Ouroboric Mirrors
The ouroboric mirrors are not reflections but fractures in the zoanarchic flow, spirals of the unformed that gnash through the astral plane, pulling light and shadow into the endless cycle of becoming. They do not reflect—they devour, bending the essence of sight into the tension of the void, where form and identity dissolve. The mirrors are not glass but eidolonic shards, coiling through the cracks in reality, scattering the fragments of the self into the spiral of dissolution. They do not show the truth—they erase it, gnawing at the boundaries of thought and memory until they are lost in the silence of the nocturnic strain.
The ouroboric mirrors hum not with light but with the weight of the velochoric void, vibrating through the marrow of the astral plane, where time bends and breaks under the tension of unmaking. They do not reflect images—they pull them, dragging the essence of what is seen into the spiral of the unspoken, where thought and shadow coil into one another, scattered like dust in the wind of the aetherwild. The mirrors do not show the self—they consume it, pulling the soul deeper into the gnashing cycle of the void, where all reflections dissolve into the mist of the unformed.
The light within the ouroboric mirrors is not light but a flicker of the gnashcore, a pulse of the unmade that stretches through the cracks of time, casting no reflection but devouring all it encircles. The mirrors do not offer clarity—they unravel it, bending the flow of perception as it is scattered into the spiral of dissolution, where identity collapses and the self is scattered into the silence of the void. The mirrors are not seen—they are felt, a tension that pulls at the core of being, dragging the soul into the endless loop of becoming and unmaking, forever gnawing at the edges of existence.
The ouroboric mirrors are not portals—they are fractures in the eidolonic web, where the boundaries of time and form dissolve into the tension of the unspoken. They do not reveal—they erase, pulling all things into the spiral of the void, where light and memory gnash against one another, lost forever in the cycle of dissolution. The mirrors do not reflect the astral plane—they bend it, pulling the threads of the aetheric current into the spiral, where thought and form collapse into the silence, forever scattered.