The Burning of the Cathedral of Mirrors

The Burning of the Cathedral of Mirrors. 1

I suppose there is no way of verifying it. Nor is there a way to refute it. But, as there were no others witness to the catastrophe, the pool of this tale is only as deep as my account and how I choose to weave it. 2

The wedding was to take place at the Cathedral of Mirrors, Malcentrio informed me. I was to be his best man and sole witness, and I knew not the bride, neither by contact nor by reputation. 3

“Malcentrio,” I said, smiling upon the words ‘sole witness’ “You are the kind of man who could surround himself with people who love you, and find not one for whom you find the slightest affection. In fact, if it weren’t for my rather tepid demeanor and avid admiration. I doubt very much you would look twice my way, nor I yours.” 4

“Ah, but my dear Levestra” Malcentrio’s rigid jaw likened towards his neck “The connoisseur of art is nothing without the painting and the painting is naught but for the connoisseur’s admiration. I consider you a man of epochal scope, if you can, as I know you can, encompass and appreciate all of my subtleties. We are symbiotic, dear friend, I do need you, as you need me.” 5

I felt my bones whiten against the skin of my knuckles and my gums scarlet beneath the pulse of my teeth at this apparent attempt at generosity. Who was he to maintain that I needed him? My mind caught my tongue, though, and I remembered that I did, in fact, need him. There are greater depravities than needing assurance, and I knew that I sought approval in no one more than him. 6

Instead I inquired “But Malcentrio, under what siren’s song have you fallen under, you, in infallible disdain of all the petty and objective wants of womanhood. Is she perhaps, an admirer… such as myself?” In a fervent dilation of my pupils I saw my position under threat. How could I compete with something as concrete and consistent as a female companion, let alone a wife? 7

A vicious grin struck as a blaze of hot steel onto the gray anvil of Malcentrio’s visage. “Better! How shall I describe it? For once I find myself at a loss for words.” The familiar flash of firecracker contemplation flitted across the pastel blue of eyes, and for a moment, he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. A mixture of the carnal sublime hedonism of his smile and the glaze of a human mind refined to a point of brilliance over his eyes. It was overwhelming. 8

“Let us just say, she makes me see the best in myself, and helps me to realize all that I am destined to become.” 9

Or something of that persuasion. His words acted as an anchor to reality, but their significance and the exact turning of his phrase was lost. 10

Malcentrio continued, “To return to the matter at hand, you are, my dear man, my sole witness, and also responsible for the esthetics and coordination of my wedding. You are the only I would trust with these matters. Set the tables; call the caterer, and everything else you can think of. The only things not placed upon your shoulders are the duties of the location and all men for hire at the ceremony. We need not dogmatic validation of religion, we shall marry ourselves and later, we shall have all legalities sorted.” 11

My heel stopped itself from a curt turn and my head stopped itself from the slight incline of comprehension. “One question further, I shall set only one place for your party at the festivities, but how many shall I set for hers?” 12

His tone was puzzling, and thickened by unfathomable gravity “She knows and welcomes every man and every woman past, present, and future.” 13

I gave a weak laugh, more to cover the strange aura of sedate magnitude that his words exuded, than to show appreciation for what I assumed was my misinterpretation of a joke. 14

And it was time to scout. 15

The cathedral of mirrors was beyond any physical scale. I know not a man who would not fall to his knees and rattle like a top at such an omnipotent display of grandeur. Even the harsh splatter of sunrays gasped into oblivion after colliding with the high spires of immaculate and sublime reflection. If a man were very brave or perhaps unfathomably dense he might pass under the doorway, a severe arch, twisting into a blazing rapier of glass as the top. I was a mixture of two, myself, and found myself overcome with the latter as I set foot inside. The floor and vaulted ceiling were of mirrors sharper than reality, as if they could reflect not only your countenance, but could probe into your soul. It was haunting and defiling. Instead of pews, the church’s hectacre of space before the altar was consumed by a rolling wave of chairs of thick glass. The base, back, and legs of each chair was clear, round, and translucent as air, but upon each side, where armrests should rest, thick fogged glass shot up to where it reached the mirror of the ceiling. Endless glass Atlas’s huddled under the reflective sky in uniform continuity, with a single vicious razed line forming the aisle. The altar itself was a simple and expertly crafted mirrored platform, so smoothly blended into the floor anyone standing upon it would give off the appearance of divine levitation. 16

I shut my eyes… it was too much. I had proven to myself ample room for twenty receptions, I had to work. 17

And so I set to work, with more passion and blaze than ever Lucifer had commanded. Blindly and furiously I toiled, driven by instinct where careful thought should’ve been placed. The plates were mirrors with a faint blush of gold hugging the circumference; the settings of black gossamer laced with finer precision than Aracne or Athena could have conceived. I selected goblets of the thinnest and most supple glass, tinted to a vivid shade of blood, shaped like a slender woman’s body. The centerpieces resembled a school play yard. Dark burgundy persimmons in tightly woven groups gossiping about the daffodils who rolled about in whey grass. A long mature rose, fully blossomed and white was scattered here and there, vigilant sentinels watching their young charges. The fare was an eclectic assortment of meats, cheeses, and fruits. I could not tell you how many of each article, I purchased, let us simply say that should every man past, present, and future, transcend Newton and Spinoza, he would be well fed and in a comfortable situation. I could not tell you then, as I cannot tell you know, where or whence these purchases were made. I seemed to have been granted momentary wings to trot the globe and willingly grab at whatever I pleased. Such was my all but religious determination and perseverance. 18

The matter was set, and the day of the wedding arrived. 19

Malcentrio’s side of the cathedral was left in the stark respectful silence of emptiness. It was unnerving, yes, empty mirrors staring upon themselves ceaselessly within each other. But nothing could quite derail a train of thought and send it clattering into a heap of writhing ash and metal as the very different silence entombing the bride’s side of the room. It was the silence of many. And it did quite appear as if every man and woman, past, present, and future, had indeed influxed the Cathedral of Mirrors, but they all looked straight ahead, their cheek bones set low in the manner of one who attends a wedding to prove themself above and beyond the audacity of their invitation. A scorned lover, a lost friend, an old tarnished rival, the bride knew every man and woman, but not one did love her. 20

A splatter of wooden raindrops on the mirrored floor caused room to turn and rise. The rise had more the tune of a revolt than that of a salute. 21

Her reflection walked herself down the aisle, accompanied by the organ music of her echoing and ethereal stalk. I saw no peak of flesh, only the long interrupted lines of haunting satin symmetry. Her gloves ran into her sleeves, which seemed to roll over her breasts and flower into the elegant white blossom of her dress. Her veil was so finely strung it appeared as a solid pallid sheet blinding her walk between the towering aisles of rigid clouds. Whilst the aisle appeared to stretch itself for an easy two or three hundred meters, she covered the distance in a matter of instants, all the while maintaining the grave suspended stair of a ghost. 22

I flitted my gaze to Malcentrio, and saw the same raw smile lighting his mouth. 23

“I vow to be strong. I vow to be friendly. I vow to be sensitive. I Malcentrio, take you to be my bride. I shall have you and hold you, until death departs me from you.” 24

“And I you” 25

Her voice was like a sultry steam pressing itself through the veil. 26

I felt my eyes involuntarily widen and my ears involuntarily alert as the veil was lifted. Who could so intrigue and inspire my sceptic and stoic? 27

I felt myself deflate into a gasp as the sheet was lifted. Where soft warm flesh should have been, angry smoke tantrumed about in fitful storms. Shards of glass and mirrors moaned their way about the dervishes and the embers of a cerulean fire flashed to cold life within the swirling recesses of the fog. She, or it, turned to me, and the volatile fog seemed to settle into something resembling my visage. I saw the shape of my face emerge, and slowly the mirrors seemed to melt into pink vibrant life. It was I, doubtless, but somehow altered. The downward nub of my nose had lengthened into a powerful peak, and the polluted water of my eyes had filled into a rich brown. Although I hold my head in such a way I am often described as mousy, the curves were somehow more defined to change it into a look of pride and slight belligerence. My razed hollow cheekbones took stronger definition and firmer root beneath my eyes, and the straggling brown of my hair sheeted out into a definite wave. 28

She turned and for a moment, I saw the hideous complexion of fog and glass resumed prominence. She turned toward Malcentrio, and this time it was as if his face had taken root. 29

But this time, I saw not Malcentrio as himself, nor him in a better light. The simulation was a grotesque phantasm of the man I knew and loved. 30

The fatherly length of his neck squatted upon itself, giving him a fat and greedy stub, and his eyebrows curled inwards into a look of the most brutal and pitiless condescension. The crayon blue of his eyes sharpened into a vivid hungry navy that seemed to be a lens rather than an eye. I saw that same bare smile alight to his or should I say her or its face, but this time it was warped by some unfathomable conception, into the hateful smirk of a wolf lapping blood. 31

From beneath the flowing gaunt sleeves of its bridal gown, chains and shackles rattled and snaked their way into the room. They bound Malcentrio’s hands to his feet and his neck to that of the entity of mirrors. I quickly fell to my knees and tried to unravel the web of dull harsh iron. A hiss from Malcentrio brought me to his face, and upon making eye contact with him; I realized he himself had taken the form the monster had portrayed. 32

“Leave me!” his voice was a grating wheeze, “Do not dare interrupt the happiest moment of my life!” 33

From his throat came a groan of nearly sexual pleasure that seemed to shake the entire cathedral. To my horror, I realized the cathedral had in fact begun to tremor. I ran down the hall, screaming at the others to follow me, if they valued their lives. But all sat straight ahead, jaws set, and gnarled tree-branch hands fated to gnarled tree-branch hands. 34

Shards of mirrors began to hail in dizzying spirals from the ceiling, their rich white gloss dipped in the sweet thick honey of my blood. The dull beating tremor rose into a chaotic symphony. The sombre viola of the quake fell into the rhythm of the cymbal-clash of fire. As I reached the arch, it conflagrated and it’s two broad glass spires coalesced into a torrential maelstrom of snow and flame. I cannot exactly recall what happened then. Half of me is sure that it was there I collapsed, to be drowned in my lethal reflection, and the other half of me is sure I ran several paces to the street and thence my legs gave way. 35

Judging by the fact that I can still write these accounts, it stands to reason that the latter was the case. But reason can’t always be applied to human beings. 36

Regardless, I did my best to forget about the situation. But as with all traumas, it scandalizes me in sleep and in waking. 37

I have not seen Malcentrio since, but his bride, she haunts me everywhere. I see her in the reflection of a woman primping her hair in a vanity mirror. I see her in the puddle over which a man has daintily lifted his pant to keep it from soiling. 38

Whether or not I truly do see her, I suppose there is no way of verifying. But, my dear friend, nor is no way of refuting it. And Nothing was quite so real or quite so frustratingly unearthly, as the Burning of the Cathedral of Mirrors.39