THE MIRROR OF WHAT YOU ALREADY HAVE (Part 2)

PJ landed softly in snow that felt like a gentle embrace. The Mirror Tree shimmered behind her, and beside it, her faithful guide sat watching with those ancient, knowing eyes.

Her heart was still raw from the cruelty of the mansion world, but something in the creature's presence steadied her. It had seen her pain, witnessed her realization, and waited patiently for her to be ready for what came next.

A small oval mirror, covered in frost, began to glow with warm, honey-colored light. The creature approached it, placed both tiny paws against its surface, and the glow deepened, pulsing gently like a heartbeat.

The creature looked back at her and nodded once. This one, its expression said. This is important.

PJ stepped toward it, drawn by something she couldn't explain. "All right," she whispered. "I'm ready."

She stepped through.

THE TRAILER THAT GLOWED WITH MAGIC

This time, the transition was gentle, like stepping from one breath to the next.

PJ landed on a wooden porch. Familiar. Humble. But bathed in warm golden light that glowed through the windows like a promise.

She recognized the shape of the porch instantly. But this wasn't the place she remembered.

The porch was swept clean. A small wreath hung crookedly on the door, homemade, with pinecones tied in red yarn. A string of colorful Christmas bulbs looped around the railing, blinking softly like they were trying their best.

The air smelled like winter and cinnamon, gentle, inviting.

Her guide appeared beside her, no longer cautious or mysterious. It sat comfortably, as if this place was as familiar to it as it was to her.

PJ's heart tugged in her chest. She pushed the door open.

THE HOME THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN

Warmth enveloped her instantly, a soft, loving heat that made her eyes sting.

The little living room was simple and worn, but glowed with life. A tiny Christmas tree stood in the corner, the kind that came pre-lit from the dollar store, decorated with paper ornaments, popcorn garland, and crooked stars made from pipe cleaners.

The lights flickered, each one a different rhythm… like a tiny choir singing without words.

Her brother and sister sat on the floor, legs crossed, wrapping homemade gifts in grocery bags decorated with crayons. They were laughing. Not mocking. Not fighting. Not restless. Laughing.

PJ swallowed the lump in her throat.

Her mother stood in the kitchen, humming "Silent Night" as she stirred a pot. Her hair was pulled back. Her apron dusted with flour. Her face, tired, yes, but peaceful.

She turned and saw PJ. "Oh, hey baby," she said, smiling softly. "Dinner's almost ready. You want to help with the rolls?"

The simplicity of the question nearly shattered PJ. No urgency. No frustration. No chaos. Just… love.

The creature appeared at her feet, looking up at her with gentle encouragement. It gestured toward the kitchen with one tiny paw, then placed that same paw over its small heart.

Feel this, it seemed to say. Remember this.

A MOMENT SHE WILL NEVER FORGET

"Are you… okay?" her mother asked gently, brushing a piece of hair behind PJ's ear.

PJ nodded, tears burning behind her eyes. "I'm just… watching."

Her mother leaned down and kissed her forehead, a gesture so unexpected, so tender, so holy that PJ nearly fell apart.

"You're safe here," her mother whispered.

And PJ let herself believe it.

She closed her eyes and inhaled the smell of rolls rising near the stove, butter melting in a dish, cinnamon clinging to the warm air.

It was the Christmas she always imagined when she looked at other families through icy windows. The Christmas she wished she had lived. The Christmas she used to pretend was waiting for her if she could just be good enough, quiet enough, small enough.

But here… No one asked her to shrink.

Her siblings tugged on her hand, eager to show her a lopsided paper snowflake. Her mother hummed as she checked the pie in the oven.

And PJ realized something: This world isn't perfect because it's fancy. It's perfect because it's kind.

The creature sat beside the tiny Christmas tree, watching the family with the same gentle attention it had given PJ. When she looked at it, it blinked slowly—a gesture of pure contentment.

THE LESSON DEEPENS

Later, as laughter filled the tiny home and the Christmas tree hummed with soft, mismatched light, PJ felt the air shift.

A hallway mirror began to glow.

Her stomach tightened. It was time again.

The creature appeared at her side, no longer sitting apart but walking with her toward the glowing mirror. It looked up at her with eyes full of understanding.

You know what this was, its expression seemed to say. You know why I brought you here.

PJ knelt down beside her guide. "This was about gratitude, wasn't it? About seeing the love that was always there, even when it was wrapped in struggle."

The creature placed one tiny paw on her hand. Warm. Affirming. Yes.

She wanted to stay. Oh, how she wanted to stay. But this wasn't her world. It was a gift. A reminder. A glimpse of what love could look like when it had room to breathe.

She pressed her fingers over her heart and whispered: "Thank you."

The creature stood and walked to the mirror with her. Just before she touched it, it looked up at her one more time. Ready for the last lesson?

PJ nodded. "I'm ready."

She touched the mirror. The warm world dissolved into light.

End of Part II

(Part III arrives December 23, The Mirror of What You’re Meant to Become)