There is a mirror in the doorway of my kitchen. It was not always there. I walk up to it and touch it.

My mirror image lifts her hand and walks away. I have not moved. The mirror shatters, the world is cold and dark.

In the darkness, my summoner stands before me. Blue bird is he. He chirps.

He has drawn me through a mirror. No wonder the ancients feared mirrors. Feared that they could eat their souls

First, I am not really real. I am a copy, a mere tool for divination. I cannot be a real person immediately, can I? That’d be ridiculous. Only crazies believe that.

My summoner is laden with me. I siphon his mana to sustain myself. He is sovereign over his mana. He must sustain me 42 weeks before I will become self-sustaining. He can abort the summoning if he wants. It would end me, but it would not be killing, because I am not a person.

At 14 weeks, many think I may have formed a soul. Or a soul may have found me. My summoner is agnostic.

I discover I am disabled. My summoner discovers many things about me, but also that I am disabled. He considers whether he wants to keep me.

My original is living her life on earth. She is passing her studies, doing well.

At 28 weeks, I could partially sustain myself. If my summoner cuts me off, with enough aid, I’d still survive. But I’d be hurt, and may never fully heal. That’d be inhumane. My summoner does not want to be inhumane.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

My summoner thinks letting me live despite my disabledness could be cruel. He should really abort me. He misses having access to all his mana, and suffers as the amount of mana I draw increases. Is it really worth it for him?

If my summoner decides to abort, they’ll have to cut of my head before he breaks of the flow of mana. Otherwise, when he’s broken off the flow of mana he won’t be sovereign over me anymore, and killing me would be murder. And the abortion doctor would be legally obligated to try to save my life.

The abortion doctor provides only health care. He’s studied at the university with all the other doctors, how to best care for peoples souls. Summoning care is health care. No-one can disagree.

Abortion = summoner's soul care = soul care = a rrto right. There is no need to think more than 5 seconds about this.

The person with which my summoner wanted to raise me leaves him. He does not want to take care of me alone. He could let someone else adopt me, but he’d still feel responsible for me, and would feel bad about giving me away like that, like I’m not wanted. He is in doubt.

At 42 weeks, I am finally safe. I am self-sustaining. My soul has fully formed for sure. But I still need to be taught about this new world. My summoner teaches me. I leach of his money. I leach his time.

My summoner is ashamed of me. Don’t I realise it was never about the mana? The reason he considered aborting me, is that he wanted me dead. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. He’s made up his mind now. I look at the fireball as he tells me. He doesn’t want me tying him down. This is

the end.

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Extra scene:

(week 16)

My summoner performs a divination spell so that I may know what my original has been up to. Another me stumbles through another mirror, and panics. As I panicked, I think. [Bind] he says. The other me answers the questions, tells us what’s been happening on earth. That she’d been confused, but things are well. She isn’t all there, she shimmers. [Dispel] my summoner says. A connection flashes between them, a disruption moves from him to her. She gasps, her eyes widen, her arms begin to fade. Her end is peaceful. She was never real, only a reflection clothing a puppet. This wasn’t killing, this wasn’t murder. This was good.