THE MIRROR OF WHAT YOU THINK YOU WANT (Part 1)

A Three-Part Christmas Fantasy Series

Before we begin, a little note from my heart: This story is fiction, a magical Christmas tale written just for this season. It unfolds over three parts, each one a journey through the mysterious Mirror Tree of the Piney Woods… a place where memories shimmer, possibilities shift, and the worlds we step into reveal something deeper about the one we live in.

You'll see familiar threads woven through the magic, pieces of my childhood, echoes of the girl I once was, and glimmers of the woman I became. But above all, this is a Christmas story meant to bring you wonder, warmth, and the reminder that sometimes the greatest miracles begin with a single step into the unknown. Enjoy and share!

Now…take a breath…and step with me into the Pines!

PJ wasn't trying to run away, not exactly. She just needed air. Quiet. Somewhere the world didn't feel like it was sitting on her chest.

So she slipped into the Piney Woods, the one place she'd always felt mysteriously understood.

The December sun was thin, almost shy, weaving itself between the tall pines. When she stepped deeper into the woods, the smell of pine sap and cold earth wrapped around her like a familiar blanket.

She walked until the world felt distant, until something shimmered.

At first she thought it was just a trick of light. But then the shimmer grew. A soft glow. A ripple. A flicker like diamonds in motion.

PJ squinted, stepping forward. And then she saw it.

THE MIRROR TREE

In the center of a small clearing stood a pine tree, not tall, not grand, but enchanted, unmistakably enchanted.

Every branch, every twig, held a mirror. Hundreds of them. They didn't hang like ornaments. They floated. Suspended by nothing, turning slowly in the air as if guided by an invisible hand.

Some were as small as locket pendants. Some were tall and thin, like the kind you'd lean against a bedroom wall. Others were round, oval, star-shaped, each one imperfect, chipped, cracked, or cloudy.

And yet… The tree glowed. Light didn't just reflect in the mirrors, it moved through them, bending and scattering across the clearing like ribbons of silver.

PJ's breath hitched. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

As she stepped closer, tiny crystalline chimes filled the air, the soft sound of glass touching glass in a winter breeze. Her skin tingled.

This place felt like it shouldn't exist. Like she'd wandered into a page of a fairytale that was never meant to be found.

She reached out and touched the nearest mirror. Her fingertips tingled. The mirror warmed beneath her touch.

And something moved in the branches above.

THE GUARDIAN

From behind the trunk stepped a creature unlike anything PJ had ever seen.

Small as a house cat, but round and soft, with fur the color of fresh snow touched by moonlight. Its face was delicate, part rabbit, part something otherworldly, with large, knowing eyes that held depths of ancient kindness.

It didn't dart away. It didn't hide. It simply sat, tail curled neatly around tiny paws, and watched her with the patience of something that had been waiting specifically for her arrival.

"Hello," PJ whispered, her voice barely disturbing the crystal air.

The creature tilted its head, a gesture so gentle it made her heart ache. Then it stood and padded softly to the largest mirror, one that hung at eye level, its surface swirling with silver mist.

The creature placed one tiny paw against the glass. The mirror began to glow. Warm. Inviting. Promising.

It looked back at PJ, blinking once, slowly, as if to say: This is why you're here. This is what you came to see. Trust me.

PJ's foot caught on a pinecone as she stepped forward. She stumbled, reaching out instinctively, And instead of touching glass, her hand passed through the mirror like it was made of light.

The creature nodded once, encouraging. PJ took a breath. And stepped through.

THE SNOW WORLD

She emerged into a blast of cold air. Snow fell like glitter shaken from the sky, landing on her eyelashes and melting against her cheeks.

The Pines stretched tall around her, but everything was different: The air was sharper. The sky brighter. The forest floor blanketed in white so perfect it looked painted.

The Mirror Tree was still here, but now the mirrors glowed like lanterns in the snow. And beside it sat her guide, the small creature, watching her with those patient, knowing eyes.

PJ spun, breath fogging the air, heart thudding. This world felt… magical. Alive.

She took off running towards her home, and saw it. Her home… but not.

Gone were the row of weary mobile homes she knew so well. Instead, elegant houses lined the snowy road, each lit gently with candles in the windows and garland sweeping the porches.

It was the neighborhood she used to dream about when she was a little girl walking home in the dark, warm windows, smiling families, Christmas trees glowing in every room.

Her heart twisted.

She followed the path until she reached the place where her trailer should have been. But instead… A mansion towered before her.

Stone walls shimmered beneath the falling snow. Balconies dripped with garlands and twinkling lights. Huge windows glowed warm and golden.

Her brother and sister played on a magnificent swing set out front, wearing expensive coats and rosy-cheeked smiles.

PJ approached slowly. “Where… where’s our trailer?” she asked.

Her brother blinked at her like she’d said something strange.
“A trailer? Why would anyone live in one of those? That’s for poor people.”

The words hit her harder than the cold. Her chest hollowed.

PJ stepped back, stunned, snow crunching under her boots. She turned, searching for the row of familiar trailers, the sagging porches, the dented cars, the Christmas lights someone always left up until March.

Gone.

Everything she knew had been replaced with something shinier, louder, richer.

Her breath fogged the air. She didn’t know where to go. Didn’t know what to believe.

A soft glow spilled from the mansion’s front windows, warm and golden, like it was calling her closer. Before she realized she was moving, PJ found herself walking up the long, curved path toward the porch. Each step felt both wrong and inevitable, like the world had tilted and her feet simply followed its slope.

Halfway up the steps, the front door eased open with a gentle creak.

“PJ?” her mother’s voice called from inside. “Honey, come in. You’re letting the heat out.”

PJ hesitated at the top of the steps, the cold biting through her clothes in a way that suddenly felt too real. The mansion door stood open just an inch, enough for golden light to spill onto the porch like a welcome she wasn’t sure she trusted.

She reached out and touched it.

The wood was smooth, dark, heavy, carved with swirling patterns she had only ever seen in magazines left in waiting rooms. Her fingers trembled as she pushed it open. The hinges gave a soft, low groan, the kind that felt like the house itself was waking up to greet her.

Warmth rushed out to meet her, brushing her cheeks like a gentle hand.

THE IMPOSSIBLE

Inside the mansion, warmth washed over her skin. Soft music floated through the halls. The smell of fresh bread and sweet spices curled through the air.

She turned a corner into the living room, and froze.

Her parents were there.

Together.

Laughing.

Relaxed.
Comfortable.
Happy in a way she had never seen, not even before everything in her real life fell apart.

Her father lifted her mother’s hand and kissed it gently, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

PJ’s vision blurred.

This wasn’t just wrong.
It was impossible.

In her real world, her father had left.
Walked out.
Built a new life with a new wife and new kids, a life he seemed proud of, a life he chose instead of staying with them.

She remembered the day he packed the last box, how he never looked back.
She remembered her mother crying quietly at the kitchen table, trying not to let the kids see. She remembered birthdays he missed, calls that didn’t come, excuses that always sounded rehearsed.

So standing here now…
Watching him laugh with her mother…
Watching him hold her hand like she was enough…

It was too much.

Her chest tightened, a sharp ache blooming beneath her ribs.
Her legs felt unsteady.
The room felt off-kilter, unreal.

This wasn’t her life.
This wasn’t her family.
This wasn’t even a memory she could cling to.

It was a fantasy.
A world where he never left.
A world where he never chose someone else.
A world she had once begged God for when she was little enough to believe wishing might make a difference.

Her mother leaned into him, smiling in that soft way PJ had never witnessed, the kind of smile she used to imagine when she tried to picture what “happy parents” looked like.

PJ swallowed hard.

This wasn’t just strange.

It hurt.

Her mother turned to her. "Oh, good. There you are. Go get dressed, you look like a ragamuffin. The Christmas party begins soon."

PJ climbed the sweeping staircase to find her bedroom, her name carved in gold letters on the door. Inside: garlands, snowy-white bedding, a massive tree covered in stars and pearls. Everything perfect.

But the perfection felt cold.

Lonely.

Then the door opened, and a woman stepped in.

She was small, tired, worn down in the way only exhaustion and fear could create. Her apron was smudged with flour and bleach. Her hands were red and raw from scrubbing.

“Sorry, Ms. PJ,” she said quickly, eyes lowered. “I’ll run your bath right away.”

PJ blinked.

Ms. PJ?

The title felt sharp. Wrong. Like it belonged to someone else.

“What… what’s your name?” PJ asked quietly.

The woman froze.

Her eyes darted up, wide and terrified.
She took a step back as if PJ had struck her.

“You’ve… you’ve never asked me that before,” she whispered. Her voice trembled. “I’m not sure if this is a test. If I’m speaking out of turn, I, I’m sorry. I’m trying, Ms. PJ. I really am. I’ll work faster. Please don’t fire me. I have kids to feed…”

Her voice cracked.
Not from drama, from living in fear.

PJ felt the air leave her lungs.

She looked around the perfect room again, but now she saw it differently, how spotless it was, how nothing ever seemed out of place. Someone had bled their time and their hands into that shine.

And the version of PJ who lived in this world…
hadn’t cared.

Hadn’t noticed.
Hadn’t asked a single name.

This wasn’t magic, it was the cost of it.

PJ stepped closer, slow enough not to scare her.
“No,” she whispered. “I would never do that.”

The woman shook her head, confused.
“That’s… that’s not what you usually say.”

PJ’s heart split.

“I’m not… her,” she said softly. “Not the way she’s been.”
Then she wrapped her arms around the woman, giving a full, warm, aching hug.

The woman stiffened, as if she wasn’t sure hugs were allowed here, and then broke.

She collapsed into PJ’s arms, sobbing quietly, her hands gripping the back of PJ’s dress like someone clinging to a lifeline.

“It’s going to be okay,” PJ whispered into her hair.
“I promise.”

In the hallway outside, PJ could faintly hear laughter,
her perfect parents entertaining their perfect guests,
unaware or uninterested in the fear living inside their walls.

And for the first time in this flawless world, PJ felt truly, painfully awake.

THE REVELATION

When she finally got dressed, the gown was breathtaking: evergreen velvet embroidered with gold thread, sleeves dusted with beads that looked like frozen raindrops.

She felt like a storybook princess. The velvet hugged her shoulders. The lights glowed against the garlands. For one small, dangerous heartbeat, she let herself believe she belonged here. That she was worth this softness.
Worth being seen.
Worth being loved.

But the illusion unraveled the second she reached the bottom step.

Everyone turned. And laughed. Hard.

"Trailer trash in velvet! Bless her heart, she tried."

PJ felt heat crawl up her neck as the laughter grew.
Whispers rippled through the crowd, sharp, amused little stabs.

“Look at her dress.” “Did she get lost on the way to a thrift store?”
“Bless her heart… she really tried.”

PJ swallowed, wishing she could disappear.

A group of teenagers near the refreshment table watched her with the kind of grin people reserve for a joke no one else is in on. One girl, all glossed lips and perfect curls, lifted a crystal cup of red punch and whispered loudly to her friends:

“Should we show our princess how we welcome… charity cases?”

Her friends snickered.

Before PJ could step back or speak, the girl sashayed forward with a mock-sweet smile.

“Oh dear,” she cooed. “Hold still. You’re about to have a little… accident.”

She tipped her wrist.

The punch poured over PJ’s hair and down her velvet gown in a thick, sticky rush of red.

Gasps burst into laughter.
Loud. Cruel.
Like hyenas circling.

Someone clapped.
Someone else snapped a picture.
No one, not one adult, stepped in.
Her parents stood frozen across the room, faces pinched with embarrassment, avoiding her eyes like she was the stain on their perfect night.
Even here, in this world built on everything she once thought she wanted, she didn’t belong.

PJ stood frozen, dripping, humiliated, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.

She wasn’t one of them.

She never would be.

PJ ran. Through the doors. Down the snowy steps. Across the glowing street. Into the pines.

Back to the Mirror Tree.

The creature was waiting for her, sitting quietly in the snow. When she sank to her knees, it padded over and gently touched her hand with one tiny paw.

The touch was warm. Comforting. Understanding.

"I used to want this," she whispered to her guardian. "I used to think bigger meant better. Richer meant happier. Mansion meant magic."

She looked up at the mirrors shimmering in the dark, soft, patient, waiting.

"But now I know better."

The creature blinked slowly, then stood and walked to another mirror, this one smaller, warmer, glowing with honey-colored light.

It placed its paw against the glass and looked back at her as if to ask.

“Ready for the next lesson”?

PJ wiped her eyes and nodded and waited for the creature to show her what came next.

She placed her hand on the mirror. And stepped through.

End of Part I

(Part II arrives December 16, The Mirror of What You Already Have)