The Yule Mirror

“Has anyone seen my silver hand mirror?” called Jynx. She rifled through the clutter on her altar, knocking over jars and startling her cat, Midnight.

Jynx loved everything about Yule in her little witch’s cottage — spiced cider simmering on the stove, a blazing fire keeping winter’s chill at bay, planning the annual coven celebration under the moonlight. But this year she seemed to have misplaced her most precious ritual tool.

The silver mirror had been passed down through generations of witches in her family. Ancient runes were carved around the handle for truth, courage, and reflection. On the eve of the winter solstice it was said to reveal one’s deepest fears and regrets through shifting visions in the glass to promote self discovery.

“Looking for this?” asked her friend Raven, plucking the mirror from underneath a pile of notebooks and tarot cards. “It must have fallen when I stopped by this morning for tea.”

“Just in time too! Let’s take a look before the others arrive,” said Jynx. She lit incense of frankincense and sage, then held up the Yule mirror, gazing deeply within. Jynx saw herself as a young witch, hurt when the other children called her names for being different. She had carried that loneliness all these years.

Raven hugged her friend tight after taking her own turn, having watched a painful vision of the coven breaking apart. As each witch peered into the mystical glass, spirits were lifted as they shared their reflections and gave comfort.

By the time the Yule logs were burnt to ashes, the mirror’s magic had washed away old regrets and replaced them with new understanding and connection.