// mages, eldritch horror, The Mirror, The Door, Unreality
The knife sinks into the mirror’s surface with only a bit of resistance. Ink black fluid drips and runs out of the wound in the world as you widen the hole, carving your way into the Unreal and gouging out a hunk of Purpose from the flesh of Unreality.
Your damp fingers close around something hard and you yank it free, setting aside the shard of Divinity in a separate pile. It glows and makes your hair stand on end to touch. It’ll fetch a good price.
The Unreal shifts and writhes beyond the mirror, materials flowing and coalescing. You quicken your pace, knowing you won’t have long before the immune response begins. You’ve made a tidy sum, no need to be greedy, that’s how plenty a Mage have met their untimely fates.
You pull your hands free as you feel the place beyond the mirror turn to fluid and then gas, opening up into a darkened corridor. This is the tricky part, you want to be the one doing the harvesting, but the Unreal will be just as quick to harvest you, if you let it.
Something is coming, movement flickers at the end of the hallway as you quickly cast the spell to reseal the mirror. You pull into a defensive stance in case you fail to seal it in time, not that it would do you much good.
An impossible morass of limbs and mouths begins climbing up the shaft towards you, dragging itself along the corridor towards the freedom of the mirror. You could down the seconds until the spell completes as it approaches.
A twisted limb reaches out for the threshold and bounces off the surface of the mirror as the spell is cast. The thing crowds up against the glass, pounding and shrieking, but the window is already drawing shut. That was a bit closer than you’d prefer.
You smile and offer the monstrosity an informal salute as the mirror frosts over and the creature mutates into your reflection, its howling maw morphing into your knowing grin. Your reflection winks, and the mirror is still. All in a day’s work.