The Silver Mirror's Whisper

A tiny glint caught my eye from the top of the dark mahogany sideboard. I scrambled up via the carved drawer handles and found an antique silver hand mirror laid flat on an embroidered linen runner. Its beveled glass held the dim reflection of the chandelier above, but right beneath the curved handle, a small moth wing rested motionless on the reflective surface. I knelt down softly so I wouldn't disturb it, resting my fabric hands against the chilled silver border. In the quiet evening, the cool glass felt like a still pond holding silent shadows, and I leaned down close, listening patiently as the room's soft currents brushed across the mirror face.