A mirror asks for nothing but a direction to look; give it one, and it will look without ever tiring.
This working does not turn harm back so much as it keeps a steady eye upon the way in, a watcher that never blinks and never sleeps. Charged at first light, it takes the vigilance of the waking day and holds it faithfully through the night.
The Working
- At dawn, wash a small mirror with salt water until the glass holds no smudge and no breath.
- Dry it in the first light, letting the new sun be the very first thing it sees.
- Set it upon the sill facing outward — toward the road, the gate, or whatever way trouble might come.
- Ring a small circle of salt around its base to hold its attention fixed upon that way.
- Look once into it yourself, then step aside, so that your gaze is the last it holds before its watch begins.
- Speak the charge aloud, giving it the single task of watching, and leave it to its post.
- Renew the salt and the washing at each dawn, so the watcher never grows weary or dim.
The Incantation
Wake, little glass, and turn your eye,
watch the road where the strangers pass by.
I gave you the dawn, now give me the night,
keep the long watch till the morning’s light.
Nothing comes near that you do not see,
unsleeping glass, keep watch for me.
So long as it faces the world and the salt stays dry, the glass keeps its vigil — and a house that is watched is a house left alone.