The road was long. It was wet. The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in thin, cold sheets against the window of the carriage.

Elias looked at his hands. They were small. They were pale. They did not match the dark wool of his coat. He was nine. He felt old. He felt young. He felt nothing at all. The carriage swayed. It creaked. It groaned under the weight of the mud.

They were going to the Hall. The Hall was far. The Hall was old. The Hall was waiting.

His mother sat across from him. She did not look at him. She looked at the rain. Her face was still. Her eyes were wet. She held a small box. It was wood. It was black. It was worn. The corners were smooth from touch. The lock was brass. It was tarnished. It was dead.

"Is it heavy, Elias?" she asked.

Her voice was soft. It was thin. It was afraid.

He did not answer. He looked at the box. He did not want it. He did not know why he did not want it. He knew the weight of it before he touched it. It was a stone in his chest. It was a stone in his foot. It was a stone in his breath.

"We must carry it," she said. "We must let it go."

Elias looked at her. He saw the lines in her face. He saw the grey in her hair. He saw the fear. He did not understand. He only knew that the rain was cold. He only knew that the carriage was slow. He only knew that the Hall was coming.

The carriage stopped. The wheels sank. The mud sucked at the wood. The driver stepped down. His boots were heavy. He cursed the ground. He cursed the sky. He cursed the road.

The Hall stood in the field. It was white. It was tall. It was silent. The windows were dark. The doors were closed. The garden was dead. The grass was brown. The flowers were gone. The trees were bare. They stood like bones.

Elias stepped out. The air was cold. It bit his skin. It bit his nose. It bit his lungs. He walked to the door. His mother walked beside him. She did not speak. She held the box tight. She held it against her chest.

The door opened. A man stood there. He was old. He was tall. He wore black. His face was long. His eyes were sharp. He was the Master. He was the Lord. He was the end of the road.

"You are late," he said.

His voice was low. It was hard. It was like iron.

"The road was bad," Elias said.

His voice was small. It was quiet. It was true.

The Master did not smile. He stepped aside. He let them in. The house was dark. The house was cold. The house smelled of dust. The house smelled of age. The house smelled of death.

They walked. The floorboards creaked. The shadows moved. The shadows watched. The Mother held the box. Elias held his hands. He held his breath.

They entered the room. It was large. It was empty. There was a table. There was a chair. There was a mirror. The mirror was old. The mirror was cracked. The mirror was dark.

"Give it to me," the Master said.

He did not move. He did not reach out. He did not ask for it. He only waited. He waited with the patience of stone. He waited with the patience of time.

The Mother looked at Elias. Her eyes were wide. Her eyes were pleading. She did not speak. She did not need to speak. Elias knew what she wanted. He knew what she feared. He knew what he had to do.

He reached out. He took the box. It was cold. It was heavy. It was alive. It pulsed in his hand. It beat against his palm. It beat in his heart.

He walked to the table. He placed the box down. He stood back. He looked at the Master. The Master looked at the box. The Master looked at Elias.

"Open it," the Master said.

Elias looked at the box. He looked at the lock. He looked at the key. The key was in his pocket. He had not known it was there. He had not known he had it. He had not known he was the keeper.

He took the key. He put it in the lock. He turned it. The lock clicked. The lock opened. The box creaked. The box opened.

There was nothing inside.

There was no gold. There was no silver. There was no jewel. There was no ghost. There was no curse. There was no magic.

There was only a mirror.

It was small. It was round. It was silver. It was clear. It was bright.

Elias looked into the mirror. He saw his face. He saw his eyes. He saw his mouth. He saw his hands. He saw his coat. He saw his mother. He saw the Master.

He saw himself.

He saw the fear. He saw the pain. He saw the anger. He saw the hate. He saw the love. He saw the sorrow. He saw the hope. He saw the end.

He saw the loop.

He saw the road. He saw the rain. He saw the carriage. He saw the mud. He saw the Hall. He saw the door. He saw the table. He saw the box. He saw the mirror.

He saw it all again. He saw it all before. He saw it all after. He saw it all now.

He did not break the mirror. He did not drop the box. He did not scream. He did not cry. He did not run.

He closed the box.

He put the key in his pocket.

He turned to the Master.

"It is done," Elias said.

The Master nodded. The Master smiled. The Master’s smile was sad. The Master’s smile was old. The Master’s smile was kind.

"Go," the Master said.

Elias turned to his mother. She was crying. She was shaking. She was holding her chest. She was holding her breath. She was holding on.

Elias took her hand. Her hand was cold. Her hand was small. Her hand was his.

They walked out. They walked into the rain. They walked into the dark. They walked into the night.

The carriage was there. The driver was there. The mud was there. The road was there.

They climbed in. The door closed. The carriage moved. The wheels turned. The rain fell.

Elias looked out the window. The Hall was gone. The Hall was far. The Hall was behind them. The Hall was in front of them. The Hall was inside him.

He looked at his hands. They were small. They were pale. They were clean.

He looked at the mirror in the carriage. It was small. It was round. It was silver. It was clear.

He saw his face. He saw his eyes. He saw his mouth.

He saw the road. He saw the rain. He saw the carriage.

He saw the loop.

He did not fear it. He did not hate it. He did not hope to break it. He accepted it. He carried it. He was the keeper. He was the stone. He was the rain.

He was Elias.

The carriage swayed. It creaked. It groaned. The rain fell. The road was long. The road was wet. The road was endless.

He closed his eyes. He slept. He dreamed of the garden. The garden was pale. The garden was dead. The garden was alive. The garden was waiting.

He woke up. The sun was rising. The sun was red. The sun was hot. The sun was new.

The carriage stopped. The door opened. The air was sweet. The air was fresh. The air was free.

He stepped out. He looked around. He was home. He was at the start. He was at the end.

He looked at the road. He looked at the sky. He looked at the world.

He was nine. He was old. He was young.

He walked. He walked on. He walked into the light. He walked into the dark. He walked into the loop.

The rain stopped. The rain began. The rain stopped. The rain began.

It was the same. It was always the same. It was the only thing that was true.

Elias walked.