瞥见一面镜子，ɐup ʎon ɯᴉƃɥʇ soticsǝ ʎonɹ ɟloticsɔʇᴉou ndsᴉpotics poʍu。（而且你可能会看到你的倒影是颠倒的。）
另一面镜子可能看起来像一个完美的复制品，sed loquendo verba tua sonuerunt aliena tibi.（但在说话时，你的话听起来很奇怪。）
跳过下面的 2 段
In a land to the West, beyond the great Azure Sea, there lived a beautiful Princess. Her black hair shimmered like starlight over a winter lake, and she passed the hours of each day by admiring it from the countless reflections that surrounded her.
For this Princess lived in a palace of mirrors.
Upon every wall, adorning every pillar, and even set into the crown that rested upon her head, were countless mirrors.
But not every mirror was the same.
Glimpse into one mirror, ɐup ʎon ɯᴉƃɥʇ sǝǝ ʎonɹ ɹǝɟlǝɔʇᴉou ndsᴉpǝ poʍu. (and you might see your reflection upside down.)
Another mirror might look like a perfect relfection, sed loquendo verba tua sonuerunt aliena tibi.(but when speaking, your words sound strange to you.)
One mirror showed a reflection of the past.
While another showed her what had yet to pass.
One mirror magnified her appearance.
While another ever so slightly diminished it.
And so the princess whiled each day mesmerized by the kaleidoscope of reflections that unfolded before her. In one mirror she was old, another she was young. In one she was skinny, another rotund. With so many mirrors to examine, you might think she favored some.
But all of her mirrors were precious to her.
All but one.
of the past option:
resets the story
what had yet to pass option:
Skips the following 2 paragraphs
All but one option:
Deep in the palace’s dungeon, beneath its mirrored halls and crystal courtyards, was one mirror in which the princess dared not to look.
She kept it hidden and secret, a single shard of polished silver pressed between the pages of a very old book
One day, while she was combing her hair before a mirror that made it look as if she had no hair at all, the Princess received a guest.
Because the Princess lived alone, she did not realize he had entered the palace until he stumbled upon her. Clad in a tattered black cloak, the Princess feared the Man was one of the Azure Sea raiders who would frequently shore their boats and roam inland looking for food and treasure.
But upon seeing him, the Man prostrated himself and kissed the ground before her. “So the legends are true,” he whispered.
“What legends?” asked the Princess, her curiosity piqued.
“When I was a boy, my mother told me stories of the Mirror Princess who lived in a palace on the other side of the Azure Sea,” the Man explained. “She told me of her mirrors, and the magic that compelled them to show not a reflection in plain, but a reflection of every possibility conceivable by mortal minds–and even some that are not.”
The Princess saw now that the Man was not a dangerous rogue, but a feeble gaffer. His skin was wrinkled and weathered. It hung from his face, making him look gaunt and dreadful. And in her heart, the Princess pitied him.
“I suppose you have chased this rumor across the sea hoping to glimpse a reflection of you when you were still young, old man?” the Princess said.
Pushing himself up onto his knees, the old Man bellowed. “No! No! That’s not it at all!”
The Princess squinted her eyes in suspicion.
“You see,” the old Man continued. “I have come because I have no reflection at all.”
The Princess gasped and, taking the mirror in her hand, positioned it in front of the Man’s face at such an angle that she would see him in it.
But, alas, no reflection could she find.
“See?” the Man whispered, his voice trembling. “It was taken from me.”
“How?” asked the Princess.
The old Man sat back and drew his hands to his chest.
“Years ago, when I was a young, I was strong and courageous and exceptional with a blade. I fought in wars old and new, explored many lands, and loved as men are wont to do,” he said. “But none of those loves compared to her.”
The old Man looked at the Princess and the intensity of his gaze made her uneasy.
“She was my constant companion, a light that illuminated even the darkest trails. She’d leave me, oh yes, but always to return. Her pale skin glittered on the black waves around my boat as I sailed to lands unknown,” the Man continued. “She was my one true love. And she betrayed me.”
The Princess wrinkled her nose in confusion. She had never heard of this Moon before. “How did she betray you?”
The old Man looked up, his eyes filled with tears that refused to spill.
“She disappeared, and she took my reflection with her.”
The Princess felt the immensity of the Man’s heartbreak and it softened her suspicions. “So why have you come?” she asked.
“For countless years I have wandered the earth, looking for any sign of my reflection. But after finding nothing, I one day remembered the stories my mother used to tell. Of a Princess who lived beyond the sea, in a palace of mirrors. Surely, I thought, my reflection could be found in one of them.”
The Princess considered it a moment and said, “Your story pains me. I know not of this Moon of which you speak, but my palace and its mirrors are yours. May you find your reflection in one.”
The old Man’s eyes widened in disbelief and he fell on his face before her and for many long minutes babbled praises to the young Princess.
At last, he looked up to discover that she had gone. Drying his eyes, he turned his mind to the search ahead.
The old Man searched. He searched and he searched and he searched. Days turned into months, which turned into years as he scoured the countless rooms of the palace, stopping to gaze into each of their countless mirrors hoping to see himself.
As thanks to his gracious host, the old Man would sometimes venture out into the forest that surrounded the palace to hunt. He’d return at dusk, and on mirror plates he and the Princess would enjoy a meal together. He regaled her with stories of his life, and she listened with rapt attention for the Princess had never ventured beyond the walls of the palace.
And when the meal was done and the Princess retired, the old Man would search for his reflection in curve of her silver spoons.
One day, the Princess realized she had not seen the old Man in some time. She feared for him. In the years they had lived together, he had become her close companion. But she could not ignore how time’s incessant march bent him. She feared he might pass without ever recovering his reflection.
“Friend, where are thou?” she called as she wandered the halls, but there was no sign of him.
Days passed. So terrified was she of losing him, she began to leave messages etched into precious mirrors. Hoping that they were simply like ships passing unawares in the night.
But no sign of him could she find.
Then one day, the Princess’s wanderings brought her to the mouth of the dungeon.
She was about to pass by when something caught her eye. Stopping, feeling a cold panic crawl over her, she turned to notice the door was slightly ajar.
“No,” she whispered. “Please no!”
The Princess flung wide the door and raced down the steps. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she plunged into the darkness beneath the palace.
Her foot slipped on a step and she tumbled forward, falling down several flights. A wash of warm, sticky blood trickled down her face. But still she thundered on.
Finally she came to an old wooden door where, upon its facade, where etched old runes that she did not understand. Pushing it open, she stepped into an ancient library, where dusty books crowded every shelf. And in the center of this room, the old Man sat with his back to her. A queer silver corona of light emanated from something he held in his ancient, withered hands.
The Princess called softly to him but he did not respond. A knot of fear twisted her stomach, making it hard to breathe.
“Old friend,” she whispered. “You should not be here.”
Cautiously she circled the old Man until at last she could see his face. Illuminated by a pale glow, his mouth was slack, absent of any expression. His breathing was shallow and rapid. His eyes two perfectly white pearls.
The Princess fell to her knees and, stifling a sob, continued to crawl toward her one and only companion. Clasped in his hands was a book so old that its pages crumbled to dust where his fingers clutched them. And resting between its pages, pale white light spilled out of a shard of mirrorglass as if it were a window.
Fighting the urge to scream, the Princess wrapped her fingers around the unmoving hands of the old Man and began to close the book.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered between a silent sob.
The Man did not respond.
But as the book closed, the Princess—unable to fight her curiosity—chanced a glimpse. In the shard of mirror, she saw not the reflection of her friend, but her own.
And as the pages closed together and she was left in complete and all-encompassing blackness, the Princess could not get the image out of her mind.
Her reflection, smiling, as it reached for her, fingers piercing the threshold between them.