Alice stood in front of her most recent drawing, the paint still wet upon the taut fabric of the canvas. It was a simple enough painting by all rights, merely detailing a normal sunrise that rose between two skyscrapers outside her apartment. The painting hadn’t been made as a commission; rather, the artist had felt an unexplainable emotion that had summarily lead the painter to place the colors down with her careful tools and steady eyes. To try and preserve the feeling.

Now though, despite the fact that the girl was fully aware of what story the colors contained, she didn't see a warming sunrise in her painting, anymore. The hopeful image faded from her mind as the feelings of hope and joy drained from her body, the conclusion to her work bringing an end to the energy that had run through her only moments prior. All she could see now was a sunset to the closing of a cloudy day where only fuzzy, unsure sunlight had graced the surface of the earth. And only now had some small amount of light decided to grace the surface for the short moments before the world was plunged into the icy chill of night.

As she looked at the painting, a voice at the back of her head echoed loudly with a plea to end the pain, a voice that had become more and more prominent in her day to day life. Now, it was begging Alice to discard the sunset as a fleeting light that meant nothing, and to end all that she had come so far to accomplish. Alice was no famous painter, alone in this rundown art studio, not a solid penny of savings to her name. She had only become a small time artist to try and get by with her life. Yet, no matter how many times she told herself this, another voice would tell her the actual reason was to try and carry on her father’s work, to follow in his footsteps. It was at this point in her musings that the voice would whisper once again, without fail, and tell her to follow those footsteps off the edge of a building.

Just like dear old dad.

Alice gazed into the art she had created, depressingly entranced by her own work as the murmurings in the back of her head wormed through each of her thoughts. She was quite silent by nature; any who had spent any time with the artist would bear witness to her overt shyness. But the trouble was obvious from the girl’s perspective. Words just weren’t enough. They didn’t say enough of a person. She couldn’t feel the emotion in people’s words like she could from their paintings. They just weren’t colorful enough. Not for Alice.

Yet, despite her lack of communication skills, Alice spoke openly to herself in moments of loneliness and darkness such as this, moments when no one else would listen. Because of this, she was forced into the drudges of her own mind and, unfortunately for the poor girl, the things found there were not cheerful, casting her deeper into the pits of despair that consumed her.

Her mental 'condition' was easily recognizable by anyone who would give her a few moments of free speech. So obvious, in fact, that a few doctors who had spoken with her suggested antidepressants. The problem wasn't what kind of medicine to take though, it was that any medicine cost far too much for someone like Alice, someone who barely managed to buy enough food to live on. And so, no matter how much she needed the medicine, she wouldn't be able to afford it. Money was no object; it was an impossibility.

She wouldn’t have had to live like this, of course, if her godparents had supported her like her parent's had wished them too. At the mere thought of the selfish individuals who had all but removed themselves from her life, Alice’s other condition made itself known: swift mood swings. Rage rose and she clenched her teeth in restraint, wanting nothing more than to destroy this piece of art that sat in front of her. She declined this feeling, valuing the art to be far more important than to be at the butt end of directionless rage. Instead, she opted to merely wait for the anger to run its course.

After the rage dissipated and her heartbeat returned to the calm rhythm she knew, the, now stoic, artist lifted the canvas from the easel it rested on. That is to say, the one that held the emotion of the reds, oranges, and yellows which had caused her inner torment after finishing it. Now though, on the departing platform of her emotional roller coaster, it was with a content heart that the artist gave it one last look over, before setting it against a nearby wall so it could dry in peace and out of sight.

With that minor job out of the way, Alice wiped her paint stricken hands across her pants, adding to the various other marks upon their surface. Each piece of the artist’s attire spoke of her past. From the scars and streaks of paint that decorated her, once white, pants, to the worn and weathered brown beret atop her head. Her shirt was askew from her hurried drawing, the sleeves caked in dried paint from the years. It only took the practiced artist a few seconds to straighten up, bringing the creases of her outfit in line. Without a way to check if she looked presentable, the girl simply smiled and climbed out her window. Her feet landed safely on the metal grid just outside, without missing a moment the artist strode over to the side and leaned against the railing of the fire escape.

Below her, the busy city expelled the various noises of advertisements, advertisers, traffic, and talking pedestrians meshing into one another to form the babble that now floated lightly up to the Alice’s ears. This was her habit after finishing a painting, to look over the city that seemed so evil on the front, but deep, deep down could be so kind. She wished with all her heart she could show the kind side of the city. Unfortunately though, people had a tendency to keep their own ideas, and even though the saying recommends not to judge a book by its cover, everyone did it regardless.

As Alice looked out over the city from her perch, imagining all the different colors of people and lives stirring below, she heard something that she hadn’t expected: a knock at her own door. Somewhat surprised by the fact that someone had come to see her, the artist made her way towards the sound. She had no friends that would have come to visit her, and she was much too high up and out of the way to be mistaken for some other room. With hesitant steps, the distressed female made her way across the room and opened the door.

In the doorway stood a large cardboard package. Alice raised an eyebrow in curiosity at the sight and looked at the man who stood next to it. He was dressed in blue denim workwear and held a clipboard in front of himself, his hat advertising he was part of ‘West End Shipping Co.’, accompanying repugnant smells of sweat and exertion included with no extra charge. A moment passed before the man looked up from his clipboard and realized that the door in front of him had opened.

“Hello, I have a package for a Missus Alice Rendight. Would that happen to be you, ma’am?” the man asked with a glance to the artist whom stood stock still in the door. It took the girl a few moments of shocked silence before she managed to nod her head and confirm his guess. Without further delay, he wheeled the box into the apartment.

The artist attempted to muster a few words to stop him, but came up short as she was handed the clipboard and informed that she needed to sign the paper resting upon it. She did so without further thought and handed the paper back to the man. He looked at the signature and smiled. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out an envelope and handed it to the confused girl. She took it resignedly and thanked the man for the delivery. He returned the thanks for signing for the package and walked out of the room, leaving Alice to close the door behind him.

Now alone with the odd box in front of her, the girl couldn’t help but stand stunned for a few moments. Had someone really just sent her a gift? She pondered over this peculiarity as she looked at the container in front of her. The cardboard rectangle was barely wider than her own body and it stood a little above her own height. After a moment, Alice decided to shift her thoughts from ‘what’ to 'who'. Who could have sent the package? The question played solely across the ridges of her mind for a moment before she was reminded of the envelope that still rested in her hand.

With child-like exuberance, Alice tore t he envelope open wide and pulled the letter from the grasp of its papery tomb. She tossed the torn, empty envelope to the side as she opened her note and unfolded the paper.

‘Hello there, Alice. I have seen quite a lot of your work as of late and I must say I think you are quite the talent. I have therefore decided to gift this mirror to you in hopes that it will keep your spirits up and perhaps inspire future drawings.

Sincerely,

Dr. Ocsid’

Though the name didn’t seem familiar, and was most definitely odd, that didn’t stop the painter from tearing into the cardboard box with the speed of a nine year old on christmas. As the cardboard fell to the sides, it revealed a mirror sitting perfectly in the middle of the box. Disregarding the curiosity as to how it managed to survive being shipped like that without any cushioning or styrofoam, Alice immediately stepped in front of the reflective surface, gazing in amazement at how absolutely shiny and clear the surface was. Tearing her gaze from the full body mirror, she brought her eyes to the beautiful bronze filigree work that twisted and wound around the glass-like surface.

Despite the eloquent metalwork, Alice’s attention was only held for a short moment before her gaze once again flicked impatiently toward the surface of the glass-like material. Now that she was once again looking into the reflective surface held within the metal casing, Alice couldn’t help but let her inner child out. This was expressed in the form of making faces and giggling as the copy of herself dutifully performed the same ludicrous facial expression.

After several minutes of this, the girl smiled widely and stepped away from the mirror. It had been a long time since she had laughed or smiled like that and now that she had been so blessed with this strange gift, she couldn’t help but feel the urge to draw, if only to put her feelings down upon an empty canvas.

With this idea implanted in her head, the girl walked over to the easel she had been using earlier that morning and clicked it flat. In addition to the unwieldy wooden support for her paintings, she grabbed her brushes and oil-based paint as well. With these in her hands, she was about to leave, when she stopped and decided to grab her painting of the sunrise as well, just in case she felt the need to repaint portions of it while she was out. She carefully sleeved the, now dry, painting within a rectangular cloth pocket that fit the canvas like a glove. Once inside the cover of cloth, she placed both inside a small cardboard box for protection and picked up the equipment she had placed on the ground to shroud the drawing.

With both hands full of painting equipment, or of paintings themselves, the girl smiled to herself and made to leave the apartment. As she did so, she stopped one more time and looked into the reflective mirror. It had been quite a while since she had seen any such thing and it occurred to Alice she had no idea what the metal surface felt like. With her childish curiosity still in full force, she began shuffling some of the painting tools around in her grasp. After a moment, she reached out and touched the surface of the reflection with her forefinger. After feeling the reassuring coolness of the mirror on the tip of her finger, she regretfully pulled away. Or at least, she tried to. A feeling of fear incomparable to anything else spiked through her as she realized that she couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried, get away from the surface of the mirror. Her finger was stuck to the surface with such strength she would have sworn that her flesh had fused with her reflection.

Shocked silent by this development, she wasn’t ready when a sudden tug, which had no source as far as the girl could tell, sent her head over heels into the mirror. The surface rippled as she passed through it, as if it had never been a mirror at all. She fell through the silver tunnel in a blind panic, fear and surprise ruling her actions as she tumbled aimlessly. Desperate for something solid, she clutched tightly to the painting of a sunrise resting within her grip, her other pieces of art equipment dropping alongside her. As she plummeted, a thought filtered through her mind that might have caused her to laugh if she wasn’t so sure that this was going to end horribly. A girl named Alice had just fallen through the looking glass.

Alice emerged on the other side of the tunnel falling in a tumble of body and limbs into a surprisingly comfortable landing. She looked around as the world continued to spin dizzily around her. She was in some kind of dark room, but beyond that... Alice tried to focus her vision, but after failing to notice any solid piece of detail wherever she had ended up, the girl gave up on her consciousness and fell into the solid blackness of a deep sleep.

She dreamt of nothing in this forced sleep as her mind rested from the event that had just occurred. Slowly, groggily, her mind came back to her and she opened her eyes a sliver to see into the now lit room surrounding her. Details began to filter together as her vision recomposed itself. Deciding she needed a better perspective, Alice sat up. The first major development she discovered was that she was now in a higher altitude than before. Someone had moved her from the floor onto a couch, where she now rested.

Despite her body yelling in protest, she opened her eyes more and saw all her painting equipment had made it through with her, the containers from her oil paints somehow surviving the trip undamaged. Moving her sight past this reassuring detail, the girl noticed she was now inside of a very odd room. It appeared to be completely circular and the walls looked to be composed of a thick wood. On the floor sat a very basic rug and all around her were houses for small critters. Bird houses and small beds, cat houses and even mouse holes at some points.

Alice sat on that couch for as long as she could until she recalled her nasty trip through the mirror. With a jolt, the girl sat upright as she pondered over the matter of if she was dreaming or if she was in some serious danger. As she delved into this problem mentally, an intake of breath from her right blind side made the girl turn to face whomever or whatever had just approached.

It turned out to be the latter as Alice took notice of a cream-colored pegasus standing not too far away. The girl’s brain decided now was a good time to stop working and immediately left her alone to face this creature. The quadruped spoke softly under its breath as it cautiously approached, but from this distance, Alice couldn’t make out a single word.

As it continued its slow approach, Alice noticed two things. Assuming that the biology of these creatures were similar to the horses of her own world, then, from the way its face was curved and the thinness of its barrel, it was safe to assume that the creature was a young female. Secondly, the voice it spoke in, though soft, revealed that it wasn’t just the lack of volume that made Alice unable to understand it, but also the fact that whatever language it was speaking wasn’t one with which Alice was familiar.

Her mind briefly returned from its fishing trip to inform her this creature could be dangerous, and then left the rest to her instincts. With a jolt, Alice stood from the couch and backed away from the pegasus in fear. In response to the sudden action, the creature stopped her approach and looked at Alice with an expression that spoke volumes of the worried emotion she must have been feeling. Minutes past slowly by to the tick of a clock before the yellow pegasus once again moved. She slowly stepped forward one more step and seated herself on the couch that Alice had been laying on minutes prior.

The pony smiled at her with a calm, kind grin and patted the cushion next to herself. It took Alice a few moments to catch on to what the pony was trying to say before she realized it was an invitation to sit next to the mare. For her part, the girl was caught between running for her life and walking to the couch once again when she caught the sight of the box that contained her drawing, her beret sitting atop it. The box had been placed safely on the middle of a nearby table and, even though the hat was obscuring it, it was obvious that a great deal had been taken into account when caring for that particular piece.

After wondering why this was for a few moments, the answer hit her like a truck. The reason for the actions of the pegasus was good will and Alice was now fully aware of how horrible a guest she was being. She found me clenching that box to my chest and so she thought it was extremely important to me. With this in mind, she put it in a prominent place where she could keep track of it, Alice thought to herself. After this realization, the artist looked once more to the mare whose face still held the same calm, inviting smile that almost made the innocence and caring palpable, regardless of the distance between the two.

Still slightly hesitant to the odd creature, but now much more trusting of its motivation, Alice walked over to the box and picked it up from the table. The box was in the same condition as it had been when Alice left the house with it and appeared to have not been opened while she was unconscious. Grabbing her hat from the top and replacing it upon her head, and with the box giving what little comfort it could within her grasp, Alice walked back over to the couch and sat down on its cushions.

A natural silence formed in the air as the two females sat next to one another. In this silence, both entertained their own thoughts. For the pegasus, she was hoping that she could manage to care for this odd creature that had stumbled into her house while she had gone out. Even more mysterious than the appearance of it inside her house was the art equipment that had come with it. There was no way it could have gotten in lugging all that equipment unless it could utilize magic.

Alice’s mind was running circles around what was happening. Pegasi and mirrors and odd languages, oh my. As her mind teetered on the brink of collapsing, the girl took a deep breath and opened the box that rested on her lap. The movement caught the eye of the yellow mare at her side and she looked over to see Alice pulling the cloth rectangle from within the cardboard. A second more passed as Alice reached into the cloth pocket and retrieved the drawing of a sunset.

She heard a series of noises that sounded familiar and looked to the winged pony whose eyes were now locked on the painting, her mouth moving in time with the syllables of her language. Though the words held no meaning on their own, the tone held within the words spoke clear to the artist. It was a tone of praise and amazement. This was enough to ease off what little stress remained and Alice smiled to herself.

I don’t know if this is a dream or if this is another weird twist in my life... but if it’s the latter and all of the inhabitants of this world are as kind as her, then maybe... maybe it’s a twist for the better.