a dull, gray one. It was a massive amethyst crystal, with a similar shape, but clearly different to how it was before. This place was clearly another plane. I got much more lost than I thought.
I looked back at the sky, the moon, the stars, and read their unusual placements. Nothing was on its path, no perspective changed that. If I was on a real point in time, it would be off the axis it normally travels. Or, I’m on another plane. Definitely not one I’m supposed to be on. I can’t just ask where I am, that could easily be seen as a blatant, hostile attempt at control. I need to get out of here.
“How do I get back to the blind forest?” I ask. A good question, though someone who has ventured in it as much as I have should just be able to call it to me with the familiarity. I look at the back of my hand, my left hand, and I see the scars of familiarity, I can pick out specifically the pattern that represents the blind forest. I don’t show the Mimic my hand, though, I keep it concealed as is the precaution when dealing with what could be a shard. An odd one, but the crystal was at least one indication of what I might be dealing with.
“I don’t know.” It looks me in the eyes, and I see my reflection for a moment in its version of my glasses, though tinted purple just a bit. “Everyone who has come here and left into the forest has never come back here, no matter how much they promise to return.” A foreboding statement. It looks down. “Very few people stay for long.” Terrifying implications, now that I think about it.
“Why are you here?” I realize that almost every word that has left my mouth in this place has been part of a question, and I wonder how polite that is. I wonder how a shard might respond to impoliteness, based on the stories. Not well, I predict, but unpredictability is part of their nature. I’m not sure this is a shard, though.
“Hm.” It stands taller, still looking at me, maybe trying to match my demeanor more closely. “Hm.” It repeats after a moment, thinking. I feel awkward for just maintaining unrequited eye contact for this whole time, though I couldn’t think of a different place to look in time. On anyone but the Mimic, it might’ve felt like an interrogative question and gaze, but I don’t think it was affected by it. “I don’t know. I can’t leave.”
“That’s… sad.” I say, not a question, probably nice. How much does good conversation etiquette matter to the Mimic? I think I’ve already wondered that.
“Not really. Only sometimes.” It says. “I know many stories that entertain me even from my memory of them. After thinking about each one for so long, there are so many questions I have about them, and I wish someone would return.” It hesitates, and frowns. “Maybe it is sad.”
“I have… I have a couple books.” I remove my backpack and fish inside for the offering. One book I had read already, Forest Shark, and Shelf, which I haven’t read, and know very little about. I also have a bunch of studies binded together about how familiarity might be affected or harnessed by inanimate objects, but that probably wasn’t what the Mimic wanted. “I have felt alone like that before, on a larger scale. Stories help.”
“That would be nice.” It smiles at me. I grab the books, and hand them to it, but I wonder if this interaction is even real. Maybe it just agrees with me here because it is a copy of me, maybe the loneliness it seems like it is presenting to me is only a reflection of my own.
I hesitate. Longer pause than usual, trying to get the execution of this next question right, so that the kind of answer I’m looking for is less vague. It would be harder to put the exact question into words than to just deliver the simpler question in the right way.
“What are you?” I ask. A fragment of a thought of a world where the labels on you are what controls you drifts through my mind. I am glad that it is not this world, a true name like that would be so much harder to maintain control over than a location. How would familiarity work there?
“I am…” It pauses too, though not for nearly as long. “This is not me.” It looks at its hands, my hands. I should be more freaked out by this than I am, but this clear invasion of privacy, though not a willing decision on the Mimic’s part, didn’t set off the alarms it might in most people. This could be interpreted as a clear sign of shard influence, but…
No, I’ve felt shard manipulation before, even when it is specifically for this same effect. The Mimic is something else, though, maybe related. Not the same though. Not malicious. It spoke again.
“I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what part of this place is me.” It looks around, and turns to the amethyst stone in the center of the clearing. A small crack forms in it, and for a moment I hope that freeing the Mimic would be as simple as taking a fragment of the crystal back to, well, anywhere else.
No, it is not that simple. If it is related to the shards, just taking a piece of it to another plane will not work, and I still don’t even know how to leave here anyways. I have another question.
“Has anyone tried to free you?” Another question, followed by silence. Long silence. You could hear the world moving.
“There was one.” The Mimic stops trying to copy my stance. “They promised to return, like others, but this one stayed for days, trying to memorize the location of this place. I don’t think they managed it.”
More silence. I don’t know what answer I was expecting, but I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to actually have response.
“Or they didn’t make it out.” It gestures towards the forest, the unfamiliar trees. Maybe this world was just another, deeper, stronger layer of the blind world I had come from. This plane already proved itself to be more unknowable than the blind forest above, this could be a forest that is somehow more blind than the last.
“Has anyone else left items behind for you?” I remember the books I had given the Mimic, and look around for other items that seem out of place. Other than the cracked crystal in the center of the clearing, and my books, I see nothing.
“No. You are the first to do that. I certainly hope it changes whatever fate awaits either of us.” The Mimic blinks slowly, blankly. I think I need to get out of here. I have helped the Mimic all I think I can and I don’t want to get into a study of myself here. I have already perfected my own mind. Soon, by body will also be perfected. An odd sense of clarity passes over me, and with it, energy that isn’t converted into wistfulness and a search for meaning. I pause before my next words, and give myself a determined look to go along with them.
“I have to adjust my plan. I will help you, I promise, but I need to leave.” I ready myself for the next journey into the darkness, darkness that this time is not at all familiar. “I was looking for the End’s Well. Do you know anything about that?”
“Some others who have ended up here have also been looking for it. I have been told that it is lost, and that they will find it. I would assume it has not been found if there are still people who are going out to look for it.” The Mimic points to a star in the sky. “All that I have been told about its location was that that star would be where it is here.” This is information I did not know about it. Very helpful.
“Thank you.” I look down at my one free hand for a moment before turning halfway to the forest. “I promise I will try to help.” I turn instead to walk towards the crystal centerpiece, and I take a fragment of it, conveniently carved into the shape of a blade out of the crack that had formed before. I don’t know how significant this will be, but it is a connection to this place, and the Mimic did not stop me. A blade was the only item I had forgotten to pack for this mission, and if things are to go as I have heard they must, a crystal blade from here would be most fitting.
“The End’s Well…” It repeats. “I hope you know what you are doing…”
I turn to the forest, and walk forward, not in any specific direction exactly, just forwards.
I speed up, darting through the forest as if it were as familiar as the forest I was attempting to reach. Despite not knowing the structure of this forest as well as I know the one I came from, my instincts allowed me to dart through trees and ferns and vines faster than most people might.
I feel a pull towards something here. Something not here. Something nowhere compared to where here is.
I have to get lost.