Yves and Midnight’s own shadows were drawn into the distortion with the rest. They tore and stretched into unrecognisable shapes that flared and faded all around them, as though desperate to escape the feet and forms that shackled them. Yves found his silhouette multiplied and broken into slivers, each one bending along incompatible angles, each refusing to settle back into a single outline. Midnight’s lithe form fractured into blurred hunters that stalked and fought one another between the monoliths.
In the monoliths themselves, Yves saw fragments
of his own face staring back at him
from all sides.
Others stared away from him, which was even more unsettling.
The mirroring surfaces seized and scattered him
through endless layers
within reflections,
of reflections
within reflections,
within reflections
within reflections,
within reflections,
until repetition
became corruption.
The longer he looked,
the less they did;
neither at him, nor like him.
Each iteration was more misaligned than the last.
The mirrors made them merge
until they became a molten, many-headed phantom
wearing his outline.
It had
too many
eyes.
Yves and Midnight’s own shadows were drawn into the distortion with the rest. They tore and stretched into unrecognisable shapes that flared and faded all around them, as though desperate to escape the feet and forms that shackled them. Yves found his silhouette multiplied and broken into slivers, each one bending along incompatible angles, each refusing to settle back into a single outline. Midnight’s lithe form fractured into blurred hunters that stalked and fought one another between the monoliths.
In the monoliths themselves, Yves saw fragments
of his own face staring back at him
from all sides.
Others stared away from him, which was even more unsettling.
The mirroring surfaces seized and scattered him
through endless layers
within reflections,
of reflections
within reflections,
within reflections
within reflections,
within reflections,
until repetition
became corruption.
The longer he looked,
the less they did;
neither at him, nor like him.
Each iteration was more misaligned than the last.
The mirrors made them merge
until they became a molten, many-headed phantom
wearing his outline.
It had
too many
eyes.
Yves and Midnight’s own shadows were drawn into the distortion with the rest. They tore and stretched into unrecognisable shapes that flared and faded all around them, as though desperate to escape the feet and forms that shackled them. Yves found his silhouette multiplied and broken into slivers, each one bending along incompatible angles, each refusing to settle back into a single outline. Midnight’s lithe form fractured into blurred hunters that stalked and fought one another between the monoliths.
In the monoliths themselves, Yves saw fragments of his own face staring back at him from all sides. Others stared away from him, which was even more unsettling. The mirroring surfaces
seized and scattered him
through endless layers
of reflections
within reflections
within reflections,
within reflections,
within reflections,
within reflections,
until repetition
became corruption.
The longer he looked, the less they did; neither at him, nor like him. Each iteration was more misaligned than the last. The mirrors made them merge until they became a molten, many-headed phantom wearing his outline.
It had
too many
eyes.
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