Mirrors are simply silver backed glass. They have no magical properties. As a child, you learn this. You stop looking behind it to see how all that world can fit into such a small glazed rectangle.

As a child, Alice was indifferent to them. She was lucky enough that a few brush strokes would leave her hair hanging perfectly straight, with a plain headband to hold it in place. Too young for makeup and not interested in playing 'Mummy', they were something she disregarded. She could look down and see if her dress was ruffled or dirty. She was fastidious about her cleanliness, something her mother drilled into her from birth, so knew her hands and face would always be clean. So a mirror was of little use.

Besides. She had her sister.

Alice was one of twins. Identical in almost every possible way to her sibling, she did her very best to create some form of individuality. The fact she had dark hair and her sister was blonde failed to convince others they were different girls. She was often mistaken for her twin and, in the end, gave up trying to tell people otherwise.

Her sister, however, had no such issues. No-one had ever, it seemed, mistaken her for the wrong sibling. There was just something about her. That was their mother's phrase. Alice was just Alice. Her sister? Well, she was special. There was 'something about her.'

Her sister's name was Alice.

Yes. Twins with the same name. Part laziness, part having no alternative they liked and part because they thought it would be funny, the girls' parents called them by the same name. They believed, if they were calling one down stairs for dinner, they'd be calling two. If they were out playing and had to be shouted in because the rain was starting or the light was fading, they'd be shouting for both. And, they thought, they were having twins. Identical ones at that. They should be alike in all ways.

Once they were old enough, the hair would be dyed to match. Such was the plan. Of course, it would be Alice's hair which would be coloured to match Alice's - that's our Alice forced to change to be like the other, more remarkable Alice. And, why wouldn't she like to be the same as her sister? It was cool! It was fun! Wouldn't anyone want to copy such a wonderful girl?

No. They wouldn't. Luckily, it seemed, her hair agreed as it proved to be fairly impossible to dye. The chemicals refused, where Alice could not, to bind to the strands. There was no ugly transformation to a sickly green or anaemic yellow to show the colouration had gone wrong. There was no change at all. Colour would not take.

It gave Alice something, just the one thing, to smile about.

Alice's sister certainly did have something about her. She was inherently talented at almost anything she decided to do. Her fingers could dance across a piano keyboard. From the position of Goal Attack in netball, she had unnerving accuracy for scoring. And her voice would charm the birds from the trees. Alice did, in fact, often wonder if there was anything her sister could not do. Apart from be nice to her. Well, with everything else she had going on, there was clearly no room for sibling civility.

Alice, the other one... shall we call her Alice2? She was born a few minutes earlier and would often use the fact she was 'older' in arguments (of which there were many). To be fair, we should probably call her 'Alice1' and our Alice 'Alice2'. Life isn't fair, however. Life for Alice certainly wasn't, that's for sure. For the sake of offering a little fairness to our Alice, let's not apply any number to her name and only tack one on to the end of her sister. It's for clarity, of course. We shouldn't stoop to the levels of meanness which their relationship suffered from. The girls wouldn't notice either way as their names are theirs and what we call them wouldn't matter a jot. So why bother? Because a nicety, even if it's not known or appreciated, still gives us a little glow inside. As faint as it might be, it still lets off a modicum of warmth to combat the chill of an underdog's downtreading.

So that settles it then. Alice is Alice and her sister is Alice2. Confused? Let's hope so!

Alice (the one without a number and the one we are more keenly interested in) could handle her sister's insinuations and lies. Mostly. Though, in the main, they were unfounded, Alice knew they were just her way. It was part of an older sibling's job to bully. It was because she was so endowed that good manners and sense were left by the roadside to be washed away by the rain of tears such an absence would cause. A dig or a jibe still cut deep, but she built up a threshold of pain as the years went by. Or so she told herself.

The problem with wounds, emotional as with physical, is they leave scars. They don't always simply heal. They may fade to the naked eye but, under a certain light, they become dark red slashes full of anger and fear and self loathing. You have to hate yourself, don't you? Sticks and stones may break your bones but names can break a heart. A parent's indifference which was as blind as their adoration of their first born was the knife which Alice2 wielded. If everyone believed the same thing, didn't it have to be true? Alice was to blame. Alice was wrong. Lying. Stupid. Careless and clumsy.

The first mirror to be broken was a casualty of her frustration and the war which was being fought within her. She tried to be good. She tried not to be all the things her family accused her of being. She didn't realise she was so bad. Staring into the mirror, Alice didn't see her reflection. She saw her sister. Unable to raise a finger to Alice2, lest she was locked in her room with no evening meal or breakfast or toilet break, the girl looking back at her smiled. Though it lit her face as if a thousand sunbeams had concentrated their gaze, the smile was sly. It was a sliver of insincerity slicing from cheek to cheek.

Alice had punched her right on the nose. The crunch wasn't bone breaking, it was glass. The blood wasn't Alice2's, it was hers. The punishment was all hers, however, and it lasted a week. In those seven days, where her school falsely believed her to be having embarrassing issues with her bodily functions, Alice didn't see outside of her room. The view from her window was of a tree. It was tall with thick branches, completely devoid of leaves. Even the sun couldn't weave its way through to light the room. She lived in a permanent twilight which only changed when night fell. She ate when they fed her. She relieved herself in the rubbish bin in the corner, next to her wardrobe. The pit which she imagined was opening in the centre of her room grew larger with each hour. By the time her parents released her, it had eaten away at her entire floor and was about to begin engulfing her bed.

By the time she heard the click of the lock (they never came in - the sound of the key turning was her notice of freedom), she had become convinced the abyss was real. She was building up to throwing herself into its jaws.

As the scars deepened and numbed Alice to her sister's taunts and her parents' oblivion, she found she could no longer look in a mirror. At first, Alice2 would always be hiding in there. Over time, she brought along friends. The friends were shades. They hid in the shadows of the rooms. She only saw their eyes and their teeth. She felt their bite. She heard their laughter.

The only way to stop them or to hurt them back was to smash the mirror. Break the window. Stamp in the puddle.

The only way to stop them or to hurt them back was to smash the mirror. Break the window. Stamp in the puddle.

"We just don't know what to do," said her mother.

"Don't worry. We'll take great care of her. She's in good hands."

"Thank you Doctor."

"Come with me Alice. You'll be well looked after. Here, put this on."

"What is it? What are those straps?"

"It's just a jacket, my dear. The straps are there to make sure it fits snugly. Nothing worse than loose fitting clothing, don't you think? It just rides up and gets uncomfortable."

"I suppose."

"That's my girl."

As the strait jacket was fitted and the claps closed and the straps tightened, Alice's family walked away. She couldn't turn to them and they didn't bother to look back. She heard her mother's final words as they left the asylum.

"Anyone for ice cream?"