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Chapter 8 by TheArchitect TheArchitect

"Magic mirror in my hand, who's the fairest in the land?"

Inga loves what she sees and takes the mirror with her.

Real mirrors could not talk, but whatever Instagram filter this mirror used was getting through to the girl's heart. Compared to other activities immediately available to her, this continuous act of self-worship was very entertaining. Her white hair, her blue eyes, the tender skin of her face.

It would be such a waste to just have all that sitting on that bed. She felt young, strong and precious, compelled to explore this world of wonders, taking the mirror along to have a means of getting motivated like that in the future.

Where to?

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