The scent of musty books and old photographs filled Roger's nostrils as he rummaged through dusty boxes and cobweb-covered containers. He had been in the attic for hours now, trying to sort through the junk and decide what to keep, what to toss, and what to donate to charity. It was a daunting task that he had eagerly volunteered for when his mom mentioned it needed to be done.
Roger had volunteered for the task with an ulterior motive in mind, hoping he would stumble upon a box of forgotten female clothes, items no one would miss if he took them to his room, unlike when he would sneak items from his sister's room, only to later hear her complaining about not being able to find an item only he knew he had hidden in his room. He also hoped he'd find something different from what his sister wore, a different style, something new to him that he hadn't already experimented with over and over.
As he moved deeper into the attic, the light from a single, flickering overhead bulb cast long, eerie shadows across the floorboards. He moved past an antique dresser, its drawers overflowing with yellowed linens, hand stitched quilts, and forgotten trinkets. Beyond the dresser he caught a glimpse of something that made his heart skip a beat.
What Roger found was a small, ornate chest resting on the floor, its intricate carvings and inlaid designs gleaming in the dim light. The wood was smooth and slick to the touch, as if it had been polished countless times over the years. It was unlike anything else in the attic, and for some inexplicable reason, Roger felt drawn to it.
He knelt down beside the chest, running his fingers over the delicate carvings of vines and flowers that encircled its sides. There was a small, brass keyhole in the center of the lid, and he could feel the weight of the chest as he pushed gently on its surface.
Roger remembered that earlier he had found an antique, long since tarnished, brass skeleton key and had put it on his pocket, intending to hang it on a necklace later.
Does that key go to this box, he wondered, reaching into his pocket.
Taking a deep breath, he inserted the key into the lock and turned it slowly. There was a soft click, and the lid of the chest slowly swung open. Inside, among a bunch of really old maps, papers, and ambrotype and calotype photos, he discovered a strange book covered in dust, its cover made of wood,it handwritten pages yellowed with age. The book captured his interest and he was drawn to it. It's title was simple, "The Enchanted Looking Glass."
Intrigued, but unsure why, Roger began to flip through the book and quickly discovered that this was apparently not a novel, it referenced a seemingly real mirror, one that was described as having the power to grant one's deepest desires. It said the mirror could reveal hidden strengths and true identities, but only to those who were willing to truly see themselves.
As Roger continued to read, he felt a strange sensation in his chest, a potent mixture of equal parts hope and fear. He knew that if he could find this mirror, he could make his dream come true, he could become the girl he desired. A prospect that both excited and frightened him.
But a magical mirror? Really? There's no such thing in real life. That's silly. He told himself.
Roger flipped to the front of the book looking for the year the book was written. On the back of the front cover was the only date he could find, a hand-written date; 1024 AD. He almost dropped the book. He couldn't believe he could be holding something that old.
Roger stood up and closed the trunk, holding the book tight against his chest. He wanted to hurry back to his room and read the book cover to cover. He wanted to know more. Even if he had no chance in his life of going on an Indiana Jones style adventure to find this mirror, it still intrigued him.