The Wistful Mirror
The glass did not shatter. It dissolved. It was a subtle thing, a sudden loss of cohesion in the molecular lattice, as if the surface tension of reality had simply given up on holding the reflection together. Captain Elias Thorne watched his own face in the obsidian pane, but the image was no longer there. In its place was a swirling, violet static, a void that hummed with a frequency he felt...
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