Lou Charmelle Page

"Does it show only possibilities you like?" Mire asked after a time.

The mirror opened and held for a long time. Images came in slow waves: a market on a hillside, a child offering Lou a slice of orange; a failed show where Lou’s hands trembled and someone applauded anyway; a winter where Lou learned to read the language of snow. The final image was quiet—a small café table, steam rising from a cup, Lou older and laughing with someone whose hand fit in the crook of their own. It was not triumphant, but it was warm. lou charmelle