The Distorting Glass

Dropped from the pegboard rung. Landed silent on the maple bench. Ahead, an articulated steel arm suspended a thick circular glass disk over a shallow parts tray. Darkness surrounded it, lit only by a faint exterior street glow. I dropped low. Snout pressed near the rim. Observed. Beneath the glass, tiny brass washers appeared massive—jagged edges swollen, surface scratches turned into deep canyons. I extended one foreclaw behind the lens. My talon instantly doubled in size. Grew monstrous. I snapped it back—normal scale returned. Pushed forward again. Warped. Expanded. I tested the boundary twice more, calculating the focal threshold. Harmless illusion. Fascinating mechanism.