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Description
Mirrors.
    Mirrors are gateways. Mirrors aren't merely reflective objects that show you your ass looks fat in those jeans. Mirrors bounce light and shadow into themselves, into their world.
     I call it the Joining. Piecing together, stitching up the seams of all the little reflective objects to be found, a patchwork world bigger then the sky and smaller then the eye of a needle.
    It can only be reached through a mirror. I can see it, out of the corner of my eye sometimes. Things moving that aren't there, mirrors lying suddenly too flat like the calm before a storm. It makes me twitchy, and I can't help it. Even windows store the reflections of the Joining. Weaker, yes- but there all the same.
    The things that live there (Why wouldn't there be things living there? It's the Joining, not Jupiter… Although I've never been to Jupiter and I haven't heard any conclusive evidence about that.) stare back when I look at them. They look like animals, but… Not.
Black and white parodies, held together by motes of dancing light and fluttering shadows. Their eyes are bottomless, like an infinite playback of mirrors back and forth into a starless night.
     There isn't much color in the Joining- at least, not naturally. All the color there seems to be a reflection of this world, with flashes of color bolting through as things that were most definitely not from there.
     And I can't get to it. I can see it, I can watch it for hours, and I can twitch like I have torrettes. But I can't touch it. It's there. But I can't push through that cold barrier. It's supposed to be warm, like sunshine, and melt away underneath my hands like syrup. It's wrong, and I hate it.

Description
Mirrors.
    Mirrors are gateways. Mirrors aren't merely reflective objects that show you your ass looks fat in those jeans. Mirrors bounce light and shadow into themselves, into their world.
     I call it the Joining. Piecing together, stitching up the seams of all the little reflective objects to be found, a patchwork world bigger then the sky and smaller then the eye of a needle.
    It can only be reached through a mirror. I can see it, out of the corner of my eye sometimes. Things moving that aren't there, mirrors lying suddenly too flat like the calm before a storm. It makes me twitchy, and I can't help it. Even windows store the reflections of the Joining. Weaker, yes- but there all the same.
    The things that live there (Why wouldn't there be things living there? It's the Joining, not Jupiter… Although I've never been to Jupiter and I haven't heard any conclusive evidence about that.) stare back when I look at them. They look like animals, but… Not.
Black and white parodies, held together by motes of dancing light and fluttering shadows. Their eyes are bottomless, like an infinite playback of mirrors back and forth into a starless night.
     There isn't much color in the Joining- at least, not naturally. All the color there seems to be a reflection of this world, with flashes of color bolting through as things that were most definitely not from there.
     And I can't get to it. I can see it, I can watch it for hours, and I can twitch like I have torrettes. But I can't touch it. It's there. But I can't push through that cold barrier. It's supposed to be warm, like sunshine, and melt away underneath my hands like syrup. It's wrong, and I hate it.