The Seam Sorceress

Pudding and Pie, part 1.

The reflection that stared back at them looked a lot like Tilly but it wasn't her. She noticed the eyes first. Normally, Tilly's eyes were brown as a hen egg but these were closer to a robin's; it was a bright, nigh-unnatural blue-green, framed by black lashes so long they reminded her of the swish of a feather fan. Even her skin had paled to a shade lighter than her complexion in the throes of cold December, a dusting of freckles across her nose and rounder cheeks.

"Let me see." Sprout crowded at the mirror's edge. Her brows furrowed in dismay. "Shoot. I shoulda known it was a dud."

Trembling, Tilly put a finger to her nose to make sure that it hadn't somehow changed, but the bridge still felt aquiline beneath her fingertips. Her reflection did much the same. "You don't see nothing?"

"Just a couple of rubes dumb enough to fall for a fake magic mirror."

Tilly nodded. One hand gripped the mirror handle tighter, while the other slowly inched towards the edge of her kerchief. She grabbed a fistful of the checkered material and pulled it back, gaze never straying from the mirror.

She stifled a yelp of surprise.

Her reflection's hair was a deep chestnut brown, almost black, like Sprout's.

"Yep." The mirror was turned over so it laid face-down on Tilly's lap. "Definitely defective."

"Dang it." Sprout slumped forward, chin in her hands. "Well, maybe it could fetch us a few coins at the general store."

"Maybe," Tilly said, but there was a lack of conviction in her voice. She stroked the back of the mirror, set with pale pink satin and gold buttons. Her thumb grazed the raised line of the dwarven mark, an insignia she didn't recognize.

She stared at the ground in thought, watching the shoes of passing fairgoers until a pair—brown oxfords—was standing directly in front of her. Following the loafers up, she found a set of argyle socks and skinny plus-fours. A white shirt was done all the way up to the neck, at odds with the vest, completely unbuttoned. At last, Tilly came face-to-face with the shoes' owner, and when she did she took a shallow breath.

"Well, good morning, girls." He was an older boy, but not by much—a year or two—but he looked a great deal more like a man than Tilly felt like a woman. He looked up at the sky, shielding his vision with a cupped hand. "Or good day, as the case may be, but I always kinda took that more as a farewell than a greeting."

"It depends on how you look at it, I guess," Tilly stammered.

"Same could be said of a lot of things." He considered the lump of newspaper in his other hand before nodding to an empty place on the bench. "Say, this seat taken?"

"I dunno, I think there's really only room for two." Sprout made a show of stretching with a yawn. "Three if you count Booger. Sorry, buddy."

"Shush." Tilly batted at her sister absently. "You can scootch."

Grumbling, the younger Lafayette sibling slid to the edge of the bench. Tilly moved with her, leaving a polite space between her and the newcomer as he sat down.

He smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Tilly said. "Don't mind Sprout none, she's not used to strangers."

"'Cause Mama says we ain't supposed to talk to 'em," Sprout fired back. "'Specially not no strange boys."

"Mind your manners!" Tilly hissed. "That's not—"

"No, that's all right." He leaned forward to look between the two of them. "I've heard two names so far—Sprout, Booger?—so that makes us at least halfway to having proper introductions, now doesn't it?"