Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Vertigo, a faction of DC Comics, and to Neil Gaiman. They are being used for non-profit entertainment purposes only. The story, Winter, Thomas, Dahlia, Suk, Mikhail, and Jonas are mine.

"Everyday we look at our reflections in mirrors. We stare into our own eyes and wonder if we are beautiful and what we should do with our hair. Over the years, we have been corrupted by vanity. But once, long ago, when we were young, we knew what lived behind the glass, who dwelled there, and it scared us, so we forgot.

"Yesterday, I remembered..."

--taken from the journal of Winter Angelica Frost

Winter brushed the sleep from her eyes as she looked down at the crumpled bit of paper lying before her on the desk. Her fingers drifted over the writing, smudging the words composed of lead pencil. How old had she been when she had written this?

Not old at all. Quite young, her mind told her in that faraway voice that made little to no sense and always kept her second-guessing.

"But, how old?" she whispered into the air, her voice sounding small and ruined.

"What's wrong, Grandmother?" someone asked and Winter could hear the sound of feet hurrying through the hall and into her room. The hand that fell onto her shoulder felt like a very heavy weight as Dahlia repeated, "What's wrong?"

Winter found a small smirk pulling the corners of her creased, pale lips up. When it came down to it, she had had the last laugh regarding Dahlia. Mikhail, her son, had thought of a blind child as being a great burden but Winter had know the first time she cast eyes on the infant. Dahlia was going to be very special.

Mikhail had given her up easily and, after a bit of coercing, even Suk had been willing to sign the papers. They both agreed, reluctantly, in Suk's case, that they would have nothing what so ever to do with their child. They would become little more than ghosts, walking the globe with Winter's money filling their pockets and emptiness gathering in their hearts.

Dahlia would become someone.

Winter covered her granddaughter's hand with her own and murmured, "Nothing's wrong, Dal. Nothing at all."

"You sure?" Dahlia asked her voice concerned and warm. Next November she would turn eighteen but there would be no party in the great halls of Frost mansion because the girl would be in college.

"Completely."

Dahlia nodded. Some would have thought such an animated gesture would be strange for a blind girl but Winter cared little for such things. In fact, it had been she who was constantly holding the girl's fingers to her face so she would know expressions and gestures.

"You have to have gestures in a world like this, Dal. You have to. It's like breathing," Winter remembered telling the child when she was six.

Now Dahlia kissed Winter's cheek and walked out of the room. She did not wobble as she walked, nor did her hand brush the wall. Dahlia didn't need any of those tricks. The mansion had stayed the same for years, on Winter's orders, and she had learned to navigate without any trouble.

Winter turned back to the yellowed sheet of paper. "I was...I was young."

"You were seventeen. Close enough to your next birthday to call yourself eighteen, Winter dear, but you were seventeen."

The old head turned, slowly, and she caught a glimpse of something from the past. She coughed. "So, it's you."

The phantom smiled. "It's me."

Winter inclined her head a bit. "You a dream?"

"Not bloody likely. Got a cigarette?"

"Not these days, Thomas," she addressed the ghost.

Thomas O'Reilley. When he had lived, he had been a good man. One of the few who would gaze in Winter's direction with a glimmer in his eyes and see her with a fond gaze. Then, he had died. But, every once in a while, he still came to see her.

He made a tsking noise with his tongue and strolled over to her. "Whatever shall I do with you, my lady?"

Winter watched his face. He was still young. Thomas had always been young. Even when they were both close to seven thousand and starting to show their age, Thomas had been handsome and young.

"Sometimes I wonder about this life we've had, Thomas," she proclaimed, ignoring he last statement. "What right do we have to live so long and then just fade away in the end?"

"None," he answered, bluntly, resting his chin in his hand while his pale gray eyes flitted about the room.

"How old was I when I wrote this?"

"Seventeen."

"Nay. How old, really?"

Thomas sighed, running fingers through his dark blond hair. "You were seventeen, close to eighteen, when you remembered the truth of things. This was during your life as Winter Angelica Frost."

"I'm still Winter Angelica Frost, Thomas."

The ghost cocked his head to the side, gazed at her and said, "No. No, you're not. You just look like her. Miss Frost died that night and you came back."

The old woman looked up at him and he was no longer smiling. His face had melted into an apathetic curtain that he used when he was thinking. "I always thought it was unfair that Gods could be forgotten. They made us. What right had they to throw us away?" she asked

"They got something else."

"It wasn't any better. It was, basically, the same idea with a few changes. A bit more spite, more vengeance and thunder and lightning, Gods started to outnumber Goddesses. Things changed. It wasn't right."

He pulled a phantom cigarette from the air. "Things change, Winter. There is no wrong or right in that regard. Old Gods die, new ones form. The only beings that doesn't apply to are the..."

She held up a wrinkled old hand. "Don't even say the name, Thomas. I don't want to hear about them."

"Fine."

Winter's old blue eyes wandered around the room. "Do you remember what it was like back then, Thomas, when we were Gods? Do you remember the way they prayed to us and danced for us? We were happy and they were happier because we were nice to them. Not like the new ones."

"They wanted punishment for sins."

"They never sinned when they had us."

"We didn't see anything as sin. That's why there wasn't any. Once you learn to see sin, it's everywhere," he explained.

Slowly, she shook her head. "You're confusing me."

"Not bloody surprising."

"Can you remember our names?" she questioned, her voice soft and old.

"No." His words were blunt and sharp. "I don't know why you're dragging that up again. We had a good run. It's over. You decided to become one of them and I...I moved on."

"You came with me," she added.

"Yes, yes. And I loved you, like always, and I died." Thomas finished the cigarette and began walking around the large room in wide circles.

He could still remember that bittersweet moment when the hand of Death had brushed his face, her fingers pale, long, and cold. The eyes that stared down at him, as he lay, finally stricken by the pain of being forgotten, had been black, deep, and warm. She knew what he was going through for she had watched as other old gods waxed and waned and then died or disappeared or whatever the hell other gods did. Thomas O'Reilley chose to die and Death came for him, her hair black, her eyes black, her skin pale, and a smile on her face.

"Ready to say goodbye, Thomas?" she had asked.

He had sighed, shook his head, and gazed around the room. "No, darling, I'm not. But, there isn't any other way, is there?"

Death had shaken her head, the silver ankh bobbing in the light, "Not really. You could go on, be reborn like your friend Winter but..."

"S'not the same."

"Then you could retire to the dreams where you came from. I'm sure my brother isn't still angry with you," she had suggested and she looked so much like his best friend and like the old goddesses, the forgotten ones, he used to hang around with.

Thomas had blinked slowly and coughed. The body wasn't old. He looked to be about twenty-five, too young to be illing like this. Winter would be lonely; she'd miss him. Nevertheless, he couldn't go on this way. "I'm not sure if I've forgiven your brother yet. And I know Winter hasn't."

The girl had smiled, her hands brushing grains of wheat off her black dress. "And you don't go anywhere without her."

"No one ever said we were petty deities. No one ever called us cruel or uncaring. We were loved and we loved back. Then they gave us up. But...she's my last touchstone, my last temple, the last pilgrim, and the last worshipper with her prayers. As I am all those things to her, now that she remembers. I can not depart this plane entirely. Can we compromise?" Thomas had asked as his fingers curled around Death's.

"Any time for you," she had replied.

They had walked away from the small house, the face of Thomas O'Reilley breaking apart and burning like dry timber in the presence of the old god's true face. He was bright, glowing, and beautiful. An old ruler of the sun, of light, and of all things having to do with being happy and singing and dancing. Once again, he had been free.

Then the compromise set in.

A sound drew his attention back to the room of his former lover.

Winter got up from the chair, her body protesting painfully, and joined him. "But you didn't do what I did, love. You stayed you and just put a new face on. You never gave the being a God part up."

"I never will," he breathed.

"So, now you're the ghost of a God. A long dead, long forgotten God whose name meant light, joy, and wonderment in a tongue that has long since died. I still remember that, love. I may have forgotten most everything else but I remember the way you were, the way you danced, smiled, loved, and ruled," she commented, coughs interrupting her speech.

Thomas blew the smoke out of his nose and gazed beyond the glass in the mirror to the realm beyond. "We were quite a pair, weren't we?"

"The best, Thomas. The best there ever were."

****

Despair paused in her daily rounds to stare through the mirror. An old god, long forgotten and taken by her sister to the Sunless Lands, stood in the room of the goddess who had been reborn as a regular woman with the memory of her old life. She remembered the two quite well, even though it had been such a long time since their argument with Dream. That had happened before she became Despair.

On the other side of the mirror, the god nodded slightly to recognize her and the woman/goddess frowned and walked away. The god laughed then, at the goddess, his once and future lover, and then waved a sad goodbye to Despair.

The idea of despair, bottled into the form of a short, pale, naked woman, watched as the mirror to that room frosted up and became blank. With a sigh, she shuffled away through the fog and the chittering rats at her feet, on to the next mirror. They'd be back. The goddess always came back when she got lonely.

****

Winter turned to glare at him and, suddenly, she wasn't old anymore, she wasn't even human. The form she had carried as a goddess, the parallels and differences of the seasons blending through her hair and her eyes and her features. She was beautiful again; warm like the spring, pale and aloof like the winter, chilly like the fall, and vibrant and bright like the summer.

Thomas smiled.

The vision faded leaving her weak and gasping for breath on the cold, wood floor of her room, old again, human again, and so very frail.

Thomas frowned and walked over to where she lay. "Give it up, Winter dear. You've lived so long. So very, very long. Give in to the spirit of the Sunless Lands and we shall walk and make our peace with the Dream King. Then we can reside in the world where we belong." He offered her his hand, a rough hand, slightly burned as through he tried to hold the sun. Once, he had held the sun.

"No," she cried, and batted his hand away. "No! We belong here. This is our world, Thomas. The world of the living."

"We're not theirs, anymore. Not in life anyway. They will dream of us and know the truth, see the past, feel our love. In their dreams, we will live again."

Winter's eyes were blue, like the spring sky after a gentle rain, and the silver hair fell around her wrinkled face in soft waves. "I live now, Thomas."

"And closer to the edge of Death you have never been, my lady."

She coughed, feeling her lungs grow weaker, her heart strain. "I had so hoped to live to see Dahlia celebrate her eighteenth birthday."

The old god laughed then, his hands holding on to hers as his gray eyes danced with her blue ones. He could remember things so clearly when he looked into her eyes. She was the goddess of time, under her hand seasons changed, things grew and died. She had been life, death, and everything in between while he had controlled the sun, stars, and danced in joy. No wonder he loved her so.

Thomas picked her up in his arms and set her down on her bed. She lay there, old and frail, broken by disappointment and time. Time, the thing she used to control had betrayed her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he brushed her hair with his fingers.

"No, Thomas, I'm sorry. We should have never crossed him. It was all my fault."

The cigarette dangled limply from his lips. "No, it was my fault as well." He started to pace the room again. "He'd take us in, if we apologized. He'd take us into dreams."

Tears formed in the old eyes. Tired tears, worn out, ready to give up tears. Winter had never relished crying and she cared less for it in the company of this man who saw her as the strongest thing in the universe. "You know my pride."

"Shall I make peace with him?"

"No. Don't do that for me," her voice rose, quaked. Winter could feel the humanity leeching from her bones, the borrowed life melting away as it died and the goddess woke up.

They could both see the pale girl in the black jeans and black tank top standing in the corner.

"Have you come for me, then?" Winter asked as the girl walked forward.

Death put her hands in her pockets and looked at the old goddess standing there with the god who had locked himself in a compromise just to be close to his love. What right did the world have to throw away two such compassionate, loving deities? None. But that was the way things were. Gods came, Gods went. These two were special.

Her fingers fiddled with the ankh on its black lace cord as she stood at the foot of the bed. Thomas was smoking, looking nonchalant and handsome as ever. Winter was lying on her deathbed, humanity all but having flown, and pure goddess leaking through the cracks. The look in the older woman's eyes reminded Death of that day in Destiny's house.

****

The sat around the table, in their best clothes, drinking wine and eating fine cheeses because Destiny had called them there. This had been a long time ago, before the first Despair died and even before Delight had become Delirium. They had been talking quietly, waiting for Destiny to come back with the other guests. She had been talking to her brother.

"How is the Dreaming, brother?"

"Fine. Good. As to be expected," Dream answered her back, impatient as ever. "I've been having problems with two of a pantheon, though."

"Really?" Death had inquired, amused.

Just then, Destiny had come in, leading the God and the Goddess into the room. The God was tall with skin that almost looked like fire, red hair, tinged with rivers of bright yellow, covered his head and strange pale gray eyes watched the world.

The Goddess, on the other hand, was delicately short, with small hands and tiny fingers. However, her stature could not hide the fierce lioness lying inside. Her hair was pale white and glittered with stardust, her eyes were the blue of a spring sky, and her skin had a slight tan.

"They have arrived," Destiny said as he closed the doors.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Desire laughed but shut up quickly when the Goddess looked at her.

"We only have business with the Dream King. Why are the others here?" the God asked.

Destiny shrugged, cradling his book even closer, if that was possible.

"I know you," Delight said as she looked at the God. "You control the sun and light in your pantheon. You are happiness and joy and delight. You work for me."

He had smiled, a brilliant smile like a supernova. "Yes. Why, yes, I do, child."

"We didn't come to prattle on with them," the Goddess insisted, pulling on her husband's arm. "We came to talk to the Dream King."

"Are these the ones you're having trouble with?" Death questioned her brother and Morpheus only nodded.

"Yes, dear. I'd forgotten," the God muttered putting his hand over hers gently. The simple gesture seemed to quiet her, as though it helped her shift from hotheaded summer to cool mannered winter.

Before Death's eyes, her brother stood, his black robes swishing about his feet and his eyes, twinkling like two stars in the night, locked with the eyes of the God.

Unlike most, the God did not turn away from the eyes of Morpheus. They stared at each other for a long moment, the chilly and ill-tempered Goddess still hanging onto her husband's arm as she waited for whatever was coming.

Finally, the God spoke. "We have come to talk with you, Dream King," he said and his voice was warm, rich. It was the kind of voice one should sing with and laugh with, not discuss solemn matters with. In fact, the God looked seriously out of place in Destiny's hall. He reminded Death of Destruction who, almost as if he had known of what was to come, had opted not to attend this family meeting.

Dream nodded, his head bobbing on the frail, white neck. "I know," he replied.

The Goddess pulled away from her husband and took a step towards Morpheus. Her eyes had started flickering, all shades and colors and temperatures. "Why did you do it?" she inquired, her voice rising as she stepped closer.

"Dear," the God whispered, taking her arm with his hand.

She broke the grip easily and advanced on Dream again. "Why, Dream King? Why?"

The rest of the Endless sat quietly around the table. Delight looked at the proceedings with quiet, puzzled eyes. She did not seem to understand why one who worked for her should be talking with her brother. Desire was adding everything up in its mind, trying to decide whether it could influence the situation any. Destiny watched with calm. Despair was slightly bored.

Death was transfixed by the whole thing. These two deities were special. She had seen them when she walked, the beautiful time goddess and the god who was light and happiness. They were loved, they were kind, and they were...dying?

Yes. They were dying. She could see it on their bodies; a kind of smudging around the edges like someone had smeared their picture with a finger. Death knew that Gods and Goddess died all the time but the thought of these two disappearing was...distressing.

"It is the way things are, Time Goddess," Morpheus said, eyes staring straight ahead. "The people dream of new gods when the old have want to leave. Your time in their hearts is gone."

"I hate you!" the Goddess yelled throwing herself at him, her hands hitting at him and her feet kicking.

Delight's eyes had gone wide and she was close to crying. Despair was happy to lead her away.

The God pulled his lover off the Dream King and held her in his arms as her fury reached its climax. All the while his sad, gray eyes stayed transfixed on Morpheus until Death saw her brother turn away.

"I'm sorry," Dream said to the God as he walked away.

"I know," the God proclaimed, sighing. "Things change. We die. New ones take our place. But...why?"

"I do not know, friend. I am sorry, Time Goddess, for the pain this change has caused you. It was not my intent to do so but...things must change." Dream walked over to where the Goddess stood, having left the God's arms.

The blue eyes looked up at him but they weren't full of tears, they were full of deep, burning hatred. "One day, Dream King. One day we shall meet again and I will not allow myself to be held back."

Death watched her brother nod and bow to the two deities. Then they began to walk away, the God and the Goddess, hand in hand. And she thought she heard the Goddess whisper, "I'm scared of moving on."

"Then we won't. Then we won't," the God had consoled her.

The two had walked the earth doing various things ever since. It had been a long, long time. Surly her brother had forgotten all about it by now. It would be such an easy thing now, for them to ask to be allowed to live forever in dreams. However, the goddess had so much pride and such hatred toward any of the Endless.

Death smiled slightly as she looked at Winter. The goddess was there, deep in the back of those blue eyes. She was sitting on her golden throne, head in her hand, waiting. "Yes," she told the goddess. "Yes, I have come for you."

The woman frowned and looked over at Thomas who was pacing the room, still smoking on his cigarette. "Look, I know I'm not supposed to ask this because you can't tell me but, what happens next?"

"Something special for you two. Are you ready, Winter?"

Thomas brushed a hand through his dark blonde hair, flashes of red starting to show as the phantom form was fading. "Don't you want to say good-bye to Dahlia?"

The old woman shook her head. "No. No, she's a strong girl. And I never liked good-byes."

"Ready?" Death asked, moving closer to the bed.

"As I'll ever be," Winter declared and reached up to take Death's hand.

Thomas heard the beating of wings, which was the soul of Winter Angelica Frost taking to the sky. The woman left holding Death's hand was his beautiful wife, the old time goddess. She looked wiser now, ready to forgive and forget. Her hair glittered in the light and her blue eyes were slightly mournful.

"I still don't know why they loved us or why they gave us up?"

"Is that why you decided to be human for a bit?" Death questioned, intrigued by the goddess whose hand she still held.

She nodded. "I thought it would help. It didn't."

The cigarette faded from his lips and so did the mask that had been Thomas O'Reilley. The god stood before the two women now, bright and glowing. "Are you ready to talk to the Dream King, love?" he asked.

His wife frowned. "No, not really. But I guess we have to. Only thing to do, right?" She turned to Death who smiled meekly and nodded.

"I'm sorry about all this. You two were really good deities but..."

"You only give what you're given," the god finished. "We appreciate all you've done for us, Death, really we do."

"Yeah, thank you," the goddess muttered as she took her husband's hand and they walked through the open window.

Death thought she heard the god inquire, "Are you scared to move on?"

"No," the goddess answered, "No, I'm ready now."

A smile crossed the girl's pale face as she moved to the mirror and passed her hand across it. Despair peered back at her.

"They've gone then?" Despair picked up one of her rats and petted it.

"Yes," Death murmured. "They've gone."

Despair ran the sharp ring down her face a few times, feeling the blood trickle down her chin. "Pity. They were such good ones. I wonder if they'll be missed."

Pale fingers tugged absently at the ankh. "I'm sure they will be. But remember they're not actually gone. They'll live forever in dreams."

Despair nodded and walked away from the mirror as she saw Death fade away.

****

Epilogue:

Dahlia was still working when Jonas got home. He stood and watched his wife's fingers as they made the Braille cards for the book she was writing. Gods, he loved her so much.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" she asked him.

"No, darling. But I enjoy watching you work," he admitted as he crossed the room and kissed her pale brown hair. "Whatcha writing?"

She screwed her face up into an unreadable expression. "I'm not sure. I just had the urge to write about it. Must be some stuff I read about in theology class."

"Can I read it?" Jonas questioned as he ran a hand over his red hair.

"If you want," Dahlia answered as she got up from the chair. "I'm going to bed."

"Goodnight."

Jonas sat down at the desk, he shuffled back to the first card and began running his fingers over the words. It was a story about a god and a goddess, long forgotten and lost to the world.

The goddess was a time goddess, controller of the seasons and life and death. She was small with white hair and blue eyes. Her name was Winter.

The god controlled the sun and happiness. His hair was red with bits of yellow mixed in and his eyes were pale gray. His name was Thomas.

Jonas wondered at where Dahlia had gotten such vivid descriptions of color considering that she had been born blind and had never seen a thing in her life. Maybe in her dreams, he thought as he sat the book down.

The story had a mixed ending, half-sad, half-hopeful. The god and the goddess died, carried away to the Sunless Lands by a beautiful, pale girl. They left on the earth a daughter, one with brown hair and green eyes who was a goddess in her own right but had never realized it until the time she looked into a mirror and saw the world beyond the glass.

With a yawn, Jonas put the book aside and climbed the stairs to the bedroom. Dahlia sat at the mirror, her blind eyes staring past the glass, almost as if she could see.

"Jonas," she called when she heard his feet on the steps. "Come here and tell me what you see."

"Okay," he agreed and strode over to the mirror. He looked in at for a while, his eyes scanning over the polished surface. "I only see you, darling."

Her blank green eyes turned on him. "You mean you don't see the pale, naked woman back there with the rats. I think I know her, Jonas. I think I *knew* her once upon a time."

In the quiet that followed her statement, Jonas thought he heard someone laughing, a deep laugh that sounded like delight and he thought he smelled the scent of roses even though it was winter outside.

The End?