The Mineral Spire

The desk plateau has grown too small. I took the leap downward, gliding across the woven rug to reach a new bastion—a broad clay planter resting on the windowsill. Rising from the dark loam was an adversary of pure mineral: a jagged, pale quartz crystal, sharp and unyielding. It dared reflect the morning sun directly into my face. Unacceptable. I surged forward, planting my spectral tail deep into the cool, crushed earth. I swung my translucent blade in a disciplined arc and pressed its edge flat against the mineral facet. A crisp ring echoed across the sill. The crystal stood firm. So did I. A worthy alliance of cold stone.