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"Mirrors don't eat people. Mirrors don't eat people. Mirrors don't eat people."

It was a mantra. A ward against a memory. Sarah repeated it every time she had to walk passed this place.

"Mirrors don't eat people. Mirrors don't eat people."

But she knew that was a lie.

Mirrors do eat people.

She saw it right here. In the very same shop, she was frantically walking by. The odd little corner store with all the brick-a-brack, antiques and oddities.

And the clothes.

Oh! The clothes.

Some were older than this town, the quant hamlet she grew up in, itself. There were different styles from all different eras. All in 'like new condition'. Smelling like incense and soap. Stacked neatly on tables or hung on racks, among the once treasured possessions of days gone by. All lovingly and neatly arranged in this place. A novelty store she used to love to walk into. She'd browse through the aisles, and run her hands across the fabrics for hours.

Every Thursday, she made it a point to swing by. For Seven years.

Until that day.

That warm summer's day.

She had just turned twenty. The week before. The sun was bright. The air was clear. A hint of honey and roses tasted on her tongue. She could remember it like yesterday. The way the cool air surrounded her, after she stepped through the door, tingling a single bead of sweat, that had meandered down her spine. The delightful shiver that set the fine hairs, on her arms, to stand tall amidst the bumps that grew at their roots.

She remembered these things and more.

The way two other parts of her poked against the threads of her shirt. Contorting the once smooth pockets, of her office attire, with two well-spaced bumps. Not wholly uncomfortable to her, physically. But, a bit unwelcome, to her psyche.

She remembered how the door closed.

And the bell jingled.

Was that new?

The lady behind the counter raised her head like it was a practiced response to the tone. Still, she couldn't quite remember hearing that sound before. That was something she thought she should recall.

She returned the lady's greeting smile with her own.

Then, she followed her usual course.

To the right. Passed the knickknacks. Just passed the books. To the left and down the aisle with the lacey things, she'd never wear but loved to gawk upon.

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'The frilliest of frillies. The skimpiest of skimpies,' she remarked, to herself, on several occasions.

It was there, in that space, her favorite place, while feeling the satiny coolness of a rather salaciously cut balconette, that she saw a motion, beyond the table.

A subtle shift, in white. It flitted against the static colors on the racks.

She looked up and focused her attention.

There was a girl, looking at footwear. Her sundress, so thin, it might not have even been worn and somehow shown less. The girl turned. A red shoe in her hands. She held it a little over her head to catch the light the right way. She was scrutinizing the details, of the stitching and the heels, with a hungry smile and lustful eyes. Her cheeks were flush. She had a dainty nose and full, pale lips. Her chin was pointy, yet round. A long slender neck flowed into delicate shoulders. Two big dark circles stood out amidst the gossamer. Pushed upwards and forwards by ample flesh. Her stomach was smooth. A dark triangular patch, showing no signs of anything to hold it in place, pointed down toward two slender legs.

Yes, Sarah liked the feminine form. She had decided that long ago. But, not in a salacious way. Nor, a romantic way. Or, even in a jealous way. Though, she did like to compare.

'Her chest is much bigger than mine,' she chuckled, to herself, 'but that's not saying much. I know boys who have bigger ones than I do.'

More importantly, than comparing, she liked to study those differences. She reveled in them. And, in how many shapes and sizes and curves there were.

'How many wonderful sculptures there are.'

Life was her personal art gallery.

The sculpture of the moment moved. Totally unaware of the scrutiny she was under. Lost in her own walled-off world of selfish desires.

She slipped her shoes off and stuffed them in her bag. And, sensually, almost sexually, slipped her feet into her newest fancy. She stood up, a little taller. Arched her back pushing her chest out even further. She ran her hands down her sides like she was in ecstasy. She was swaying, making lewd motions with her neck and her body. Then she took a step and walked towards a point.

A fixation, in a frame.

Her skin developed a sheen. The sundress clung to the flesh a little more tightly. The flesh was a little more flush. Two nubs pushed obscenely against the gauze. Her breath became labored and drawn with each glide and tease on their sensitive tips.

'She sounds like I do, when I do those things I shouldn't that feel so go to do.'

The girl stopped and stared at the vision in the glass. Her left hand, unconsciously, caressed its way up her body to cup a breast. She shivered. With fingers outstretched, her right hand reached toward the imagery. An identical picture, reaching back toward her with the same desire to touch her as she had to touch it.

The air thrummed.

The world around the girl in the red shoes distorted.

Sarah, felt the incredible urge to throw up.

Then the noise came. A single overwhelming dissonance.

The sound that invaded the quiet was like nothing she'd ever heard before.

And, thankfully, never heard again.

It was as if the very fabric of reality had cracked. She felt it through her core. It left a thick, oily residue in the air. An unseemly, unwashable taint upon her skin.

One she could smell.

And it just smelled... wrong.

In the blink of an eye, the girl in white was pulled out of existence. With such ferocity that her memory was nearly wiped from Sarah's mind.

Until she looked down.

And she saw a single red shoe, sitting on its side, wobbling. It was all the evidence that was left, that the other girl once had a place in this world.

"Mirrors don't eat people. Mirrors don't eat people."

Sarah finally crosses the alley. Leans back against the concrete.

Out of breath.

Drenched in a cold sweat.

Legs shaking.

"Mirrors don't eat people."

But she knows, very well, that THAT is a lie.