Dust settled as the door was broken through, the temple laid bare in the dark, baskets untouched and cobwebs lining every corner. Stepping through felt almost as if stepping back to their time, children’s toys, eating rooms. And a mirror near the sleeping chamber.

Carvings of faces on the wall around it the mirror rippled, adjusting his pack he took out a brush and dusted the mirror lightly, clearing it light poured out and filled the room, blinding Gabe briefly. Covering his eyes and blinking the wash of light from his eyes he heard noises, turning around, he had entered this temple alone. No one else should have known of this place, there was giggling, laughing from behind him.

Turning around with a blade readied at his chest he lost his nerve when the mirror was laughing, lit as if the mountain surrounding the place wasn’t there, and a dark woman sat there applying red something to her forehead and cheeks.

Kids came up behind her and they laughed. Watching some trip to the past, Gabe pocketed the knife and watched, stuck watching a life so long ago being so bright. So much further from his reality.

Watching he walked backwards touching the bed behind him and sitting, the kids laughed and the woman held them in her arms, giving the kids some dots of red above their eye brows…

They went about their day, Gabe got glances of them as they came back and before they left, watching their days pass long gone. And then one day, they brought back a basket, the woman’s face stoic with tears falling off her cheeks, one child behind her, hugging her leg, watching the basket the woman sat down exactly where he was, looked up, at him and walked forward, seemingly through the mirror she walked to him and fell into his arms, he could almost feel the tears on her cheeks. He stroked her bound hair and pat her back.

The mirror grew dim, blinking back to reality quickly got painful as his eyes were dry, the woman still in bis arms he looked behind him. The basket the same as she brought in.

Patting the woman’s back he moved her onto the bed and walked to the basket. His arm being held back by the woman, still stoic, still crying. She shook her head. Putting a hand on hers he smiled, wiping the tears from her cheeks before sliding her hand off.

Opening the basket, cobwebs, dust and small bones, a small skull at the top. Closing his eyes and turning his head he put the top back on. Looking to the woman, she was gone. He looked back to the basket and turned it in place, characters written in a clay square.

He looked at the mirror again, broken and empty of its reflection, the light beckoning from the door he broke open to leave.

Stepping towards the door he heard the giggled once again, the laughter from the mirror echoing through the temple.

Stepping out and closing the doors, resting against it, he noticed his hand had been dotted, the same as the children were.