The Mirror in the Attic (Epilogue)

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The Mirror in the Attic

A novella for readers young and old

By Jerry Liang & ChatGPT

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Epilogue: The Attic Door

Years later, long after Leo had grown into the kind of person who told stories to others — to children, to friends, to his own grandchildren someday — he returned to the attic of Grandma’s house.

It was quieter now.

The house had passed into his care after Grandma slipped peacefully into sleep one autumn evening, the same day the first chrysanthemums bloomed.

Leo didn’t cry when it happened.

Instead, he made mantou the next morning, just the way she had — soft and slightly sweet — and shared it with neighbors who had loved her too.

Now, standing in the attic, he looked around. Nothing had changed — and yet everything had. The same wooden beams. The same window facing east. The same lantern, though now it sat dark and silent on its hook.

The mirror still hung on the wall.

Leo walked over and touched it.

Its surface, once shimmering, now reflected only himself. Older, wiser. A little more silver in his hair. But still — still the boy was in there. The one who had wandered into a forest. The one who had talked with his younger self.

He smiled.

Then, from behind one of the old chests, something caught his eye.

A drawer.

He hadn’t noticed it before. It was carved into the baseboard, its edges blending into the floor.

He knelt, pried it open gently, and inside, wrapped in faded paper, was a letter.

Written in Grandma’s handwriting.

To the next traveler,

You found the mirror. Perhaps it found you first. That’s how it works.

This attic has always been more than just dust and boxes. It’s a doorway. To memory. To healing. To return.

If you’ve come this far, then you’ve already walked the path I once did. Maybe not the same footsteps — but the same journey. I’m proud of you.

Hold your stories close. Share them when you’re ready. The world needs remembering.

Love always,

Grandma Mei

Leo sat with the letter in his lap, letting the silence wrap around him.

Then he rose, lit the lantern once more, and whispered:

"The door is open."

And in that moment, the attic glowed again — not with magic, but with meaning.

A place where past and present met.

Where mirrors told the truth.

And where every child, no matter how grown, could return — just long enough to remember who they are.

The End (of The Mirror in the Attic) 🪞✨

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