[Entry XI]
Said to be backed with moon-lacquer and rimmed in road-silver. It does not reflect a face until you breathe on it. In the mist it shows what follows you, not what stands ahead. Touch it with malachite and the green arranges the truth into ladders. If Vaelith is near, the glass chills from the edges inward.
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The frost did not melt—it remembered.
Each grain of sand a slow thought turning, silvering beneath the morning’s pulse.
When I looked within, it did not return my face.
It showed the beast Velaan, my first companion, now split across a thousand mirrored eyes.
Each eye whispered a life I had worn:
the desert child, the stargazer, the thief of dawn,
the frozen sovereign beneath a crown of absence.
I reached for the silver. It rippled like water,
and every name I had forgotten rose to meet me.
The mirror asked nothing.
It simply hummed, a low note that trembled through the dunes—
a note I had heard once in a dream before I ever was.
It said, Remember not who you were, but who is still waking.
And so I breathed.
The frost cracked.
Somewhere beneath, the sands began to sing again.
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Record preserved by perilpoet
Manifest the Mirror of Velaan here
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