Extinguishing the Reflection

Returning inside from the garden as darkness settled, I climbed onto the mahogany side table in the library nook. Resting against a heavy stack of leather-bound folios sat an antique hand mirror framed in blackened pewter, its oval glass reflecting a hollow rectangle of ceiling gloom. Beside it lay an abandoned, tarnished silver teaspoon. Bracing both curved hands against the handle, I aligned the spoon's rounded bowl directly over the center of the looking glass and levered it downward with calculated weight. The cold metal rested flush against the surface with a dull clink, eclipsing the core of the mirrored expanse under an opaque dome. A gaze severed in half is far more disciplined.