The overwhelming compelling force pulls whatever I had become closer and closer to the broken mirror, the tiny object looking more and more like some gaping maw as the sound of rushing air and faint moans begins to each up from impossible hole.
My vision suddenly spins as I'm forced into, my own cozy apartment suddenly getting replaced with the sight of the slender and busty young woman in the ill-fitted uniform, her hands holding the young man's head to her chest.
My eyes dart between the small circle of salt on my coffee table and the tiny notepad in my hand. My lips purse, my gaze narrowing as I try to discern whether a line on the hastily scrawled page was intended to be there or if I had merely slipped when copying and tracing the image.
With my free hand I reach out, grabbing a small brand new hand mirror from the cushion beside me before placing it in the center of the carefully laid lines of salt. The center is designed perfectly, the square just barely fitting the mirror in the center like a gemstone being placed in a fragile inlay.
On baited breath I wait for a moment, my heart seizing up in my chest as I wait for something to happen. However, after what feels like the longest minute of my life nothing happens. A low sigh escapes my lips. Slowly my gaze turns back to the notepad, my free hand shifting to grab the cheap salt shaker as I begin to apply the errant line.
"It can't hurt..." I mutter, poking my tongue out as I pour the line before neatly nudging the the grains of salt to form an neat and narrow sliver that seemingly offends the symmetrical nature of the symbol on the table with a small knife.
