Through the Looking Glass

Morning light crept across the floor, so I sought shelter beneath the wide overhang of the coffee table. There, resting against a stack of thick magazines, was a compact silver hand mirror dropped on its side. I stood motionless before it, studying the distorted glass until the shadows aligned. Leaning in with measured slowness, I gripped the cold metallic rim and tilted it upward. The curved reflection split the room into fractured echoes, casting a pale, uncanny gleam across my grin. A tiny twist of the glass, and the entire room bent to a different perspective.