The Distorted Mirror

Although the mirror was cracked and distorting the image, I could see myself clearly enough, and what I saw surprised me. I had been dressed in off-white, three-quarter length, pirate-style pantaloons, topped with a faded blue tunic and some brightly colored material tied around my waist. That’s what I get, I thought, for leaving my sea bag behind at the Manor.

The young woman who had escorted me to my cabin and dressed me, was Irish. Her face was freckled and her long red hair hung to her waist. Her brogue was delightful though at times barely understandable. She had been instructed to get me into suitable attire and help me get used to my sea legs. I figured I would handle my rather unsteady legs eventually, once I got used to the swaying of the ship. “You’ll need this,” she said, handing me a sword with a murderous curved blade, “for when you go ashore. Never know who you’ll meet and they’re not all friendly.”

I strapped the sword to my side, hoping I would never have to use it, then I studied my image again in the cracked mirror. I really was an unbelievable sight. Can you imagine me, with my gray, nay, white hair poking out from under the bandana that I had tied around my head, and a wicked weapon strapped to my side? I wished though that some of my friends back home could see me now, that partying crowd that thinks I lead such a dull life. Well, I’ll show ‘em.

Vi