Jenny had always loved the old antiques shop on Forest Hill. A location set further back in time than even the area in which it resided, a sleepy little English town with residents who knew little and much less cared, about the outside world.
    Pandora’s Box was a quaint place with wooden panelled walls and dusty shelves filled with all sorts of weird and wonderful treasures. The owner, a plump little man, greeted her with a kind smile as she entered. Grinning he waddled up to her sticking his stubby hands roughly into the pockets of a pair of crumpled trousers struggling to keep hold of a pair of rather worn braces.
    “Hello there young Jennifer and what can I do for you today? Looking for anything special?”
    Her smile met his. She had called in at least twice a week since her teens and had come to know the old shop owner rather well. Her smile met his as she placed a friendly hand on his arm.
    “You should know by now Mr Connors that I think everything in here is special.”
    She chuckled with a small wink.
    “As are you of course. Actually I just thought I’d come by and say hello. Do you have anything new in?”
    The man gave her a playful look.
    “But you haven’t seen everything that’s old yet my dear. I’ve come to know you fairly well and I think I can take you into my own private collection of odds and ends. I might even be willing to part with one of them. Just don’t go telling the world.”
    He grinned showing expanding laughter lines on his ageing face.
    “Actually maybe you should tell the world. I might get some customers. Anyway follow me.”
    With this he locked the door to the shop and pottered off into the back of the building to a door behind the counter that was completely invisible to the naked eye.  It creaked slightly as the old man opened it, a fine shower of dust  making its way to the ground.
    Beyond the secret door Jenny could see a room filled with glass cabinets and other cases mounted against the walls. It looked more like something from some 1930’s museum rather than a storage space in a 21st century store. With another conspiratorial smile Mr Connors beckoned her in.
    Excited and slightly flattered the twenty year old woman followed him into the bizarre little holding area. As soon as she was inside, the door was closed and he gestured towards the cabinets.
    “Feel free to look at anything you want. I might even be able to provide something of a background to each item, if my ageing memory serves me well enough.”
    Jenny didn’t need any more encouragement and eagerly peered through the glass in the cases. Within each, commodities of all kinds could be seen, from rare coins and jewels which lay in separate boxes within the viewing space to weapons of various types. Even a skull leered back at her from a rich black wooden pedestal in a cabinet mounted on the right hand wall. Then there was the bag. Of all the items this was the most inconspicuous.
    A black velvet drawstring pouch lay in the corner of a solitary case sitting at the very back of the room. Jenny almost missed it completely as it was hiding behind a collection of other larger items. In fact it was sheer luck that she spotted it at all. As this was the item that peaked her curiosity she decided to select the bag over all the other wonders in this secret treasury.
    “What’s in that bag Mr Connors?”
    The man waddled over to her placing a pair of round steel rimmed spectacles onto his nose. Squinting slightly he peered through the glass.
    “Hmm, you know something? I don’t actually know myself. That bag was given to me by a wandering gypsy about six months ago. She told me that within the pouch was a very valuable antique item and that I could have it for nothing If I made her one promise. That I would never look inside.
    I have never been one for the superstitions that some of these people adhere to but for some reason I actually made her that promise. I must have believed something of what she said though because I locked it away in here. I’ve had a lot of other curios since then and I’m a bit muddled at the best of times, I’d completely forgotten I had it until you just pointed it out now.”
    Taking a little set of keys from his back pocket he opened the case and passed the bag to her.
    “Well a gift given should always be given as a gift and I think you’re due a little present. Why don’t you keep it? I won’t miss an item I’ve never seen.
    Do as you wish with it. You can keep it as a small black bag with an interesting story, or if you don’t believe in the gypsy’s warning you can open it and see what’s inside. To be honest I wouldn’t mind having a brief look at what I was given back then either.”
    With this he offered Jenny the pouch peering down his nose at her with a grin.
    Jenny beamed, her blue eyes sparkling even in the dim light of this chamber. Taking it in her hands she ran her fingers across the bag’s soft surface.
    “You’re sure you want to give this to me?”
    “Absolutely! A gift for my favourite young customer!”
    “And you’re sure you don’t mind me opening this? I don’t want to get you into any kind of trouble?”
    “That woman is long gone, I don’t think she’ll mind too much, and if she does she isn’t here to remark is she?”
    “No I suppose not. Well in that case I think we should see what’s inside.”
    Mr Connors said nothing but was obviously interested as he shuffled his feet excitedly. Opening the bag Jenny shook the contents into her hand. In her palm lay a tiny but very beautiful brooch. It was in the shape of a mask set into a frame of gold and studded with what looked to be diamonds and other precious gems.
    Jenny looked back at the old shop keeper, a mix of amazement and surprise playing across her features. Leaning over she gave him a kiss on the cheek then hugged him in the way a child would their favourite grandfather.
    “Thank you so much, this is beautiful and I’ll treasure it always.”
    The man nodded grinning back at her. “As are you my dear it will compliment you perfectly.”
    Jenny buttoned the broach to her blouse admiring it for a moment before glancing at her watch. Almost 1 o’clock. She turned back to him quickly.
    “I’m sorry Mr Connors but I’ll be late for college this afternoon. I’m going to have to go, but I promise I’ll be back really soon.”
    The mans reply was merry as always.
    “Never be sorry for having to learn. Knowledge is very important to a young mind such as yours. Now go on be off with you, you can come and see this old codger any time you want to. I’ll let you out.”
    The rotund man guided Jennifer back through the store and giving her one final hug waved her out onto the street closing the door behind her. As he began to go back about his business he had the unmistakeable feeling of being watched. He turned to see what was just his reflection in a dusty old mirror standing upright on a shelf. He tutted to himself.
    “Old fool … now you’re afraid of your own reflection.”
    Rolling his eyes he went back to the day’s chores.

    The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully for Jenny. She went to classes as usual, the only difference was the few admiring remarks about her new piece of jewellery from friends. At 5 o’clock she headed home stopping at the local inn, The Hunter’s Quarry, for a relaxing drink before the evening became too busy.
    Ordering her usual glass of rum and coke she took a seat in one of the large, comfortable, leather bound chairs at the back of the tavern. She sighed resting her weary limbs in the glow of newly lit fire which blazed warmly in an open hearth. Removing her black longcoat she crossed her legs and lit a cigarette, enjoying the sensation of the heat of the fire as smoke curled from her lips into the air. Gazing casually around the room she allowed her eyes to fall on a long, ornate mirror mounted on the wall several feet away from her. She was a slender woman with long, reddish brown hair cascading past her shoulders. She smiled, her full red lips parting slightly to reveal pearly white teeth. She was elegant, her skin pale against her black blouse and long ebony dress.
    Jenny had always been modest about her looks. As the other girls in her class paraded themselves for the boys she had kept to herself and her work. This may not have earned her much attention but she had enough friends to be happy.
    Now as she gazed into the glass of the mirror she found herself noticing her beauty. A little voice in the back of her mind whispered that she was stunning and that any man would be foolish not to fall for her.
    She was in the middle of her reverie when she was pulled from it by a bell like voice with a rich foreign note.
    “Excuse me?”
    Jenny looked up to see a handsome woman of similar age standing by her. The woman motioned to a near by chair.
    “So sorry to interrupt but may I sit here?”
    Jenny had never been an unsociable sort and was always glad for company. She was pleased to allow the stranger to join her.
    “Of course, please take a seat, it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”
    The other girl offered a nod and took her seat in another of the armchairs in this cosy little area of the inn.
    “I agree. I never seem to spend long enough in a place to really make friends.”
    With this the girl extended a graceful hand simultaneously brushing back strands of curly, deep auburn hair from her face.
    “I am Briska.”
    Jenny took the proffered hand with a polite nod.
    “I’m Jenny. You’re not from around here are you? I don’t mean to sound rude but you’re accent … in a small town such as this …”
    “… Shows that I’m a stranger? I understand. No I am not offended by your question, nor am I from here. My family are Romanian though I have travelled around England most of my life. We never stay in one place for too long. It would seem people do not understand Romanies such as I and fewer trust us. It is sad really.”
    Jenny tried not to seem sympathetic, for she understood that this woman didn’t need pity, she just listened attentively taking a sip from the glass cradled in her left hand from time to time. This meeting seemed very co-incidental considering the conversation she’d had with Mr Connors earlier that day. Again, out of courtesy she made no comment on this but went on listening to her chance companion, who went on speaking in her rich, European accent.
    “What attracted me to you was that brooch. I noticed you wearing it when you bought your drink from the bar. It is very unusual.”
    Jenny gazed down at the accessory.
    “Yes it is. Striking though. It was given to me by a friend today as a gift.”
    Briska, looking back at Jenny with deep brown eyes, continued.
    “It reminds me of a story my Grandmother would tell us when we were children. One of the many folktales that she would try to convince us were true.”
    “Oh really? I’d like to hear it.”
    Jenny put the cigarette out and took another sip of her drink. Worries about sitting in a busy pub disappearing from her mind as she slipped back deeper into the chair listening to Briska, bidding her to continue with a smile.
    The other woman thought for a moment raising a slender finger to her chin before beginning her tale.
    “You will have to please forgive me if I can not remember the story perfectly but I believe that it went something like this. It is set in Russia I believe at the Tsar’s palace. My Grandmother would tell us of an entertainer in the Tsars court called Uri. He had started as a common juggler when young but had caught the eye of a lady-in-waiting of the Tsarina. She had adopted Uri, an orphan at the time, introducing him to the children of the court and bringing him up as her own. In return he was happy to juggle for the pleasure of the court who quickly grew to know him and liked his happy, gentle demeanour. One day he was granted an audience with the Tsar himself and asked to entertain the bored man in his private chambers for the viewing of his family only.
    The Tsar liked Uri instantly and invited the young man, now in his teenage years back many times to perform. After some time the Tsar asked Uri to entertain in other ways also, whether it be to act, sing or make the family laugh, something he was very apt at with his natural charm. With each task Uri completed for the Tsar he would be given a gift in return whether it be of money or jewels or fine silks. With the pleasure of the Tsar the young man’s fortunes in court also grew until in time he was known not only in the palace but all over the surrounding region.
    As Uri’s fame grew so did his adopted mother’s fears. The jewels and all the attention being lavished upon the lad, now twenty years of age were changing him. He seemed to be thinking less and less of those around him as he had always done and was becoming increasingly solitary. He would spend hours in his room with the splendours he had earned as if it were they who where his truest friends. An honest aim to please was slowly becoming replaced by greedy ambition. One day she had an idea.
    She set about making Uri a new costume. It was of tight cotton that left very little to the imagination. The neck and wrists were broken by large lace frills, and patterns of a multitude of different colours played about the fabric’s surface. She hoped that if he could see himself in relation to the foolishness he had become part of, that then he may remember something of his true self. That if she could make him embarrassed by his foppish actions he would come back to her. She finished the costume with a black mask studded with tiny diamonds then took the gift to him.
    Uri did not even look at the costume, seeing it as another way of inflating his already bloated image. He put it on and without another word stood admiring himself in a mirror, refusing to speak to her or anyone else, only complimenting himself. Distraught that she had been the last nail in Uri’s self made coffin the woman went away and hanged herself in her grief.
    Uri was not seen nor heard from for more than a month after that day. People quickly learned that Uri was beyond them, he had locked himself away with his outfit and his mirror and the other fineries of which he was now so fond.
    Eventually, a worried courtier broke into Uri’s chambers in the hope of dragging the man from his madness. He found Uri’s motionless body lying before the mirror he had come to love so much. He was quite dead. His reflection, however, stood within the depths of the mirror’s glass. But it was not the reflection of what Uri had become, but of a reflection of what he once was. Forever frozen, his face a twisted picture of fear and desperate sorrow.
    The Tsar, saddened by the loss of the young man had Uri’s mirror destroyed in some hope of ending the boy’s agony. He had a tiny brooch made to remember him by. It was an identical image of the mask on the costume. This was sealed in a plush velvet black bag, a material betraying vanity, and hidden somewhere in the palace. The Tsar forewarned that any who were fool enough or vain enough to wear the item would also befall Uri’s fate.
    That brooch known as the Harlequin’s Folly was said to have been lost some time after the death of the Tsar. My grandmother told us that this was not the case, instead it had been handed to a wandering clan of trusted gypsies so that it would be cared for and a lesson against vanity could be taught in the stories passed through the families. Of course I never believed those stories myself but they were fun to listen to. The brooch which you wear, in my mind, would have been just as the Harlequins Folly would have.”
    A chill ran down Jenny’s spine as her mind played over the day’s events once more, but she dismissed the uncomfortable feeling thinking it to have been generated by the realistic way that the tale had been related. Jenny didn’t believe in folklore. She did, however, believe in co-incidences even if they were extremely big ones. The story passed on to her by Mr Connors about his meeting, and her chance one with Briska was just another of those co-incidences.
    She convinced herself that the brooch was a rare and beautiful ornament that had been connected to a story from Briska’s childhood and nothing more. Her thoughts drifted back to the old shop keeper.      
    “Silly old man must have believed some of what the Gypsy said. Whether she told him that story or not.”
    She shook her head slightly, though not enough to become obvious to Briska who was quietly gazing into her now almost empty glass.
    “… he just put it away and forgot about it. Did as he was told and passed it on to me to get rid of it more like. Well it suits me superbly. I think this brooch was meant for me. The woman that gave it to him did me a favour.”
    She furrowed her brows slightly shaking what seemed to be unusual thoughts from her mind but taking it all as a mix of her imagination and the story making her feelings for her new treasure more intense.
    The two girls quickly became friends and talked and laughed for quite some hours. Much longer than Jenny had expected to stay in the Hunter’s.
    As the clock on the wall of the bar struck nine the two now slightly tipsy women made plans to go out later that night. It turned out that they lived closer to each other than they would have expected. They left the inn together saying brief good byes and making their own separate ways to prepare for the night’s events.
    Jenny who upon arriving home had felt that the day had already been much longer than she had expected took a long bath. She surrounded herself with bubbles as she immersed herself in the story she had previously heard, almost living it, imagining seeing the poor fool’s reflection staring back at her from the water.
    Thoroughly relaxed she went about dressing herself knowing she did not have much time before she would be meeting Briska again. She opted for a black pinstripe suit with a red blouse beneath.
    Gazing into the mirror in her room she brushed her long, drying hair and added whatever toiletries and make-up she felt necessary for a night out. Lastly she pinned the brooch to her jacket and dusted herself off.
    “You’ll do.” She said aloud as she gazed into the glass.
    Then something struck her, it was the same feeling as before. This time, however, it wasn’t a little voice in the back of her mind admiring her. The self-complimentary sounds were coming from her own lips. Before she realised what was happening she had changed her outfit over and over, each time selecting a new ensemble, trying her hair a different way. Each time placing the brooch back on. Each time commenting on how wonderful she looked.
    The last time she reached out to open the wardrobe, (within which the mirror resided,) something pushed her back. There was a barrier before her. Her hand was met by that of her reflection as if she were touching the mirror but she knew that she was going for the handle on the closet. Her first emotions were confusion then something horrible touched her mind. She realised that the reflection had stopped moving that it was lying before her. She however, was moving very rapidly now, banging against the invisible barrier in front of her. Then the world shattered.

A gypsy woman of no more than twenty years of age went to a little shop in an unknown town. She made the owner promise to keep a gift of some worth untouched. Not believing in folk lore the man took it with a smile and sent the girl on her way returning to his duties without another thought.

Briska had matured a lot since they had found Jenny’s body, she had been allowed to take the brooch claiming it to have been an item loaned to Jenny by her, and that she would remember her by it. The police believed Jenny to have had a heart attack and fallen into the mirror, it was thought to be a tragic accident. Briska who did not want to keep the brooch for fear of her own self indulgence prayed vehemently that its new caretaker would follow her instructions completely. She sighed, walking away. She knew that no matter what she did, or what her forefathers may have done to prevent any more tragedies down the ages, that vanity would always win out in the end.