The Reflection Tax | A Tales from Center Story

Dark Urban Fantasy | Bard's Tale | Character-Driven Mythic Fiction | Music Included

In a city of crumbling spires and unlicensed magic, you learn three things fast: trust the half-orc guarding your back, never make a promise to a dragon, and if a stranger offers you a candle that won’t go out, run.

Magic and machines, fairies and demons, humans and beings of infinite power, all call Center their home.

I’m Serene Heart—bard, rogue, sometime singer of secrets. All the tales I tell are always true. Especially the ones that aren’t.

In Tales from Center, the difference doesn’t really matter.

Welcome to The Stumble Inn. The first drink’s always on us.

The Reflection Tax - Song by Serene Serendipity ( Spotify | YouTube Channel )

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Painting by Author

Lady Evandra was always a beauty, but this night, she was especially so.

Now, don’t misunderstand. I know she’s little more than an aging socialite with an ego to match her coin-purse—if she bothered to carry one, that is. She’d always been beautiful, of course.

But it was more about the way she sold her beauty. See, Evandra was one of the Glamorous Ones.

Oh, come now, friend. Surely you’ve heard of the Glamors. They’re all the rage once a decade, when they do their big Narcissus Ball in the Gilded Labyrinth. They’re fashionable to those “in the know.”

Well, anyway, there I was at the bar, just having served yet another beer to Ricarda, who already had at least two too many. But who am I to say no to a guy with five swords and at least ten daggers?

In through the doors strode Lady Evandra, in all her aging grace and flowing hair. She’s always been a bit of a floof, but that night she was especially so.

I don’t think my patrons could believe their eyes, seeing one of the Glamors, of all things, striding into our little bar, but there she was. I knew there was only one reason for her to be there.

Me.

How do I know?

Well, just look around here and ask yourself if you see any other reason for one of those hoity-toities to show up.

And how did I know it was only me, myself, and my even finer self for her to be there?

Because I owed our wondrous Lady a favor.

She had the FavorCoin to prove it, and she threw it down on top of the corner without a word.

I waved Bula over and asked her to watch the bar while I pulled Evandra into the back room to talk more quietly together.

It was rather surreal seeing this woman in such a low sort of place. A commoner place, if you will pardon the parlance. She absolutely did not fit, and she knew it, though I was considerably surprised at how well she was taking being there.

That’s probably why she wasted no time on pleasantries and dove right into her problem.

“They won’t stop,” said she. “None of them. They won’t stop.”

When I asked her what the hells she was talking about, she said, “The mirrors. They won’t stop lying.”

Apparently, all the mirrors within her big, wonderful rooftop estate had of late begun showing her as someone she no longer was. Instead of seeing the preserved beauty she’d cultivated for years—something with which she took great pride—it, instead, had morphed to show something else.

She, at about twenty-five years old, the flawless youth she’d grown away from, and always smiling, was the reflection.

“And that dress!” She turned to face the wall behind her. “I burned that dress decades ago, after Henk...”

She stopped, and I thought I heard a small sniffle as she brushed a few stray strands of hair out of her face.

“Well, she went on. “It’s not just my mirrors this is happening to. Others are seeing things they should not in their own, and let me tell you, it’s utterly unnerving. Disturbing and unfashionable.”

Oh, that would be a problem, at least for those people.

The mirrors showed not the people as they were in that moment. They, instead, showed very different versions of themselves. Happier marriages, coffers full of excess, being admired and adored even by people who would normally not pay them a bit of attention.

That, too, I think, was a cardinal sin for these folk.

The last thing I really wanted to do was to get involved with the Glamorous Ones. They’re hard to put up with at the best of times, but if things were going wrong up there in the Gilded Labyrinth, they would likely be nigh-on unbearable.

But the FavorCoin had been passed, and I had no real choice. What was I supposed to do? Let my reputation be sullied by refusing to fulfill the obligation, even if it was the last thing I damn well wanted to do?

So, there I was, making my way up to the Labyrinth, hired as a “Consultant in Metaphysical Ambiance,” and likely with no pay beyond a pat on the back and a “well you did fine.”

I swear a bard’s duty is a hard onus to bear sometimes.

The one thing I can say about the Glamorous Ones is that they certainly have an eye for aesthetics. The Labyrinth is a vast maze of buildings, estates, shops, and streets, each designed to outdo the last.

It’s a real tourist spot, with people coming from all over Center—indeed the world—to see it. And of course the Glamors, themselves, do their best to make sure they are seen.

Not all the time, mind you. That would be “unbecoming.” No, they’ll just poke out once in a while to remind the people of the real purpose they are there. To see the genuine beauty.

Themselves.

The air that day, though, was different. Tighter. Closer.

There were a few people on tour, gaping at the beautiful architecture and fountains of wine and glitter. There were some servants, as well, wandering from one place to another or flitting away into the darker alleys between the buildings.

When I saw one or two Glamorous Ones, they were, as Evandra said, staring into mirrors. And not just in the normal way they might, glancing at them as they passed by or doing a quick primping ritual as they went to wherever they were going.

Instead, they were just... staring. It was as if an enchantment held them; their glazed-over eyes and unmoving bodies showed its effect.

When I approached one, they paid me no mind. Now, that’s not to say they actually normally would regardless, me being “unGilded” and all, but even tapping on the shoulders did no good. They just kept staring into the mirror, which showed moving images of themselves, but much younger, more full of life and smiling.

Another mirror with a lady contained a version of herself sitting at a feast, surrounded by people who adored her.

There was magic happening here that normally would not be. Sure, the Glamorous Ones always used magic to help cover up their flaws, or to enhance the viewing pleasure of those who observed them, but this was something else. Something more personal beyond their normal glory magics.

And I got the feeling, though I could not really press why, that the Ones were, in a very real and deep way, obsessed with the selves they were facing in the mirror.

The Gardens, normally a marvel to behold, seemed a little less green and lush. The shops, too, with their glowing signs and smiling keepers, did not sparkle in the way they’d normally do.

“It’s a disaster,” said the Sommelier of Scents, his eyes awash in almost maudlin despair. “I have sold nary a thing for ten days!”

The Lighting-Artist, too, was similarly worried, exclaiming how there were only five Glamors who showed up for the Golden Hour celebration the previous night, and only two that night. Poor thing had all the magic in her hands and none to observe, though the liturgy was one the Glamorous Ones would usually gather for by the dozens.

Evandra had had the right of it. There was definitely something happening here, though what that thing might be, I’d yet to discern.

Now, bear in mind, I am not a magician. I can use magic, sure, as can most in my profession—we have our own Glamors, even if they’re not as potent as those who ply that particular trade. But it’s not as if I’ve any formal training outside of my music. Working magics is always difficult, even for those well-versed in the arts.

I can bring up a bit of fire from my pinky, or help to ease the entrancement that happens when I sing a special song or three. But full-on magic? That’s a bit outside of my ken.

However, what I do have is my collection, my pride and joy, you might say.

Some years ago, after saving a grumpy fey with boyfriend troubles, she gave me a little shard of obsidian that was polished to such an outrageous amount it was almost completely transparent.

I had a habit of taking it with me when I could, because that striking polish had a certain gift. It allowed one to see through illusions.

At least, if you looked through it a certain way.

One of the Glamorous Ones, a woman I didn’t know personally, was before one mirror along the Strand Street bridge. She was just standing there, staring at herself in the mirror, with no idea I was mere feet behind her. Or if she were aware, made no note of it.

Anyway, I put the obsidian lens to my eye and squinted into the mirror.

One long silvery tendril streamed from the back of the mirror, and as I turned and looked, I could see it continued on down the way until it went out of sight around a corner.

It glowed, just faintly, just slightly, enough that I could trace it along in the twilight of the setting sun. As my eyes followed it, I caught sight of other filaments from other mirrors, all joining and rounding that corner a few blocks away.

Well, what’s a bard with an onus to do? Follow it, of course.

As I came around that corner, the lens still to my eye, I saw many other tendrils joining the first batch, all of them streaming from every side and angle, creating an intricate web of silver filaments across the pathways, around the shops, and even through windows and doors.

And all of them led to the Heart-Mirror.

Have you ever had the chance to see the Heart-Mirror? No? I’d definitely recommend making a trek through the Gilded Labyrinth to see it. It’s perhaps the most elaborate mirror ever crafted by hands or magic, and it sits right at the center of the Labyrinth.

They use the thing every year during their Narcissus Balls, focusing all their Glamors on the mirror during the rituals, and then basically ignore the thing for the rest of the year.

Gaudy as all the hells, maybe, but it has a beauty unmatched for sure.

Well, the tendrils were all leading right to the thing, and at the center of it? Sitting right in the dead-middle of the mirror?

A Vanity Elemental.

No wonder these people had problems.

Vanity Elementals are pernicious beasts. One minute, you’re having to fawn over them to keep them happy, and the next minute they’ll act like there’s nothing else in the world but them.

Hmm. There might not be a difference between the two.

Anyway, this elemental, this being of pure self-obsession, had plopped itself down in the damn middle of the most vain, self-centered, selfish sections of the whole city. Maybe the entire world, for that matter.

And it was, I think, doing its best to suck these people dry.

I’m not saying there is anything wrong with being vain. Hells, I can be, too. You have to be in my line of work, right? But these people take that kind of thing to a different level, and revel in it. I think even if they didn’t have sycophants tending their every need, they’d still be just as vain and snooty.

These elementals, though, just like all the Elemental Horde, are chaos, and they know it.

That doesn’t make them evil, though. Most of the time, they’re just fulfilling the role the Gods gave them. Sowing the seeds of chaos a bit to help make sure people don’t get too wild.

It surprised me a little, though, when it spoke to me. I didn’t realize at first that it knew that I knew it was there.

For ten minutes, it went on about how great it was, how amazing it was and how I should be grateful that it was even speaking with me. You know, standard fare for that type. But it’s when it mentioned how it got there that I really started paying it heed.

Some stupid, wealthy heir. Isn’t that always the way? I swear, half of the problems this city has is because some stupid heir to the throne or heir to the business or heir to the Chalice of SomethingOrOther decides that being an heir isn’t enough and they need to move up just one notch further on the social scale.

Useless fools, all of them.

But this one tried out a forbidden ritual in front of the Heart-Mirror. He wanted to “see his best self, forever.”

That dumbest-of-the-dumb act started an infestation of the worst kind for the vainglorious. And he did it with the Mirror that connects all others within the Labyrinth.

I met with Evandra later that evening in her own estate’s Garden, we sitting in the middle of it, away from any of the mirrors otherwise spread everywhere throughout her home.

She was, as always, beautiful, but there was a deep tiredness behind her eyes that I’d never seen before. When I questioned her about the Elemental, she claimed a soothsayer the Glamors hired told them they needed to break their mirrors. That they were loath to do, but when they did finally commit to it, all the mirrors regrew overnight, becoming whole again by morning light.

Evandra, herself, hired a portrait painter to create an image of herself, but the paint altered the next day to show the woman she’d seen in the mirror instead of her normal, preened and cultivated self.

Finally, when Evandra confronted the stupid heir, he told her the Elemental spoke of its price to leave.

That price? Something the Glamorous Ones could never pay.

See, the price was that someone had to commit an act of complete acceptance of self, and to do it in front of the Heart-Mirror.

And do it all with no one to observe.

No sycophants. No servants. Not a single tourist to watch every move or performative act.

No witnesses other than their own selves in front of the one mirror connecting all the others.

None of them could do it. Despite a few trying, not one person managed to succeed.

Evandra herself tried it, or at least so she claimed. I was tempted to drag her myself to the Heart-Mirror right then, but the very real tears that were in her eyes when she talked about how the Elemental had shown her the person she was when stripped of all the magics, all the Glamors, all the conceit...

Well. In a way, it’s understandable, I guess. After all, these people had never known their true selves. Practically from birth, they’re taught they’re perfection, the height of what it means to be beautiful and glorious and everything that everyone else would want to be but never reach. They are the Ultimate Unattainable.

To face what you’d probably consider the most profane and unacceptable taboo places in your own mind is tantamount to the worst kind of self-destruction.

Vanity is a bitch when it’s your best weapon and worst defense.

So, they had a problem, and I had the wondrous misfortune of being the one to solve it. I really need to stop handing out those FavorCoins. Damn me.

But what the hells could I do about it? The Elemental demanded a price, and that price was to do no production.

I am a bard! My life is a performance. It’s maybe not quite the same show as the Glamorous Ones put on, but I’ve built my reputation, my life, on putting on an outstanding display for my coins and food in my gullet.

That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? I’ve done what I wanted to do, what I had to do, in order to survive and thrive. My life’s been ups and downs and spins-all-arounds, but it’s been a life of my choosing. At least the important bits have.

Isn’t that ultimately a good thing?

I made my way through the darkened streets, heading away from Lady Evandra’s Garden and back into the center of the Gilded Labyrinth, my mind racing as to what I could do or say to solve the problem.

I smiled as the idea finally hit me, pretty square in the face, too, I might add.

Let me tell you, friends, stepping up to that mirror was, I think, one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. See, I know who I am. I’m not perfect. I’m definitely not wealthy, though, sure, I’ve mostly had at least a couple of coins I could rub together if needed.

But I’ve always hidden in my stories. I’ve wrapped myself up in these little tales I tell by the hearth with a big flagon down in front of everyone, because that’s where I like to hide. I don’t have to look in mirrors to feel a kind of vanity. My stories and songs and, hells, even this tavern are my vanity.

That mirror, though—that Elemental—was all about self-service. It fed on it, draining everyone and everything around it dry in the process, sucking up every bit of self-absorption, egotism, and conceit it could get hold of.

And me? I have no trouble admitting I have an ego.

As I stared that thing in the eyes, though, I saw myself there.

My real self.

I saw my flaws, my wrinkles and my scars. I saw the girl I was born as, the woman I worked to become, and the failures and weaknesses I’d always hated to admit to myself I had.

Everything was there in that tired, years-worn face, and I can say, without a shred of regret in this moment, that the person I saw was, with all the vanity, the ego, and the stories and songs stripped away, me.

Just me.

And that’s when I said the only words I could to that young girl in the mirror. The old crone I’ll become some day that was there in the mirror, too? I said them to her as well.

I said them to the person I was in that moment in time, with as sincere a heart as I could muster.

“You are enough.”

A deep rumbling sigh emanated from the Elemental, its eyes rolling upward as the words washed across it. The creature, that glowing silvery thing hovering there, began to dissolve away, and with it, the tendrils emitting from it, as well.

Everything took on a silvery light. The shop windows, the concrete, the bits of hair hanging in front of my face. All lit in that moment as the filaments fell apart into dusty motes that floated, caressed, and unfurled.

A moment later, it all faded away, replaced by the darkened streets of midnight.

A few minutes after that? People filtered outside to stare at each other from across the paths as the enchantments that had held the Gilded Labyrinth hostage for so long were finally unchained.

Evandra actually deigned to pay me, at least a little, though she didn’t look me in the eye once as she handed over the coins. I could tell, though, that the Elemental’s magic still affected her.

Oh, not enthralled by the mirrors, mind you. Those had returned to their normal state of being, reflecting only what existed and not what should exist. Everyone was back to seeing the lies they’d cultivated for themselves over a lifetime of Glamor.

What Evandra was affected by, though, was the weight of what could have been. That stupid heir-to-the-whatever had unleashed something on the Labyrinth no one expected.

The knowledge of who they were actually supposed to be.

All the goodness. The faults. The weaknesses and strengths, and the moments of missed opportunities they could have held precious.

Those things—those never-weres—are, I think, more monstrous than any dragon or ogre could ever hope to be.

The problem, you see, with the heir doing that little ritual in front of the Heart-Mirror is that the purpose of it—the reason for its creation—has been lost in the haze of the Narcissus Balls and the vanities surrounding it.

The reason it existed to begin with, the whole of why it was ever created, was because it was to cleanse people of their insecurities.

The old Glamorous Ones would go to it in their rituals and confess their insecurities in front of it.

Why? Because that, my friends, is the ultimate performance.

And they, like me, were all about putting on a good show.

I guess it really all comes down to this, my friends. And bear with me while Bula pours you another ale on me.

The richest folk in the world can buy anything except a kindly reflection. Turns out the most dangerous magic isn’t fire or lightning.

It’s the truth you try to hide from yourself in the glass.

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