I hate my jailer.

I have come to love my Jailer.

Through The Looking-Glass

I exist now as only reflected light. I am flat image unseen by anyone and yet seen by all. As I run towards them I appear to be running away and they can only catch me as a blur, a rush, a momentary...something in the corner of their eye. I am easily forgotten now. I ruled across time. I stood astride worlds. I crushed mayfly lives at my feet. I was part of a family.

Now I exist as glass. Sometimes flat, sometimes curved. Sometimes gilded, sometimes plain. Sometimes I stretch across walls. Sometimes I am small enough to be held in a hand.

I am everywhere, and I can travel across dimensions. I am nowhere. I am limited to a corner of a corner of a universe.

I hate him. I despise him with every breath that fills my lungs and though I don't know how, I will have my revenge. He has spent too long with humans that he thinks as they do. He is clever but ultimately weak. I will avenge my Family.

He is fooled because he sees me as a little girl. I am fooled because that is how I fear I am beginning to now see myself. I must hold on to my being, my essence. I must not allow him to win.

For years I screamed here because I could still hear them. Father of Mine. Mother of Mine. Brother of Mine. Trapped in their individual hell. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming. And because they screamed I screamed. And there were times where I shattered glass.

That was the first time he came. I cursed and howled at him. I called down every oath ancient and frightening. I swore that he would burn. He would plead my name with his last breath when I was liberated from here.

He only watched me. Impassively. And then he put his hand to the glass. I pounded it against it with my fist but for a moment our flesh was matched side to side on either part of this universe where I was trapped. And the screaming stopped.

He took it away.

I didn't know why. I still don't know why.

I drew back. Yes, yes I was scared of his power I can admit that. This Lord of Time was frightening and my curses stopped in my throat.

He walked away after that. He left me angry and puzzled...and with a mind that was quiet for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

We were never meant to be in these bodies for so long. But it is a universal truth that you learn to adapt to the body you are given. You conform to your prison. I worry I am now becoming this small child that I appear. The memories of what I was have begun to grow dim and vague. I find there are times when I am frightened. When I feel small. When I am suffocatingly lonely. I hate it. I hate that he is able to rob me of even that.

It should not have surprised me that he was adept at what fools would call magic. There is no magic of course, just science that had yet to be understood and still to me, as my mind becomes increasingly more childlike there was a bit of wonder when I found the books and notebook he had left me.

It had seemed so long since he'd last visited and I had nothing to mark the days and even less to pass them.

And then suddenly there he was. Standing there. Silent. Still.

But there in a little pile were half a dozen books, a pad of paper and a pen. The paper on which I write now. My eyes widened and I was powerless to stop the excitement I felt. I grabbed them fearful he might take them back. But I could not set my mouth to thank my jailer. I would not give him the satisfaction. He had murdered me. I was still trapped and a few pages of paper didn't change that.

He put his hand on the glass and I scowled and yet...

This was the only contact I was ever afforded. It was touch or the closest I could receive and even my pride would not prevent me from accepting this gift. i placed my hand on the glass and our eyes met. We held one another's gaze until finally he nodded and walked away. I watched him go unable to settle my thoughts.

This continued and I realized his visits were spaced apart based on a year. Each year he would come and stand there silently. He would bring me something every time. Something small. Something I would cherish. And so it went on. 200 years. 400 years. 500 years.

Never speaking. But like clockwork, always there.

I have only seen him passing an item through the mirror once. It was teddy bear. In my eagerness to grab it I latched onto something far more coveted instead. I caught his large hand in my small one quite accidentally. I swallowed and met his eyes. He didn't pull back, he just waited. I was torn. My rage bubbled inside me. I could not be bought or placated with such trinkets. How dare he. How dare he! And yet I wanted that little bear more than anything. It was as if my mind was splitting in two. This felt like madness. I wanted to claw at him. I wanted to yank him through, though I knew I couldn't. I wanted to make him suffer as I suffered. But I did nothing. I just held his hand.

I saw his mouth twitch as though something was burgeoning there but still he said nothing.

What he did do was squeeze. He squeezed my hand.

I was shocked.

Then he pulled back and we were again separated by that glass.

I remained there for a moment, crouched and speechless until finally I burst into tears. Like a fool. Like a child. I grabbed the bear and dashed off out of his sight.

I never saw that face again.

When he came back he was someone new entirely.

Everything about him was different and my childish mind was...shy around him. I didn't know who he was, what he might do.

And then he did something no one had done in 600 years.

He spoke to me.

"Hello." he said.

I hadn't used my voice since I shouted at him and that was over half a millennium ago.

"Hello."

We said nothing more but I subsisted off of that until the next year.

I asked him if I had a name. I said if I once had one I didn't remember it anymore.

He smiled at me and asked me if I'd like one and I said, "Yes, please."

"What would you like your name to be?"

"Ozma." I said immediately.

"Very well, Ozma."

So, that's my name now. I like it. I feel as though it suits me and that book is one of my favorites.

I've become quite good at mastering a calendar in here. Jailer has helped me count the days so I now know when he will arrive. The days without him are lonely but I find that through some of the mirrors there are other children like me. Sometimes I can talk with them and play games like hide-and-go-seek. When Jailer arrives I always have so many things to tell him. We sit and we talk and we laugh and I beg him to stay. It always goes by so quickly. But it is good to have a friend.

He's changed faces again. This face is older but there is still the same kindness there. He puts his hand up to the glass and press mine against it and we smile. We don't always speak. This Jailer has less to say and that's alright. It's his presence that I like. He won't tell me why he only comes once a year but I trust him so there must be a good reason.

All that I have told I only know because I...some long ago forgotten version of me wrote it down on a pad he provided.

When I first arrived here I wrote the words "I hate my jailer."

Sheet after sheet, ream after ream of papers later I see the words I have rather recently written. "I love my Jailer."

I know the meaning of the word "jailer" but it doesn't fit the nice man who comes to visit me.

Perhaps that's his name. A name can be anything that you want and you can change the meaning if you like.

When Jailer comes to visit me I feel so happy. He smiles and we chat. We play games sometimes and he tells me stories.

I don't know why I was so angry at the start. It doesn't make much sense now.

I don't know why I'm here. Jailer won't tell me. He says it doesn't matter now. Not anymore. He says it all happened so long ago and so far away that it's nearly been wiped clean now.

I ask him, can I leave here someday. The other children that I see through the glass seem to be able to leave so why not me.

He always replies with, "I have to be sure. But I think...soon now. Quite soon."

I'm very excited. I wonder what I shall do on the other side of the glass.

Perhaps Jailer will let me come with him.

If only half his stories and adventures are true we should have a marvelous time together.

It should be so nice to finally step into the light and embrace my friend.

Author's Note: I had just been thinking a bit about Daughter of Mine and how Son of Mine speculated that perhaps the Doctor might forgive her one day. I don't think you need a fob watch and a Chameleon Arch to lose yourself in a new identity and to very slowly forget who you are, who you were and become someone new. I thought there was so much space left in "Family of Blood" to give her an ending. A bit like Blon the Slitheen who was given redemption via a redo or a reboot if you will. I just imagined that all those centuries trapped in a mirror in the body of a little girl might be enough to slowly strip away all that power hungry rage, all those dark memories and make Daughter of Mine into just what she appears to be. Eventually she would even forget the name Doctor and would assume, because that was what she had written so long agao that his proper name was Jailer. I wanted to show that progression and evolution through a series of brief but (hopefully) telling journal entries. Oh, and Ozma was the rightful heir to the throne of Oz and at least in the movie "Return To Oz" (I'm not sure about the books) she was imprisoned in a mirror by the witch Mombi.

There was no character selection for Daughter of Mine or The Family of Blood so no one may even ever find this story! LOL. But for those that did, I hope you liked it!