Stephen was back on the computer when he heard the front door rattle. As Stephen left his room, he saw his father stumble inside, his arms overflowing with books and papers messily held together with binder clips. Stephen’s father, Charles, looked like a tall mixture of a university professor and tomb-raider. His mother, Emily, was often asked if she had settled for Charles. She had all the charm of a studious teacher mixed in with an actress’ beauty.

When Stephen caught his parents up with the day’s developments, Emily clapped her hands together excitedly.

“That’s wonderful! It’s too bad I won’t be able to meet them, too. You’re always going on about this and that from your game.”

Charles nodded, looking reflective and understanding, “Reminds me of when I was young. Believe it or not, I once had the taste for adventure and the fantastic!”

“Chasing specimens through a rainforest doesn’t really count as fantasy, Dad.” Stephen groaned, poking at the takeout containers his mother unpacked. It turned out to be Chinese food today, so Stephen snagged an eggroll and took a bite.

“You would be surprised,” Charles tapped his nose, grinning, “Take a look in our storage unit, if you don't believe us.”

Charles handed Stephen the key to the unit and piled his plate high with rice and lo mein, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s an old archaeology text I need to dust off! Ha!”

Emily's dimbles deeped as she laughed and gathered up a plate of food before she chased after her husband.

“Wait for me, sweety,” Emily called after Charles, “You have more dusting to do elsewhere, as well.”

Stephen’s appetite suddenly dissolved, it was always difficult to explain to people just how his father scored Emily as a wife. Over the years, Stephen gave up trying and just decided they were both strange people. Twirling his father’s keys, Stephen made his way to the storage unit. It was a brief journey down three flights of stairs, through a door where he scanned an ID card, and down another staircase that led him to the apartment complex's parking garage. Behind another locked door with a scanner were rows of storage units.

The family’s unit was ten square feet and mostly held old papers and documents. A corner was dedicated to books written in a script Stephen could never quite identify. His parents always avoided the issue, so Stephen eventually gave up on trying to get an answer. Odds were, they didn’t know the language either and they were trying to save face.

Buried under piles of newspapers bound together with wire was a huge rectangular chest. Stephen didn’t recognize it, so he hefted it open. Inside was a pile of robes, a hat, and a staff.

“Dad wasn’t kidding, was he?” Stephen said as he pulled out a wizard’s hat and staff. The shaft was a polished rosy wood covered in odd runic patterns. The top twisted around a translucent white orb, kind of like the one the Wicked Witch used, but smaller. A little more digging produced a wand, and a heavy pearl robe made of wool.

“Mom, too? Jeez, no wonder I’m a nerd. My parents are into roleplay or something.”

As Stephen crammed the items back into the chest, Stephen’s hands brushed against papers. He reached in and pulled out a stack of old letters. Their edges were stained and warped from age.

“This is more like it,” Stephen untied a waxed string from around the letters. The paper crunched and crackled under his touch, Stephen could tell they were made of a very old and thick paper. Some even still had the original seal.

A particularly large parcel drew his attention, and Stephen set the other letters down. This one was firmly sealed, with decorative runes and archaic text surrounding the seal, almost like a warning. Eager to see what was inside, Stephen peeled the seal way from the paper and opened it up.

When Stephen unfolded the letter, he found himself face-to-face with... himself. Or, rather, his reflection. The inside of the letter was coated in reflective paint. Even though the storage unit was dimly lit with a fluttering pastel light bulb, Stephen could clearly make out his own reflection. His surroundings within the reflection were different, however. There was a wooden chair, a small table with a tea set arranged on its surface, and a fireplace with a plump and comfortable looking red armchair.

“What kind of mirror is this?” Stephen exclaimed, flipping the parcel around. The air around him turned warm, infused with the smell of fresh hot tea and the faintest hint of vanilla.

A haughty and practiced voice spoke up behind him, “If I may be so bold as to offer an explanation, I believe you are holding a letter, not a mirror.”

Stephen turned towards the voice, which belonged to a resplendently dressed butler in a three-piece suit and impeccably clean white gloves. He stood in a doorway, holding a silver tray with a teapot and some small yellow cakes with sliced strawberries on top.

“More precisely,” The butler continued, “That letter is a summons from his Majesty King Elbrick the Thirty-seventh. You are in his castle, after all, in case you needed reminding.”