Mirrors

an Auré excerpt

“You smell of horrid, awful smoke.”

Etienne could not understand Elodie’s sudden disproval of cigarettes. Though it was true that she’d never been partial to their nature, it had never been so egregious as to be referred to as horrid or awful, never before right that moment. At most she was known to scrunch her nose, perhaps lightly comment then say nothing more. Therefore Etienne could not but suppose that this sudden, clearer passion was only out of convenience to hinder his pursuit; a horrid, awful bother.

“You mustn’t be nonsensical now,” he said to her, clasping his hands together. “Not now.”

“I mustn’t?” Elodie scoffed, tapping his right foot with her own, with some force. “This is your fault, your doing. I worry and I warn and I pester and I plead but you are incapable of understanding a thing. You will not enter the room smelling of smoke, not here, not where the air is heavenly pure. We’ve just moved some pots from the greenhouse to his room.”

We’ve, Etienne thought. Agathe must be inside. Agathe who does not smoke, does not dance. Who can do precisely nothing.

“You suffocate him,” he said, looking past his friend. The foyer was dim, barely penetrable. The candles needed replacing. It was unlike Colette to neglect such a task.

“You exhaust him,” Elodie retorted, quickened and charged. “You who have no sisters, no brothers, who could not possibly understand why I reject you this evening. You who have never had to caretake, who frolics and gallivants as he pleases. Who can.”

“Exactly what is needed!” Etienne gasped. “Wasn’t it just a few weeks ago when he called upon me to keep him company because you went to the ice? Weren’t you happy? Was it not thrilling to be so carefree, even if only for a few hours? The both of you are in desperate need of separation. From one another, from your damnable parents, from this preposterous home! No, don’t look at me in such a way, I know you understand me—and Agathe.

Agathe enables it all, and she does not even know. She is kind and gentle and simple, but you know. You are not so simple. Why are you allowing such things to fester? Why are you cultivating his unhappiness? You are holding everything too tightly, Elodie, too closely, too—,”

“That’s enough!” shouted Elodie. She kicked Etienne’s shoe, and then she shoved him back.

“There it is!” Etienne laughed, allowing himself to stumble. “That’s it! That’s what this insufferable place is made of! You and he and whoever is unlucky enough to become trapped inside with you!” He threw his hands upward in a display of frustration. “You can’t keep him, you know that. Even if you won’t allow him to live, he will still die. And he will die having known less, been less.”

“You will—,”

“And you, who refuse to live yourself, will die with him.”