Frisson.

I've learned not to argue with dreams. Some arrive carrying nonsense. Others arrive carrying mirrors. This one brought both.

Frisson

Frisson.

It happened the way it always does,

I was listening to music.

My eyes were closed when the shapes began.

Patterns and fragments of light drifted together, folding into one another until they formed a mirror.

The mirror was dark.

Not empty.

Waiting.

I fell through it.

Or perhaps I was pulled.

At first it felt like falling, but it was also like fal…