The Mirror That Showed Tomorrow

In a crooked little cottage at the edge of Willowbrook village lived a curious child named Sage, who loved three things most of all: asking questions, collecting shiny pebbles, and visiting their grandmother Maple.

Grandmother Maple was known throughout the land as the Keeper of Curious Things. Her cottage was stuffed with wonders—music boxes that played moonlight, teacups that never spilled, and books whose stories changed depending on the weather.

But Sage had never seen the mirror.

One rainy afternoon, while Grandmother Maple was baking blueberry crumble, Sage discovered a dusty sheet in the corner of the attic. Underneath sat an enormous mirror with a frame carved from silver wood, decorated with tiny moons and stars.

“Grandmother!” Sage called down the ladder. “What’s this?”

Grandmother Maple’s footsteps creaked up the attic stairs. When she saw what Sage had found, she smiled a mysterious smile.

“Ah,” she said softly. “That is the Mirror That Showed Tomorrow.”

Sage’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. “Tomorrow? You mean it shows the future?”

“In a way,” said Grandmother Maple, settling onto an old trunk. “It doesn’t show everything about tomorrow. It shows you one moment—the most important moment of your next day. Would you like to look?”

Sage nodded eagerly and stepped in front of the mirror.

At first, Sage saw only their own reflection—messy hair, bright eyes, a smudge of jam on one cheek. But then the glass began to shimmer like water, and the reflection changed.

In the mirror, Sage saw tomorrow. They were standing by the old oak tree near the village square, and they looked… sad. Very sad. In the mirror-tomorrow, tears rolled down Sage’s cheeks as they stared at something on the ground.

The image faded, and regular Sage stared back from the glass.

“I looked sad,” Sage whispered. “What could make me so sad tomorrow?”

Grandmother Maple put a gentle hand on Sage’s shoulder. “The mirror shows what might be, little one. Tomorrow isn’t written in stone—it’s written in choices.”

That night, Sage couldn’t sleep. They tossed and turned, wondering what terrible thing would happen by the old oak tree. Would they lose a favorite toy? Would a friend say something mean? Would they fall and scrape their knee?

The next morning, Sage dressed very carefully. They decided to avoid the old oak tree entirely. If they never went there, they could never be sad there. Problem solved!

But on the way to the market with Grandmother Maple, Sage heard a sound—a tiny, mewing cry coming from… the old oak tree.

Sage’s stomach flip-flopped. This was it. The moment from the mirror. But what if the sad thing hadn’t happened yet? What if they could still avoid it?

“Did you hear that?” asked Grandmother Maple.

The sound came again. Mew. Mew.

Sage’s curiosity won over their worry. They ran to the tree and looked down.

There, in a muddy hole beneath the roots, sat the tiniest kitten Sage had ever seen. It was orange and white, no bigger than Sage’s hand, and it was shivering.

“Oh no!” said Sage. “You’re stuck!”

Without thinking, Sage knelt in the mud and reached carefully into the hole. The kitten mewed and trembled, but Sage spoke softly: “It’s okay, little one. I’ve got you.”

Gently, so gently, Sage lifted the kitten out.

And that’s when it happened—Sage looked at the tiny, scared creature, covered in mud, far from its mother, cold and alone… and burst into tears.

Not sad tears, though. These were different.

“Why are you crying, little seed?” asked Grandmother Maple.

“Because—” Sage hiccupped, cradling the kitten close. “Because it was so scared. And so small. And what if no one had heard it? What if I hadn’t come to the tree?” Happy tears mixed with worried tears mixed with relieved tears, all spilling down Sage’s cheeks.

Grandmother Maple smiled her knowing smile. “Ah,” she said. “The mirror showed true.”

“But I’m not sad-sad,” said Sage, confused. “Not the bad kind of sad.”

“No,” agreed Grandmother Maple. “You’re feeling something much more powerful. You’re feeling compassion—when your heart is so full of caring for another creature that it spills out of your eyes. That’s the most important thing you’ll feel today.”

Together, they brought the kitten home, warmed it by the fire, and fed it milk with an eyedropper. By evening, the kitten was purring, clean and content in a basket of soft wool.

“Grandmother,” Sage said at bedtime, “the mirror was right. But I’m glad I didn’t know exactly what would happen. If I’d known it was good-sad instead of bad-sad, maybe I wouldn’t have felt it so strongly.”

“Wise words,” said Grandmother Maple, tucking Sage in. “Tomorrow is always a mystery, even when we peek at it. What matters isn’t knowing what will happen—it’s choosing who we want to be when it does.”

“Will you cover the mirror again?” asked Sage.

“Would you like me to?”

Sage thought about this, stroking the sleeping kitten curled beside them. “Yes,” they finally said. “I think I’d rather be surprised by tomorrow. Even the sad parts. Especially the happy parts.”

Grandmother Maple kissed Sage’s forehead. “Then surprised you shall be, little seed. Every tomorrow, for all your days.”

And in the attic above, the Mirror That Showed Tomorrow sat content beneath its dusty sheet, its work done for now, waiting for the next curious soul who needed to learn that the future is not something to fear, but something to greet with an open heart.

The End

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