The Glass Door

((Author's note: I have made this story open to the public. I encourage people to post their own chapters and threads. If you are a potential writer want an idea of how the mirror works, read the first handful of chapters in my main thread to get an idea. You are under no obligation to make it function in the same way unless you want to, however. Have fun with it! Just make sure your chapters are in first person perspective, and you follow the rules of the site.))

I never knew my grandfather that well. I had vague memories of him when I was just a child, I only ever saw him on my birthdays. As I got older he stopped visiting. My father told me he was a kind man, but very sad. His wife, my grandmother, died very young, and my grandfather carried the weight of her unfortunate his whole life.

The news of his came as a shock to me, but only because I had almost completely forgotten about him for years before then. I learned because of a letter that was sent to me, informing me that his will had been read, and that I would be receiving my inheritance from his estate soon.

When it arrived, I was underwhelmed. Just a mirror. The kind of mirror that stood on two legs and could tilt on an axis up or down. Nothing special. It came with a strange note, however, and it was signed by him.

This is my most prized possession. It may not seem like much, but it has kept me alive all these years, for if I had not acquired this mirror, I would have surely taken my own life decades ago. I have not spoken to you in years, and this is my only true regret. I can only hope that this gift will serve you well as it has served me.

Laying down the note on my desk, I stood up and crossed my bedroom to the acclaimed life-changing mirror. The frame of the mirror was mahogany with some gold lining, at least it looked like gold. Though the frame was spotted, scuffed, and weathered with age; the reflective surface of the mirror was absolutely pristine and spotless. They must have done an excellent job of cleaning it before sending it here.

I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself through its eerily perfect surface.