The Empty Mirror

Chapter 14: Cinderella

Guided by these rigorous criteria, I proceeded prudently with the selection of mushrooms that met the desired characteristics. Though their number was scarce, and most did not meet perfection standards for various reasons, I managed to gather some specimens that seemed suitable to satisfy my eager appetite and unravel the veiled secrets these fungal beings held in their enigmatic existence.

However, the incompatibility of storing them alongside the acorns, due to the potential influence of mushroom compounds on the flavor of these fruits, led me to make a decision. With delicacy and respect, I wrapped the mushrooms in a piece of fabric torn once again from the sleeve of my right arm, aware that this act would alter the appearance of my attire. As a result, my right sleeve acquired a noticeably shortened look, as if it had undergone involuntary amputation, a tangible symbol of austerities I was willing to face in my insatiable quest for knowledge and survival in this ruthless and mysterious world.

Furthermore, as I continued scrutinizing the meticulously collected mushrooms, I was astonished to discover that they weren't ordinary mushrooms but appeared to be shiitake mushrooms. This unexpected find added an intriguing nuance to the situation, intensifying the sense of unease that engulfed me.

Heading towards the lake with heightened senses, my perceptions picked up on something out of the ordinary. Twilight seemed to shift with supernatural speed, gliding from one place to another in a dizzying sway. Driven by curiosity and growing unease, I hurriedly moved from one spot to another to confirm what my eyes had witnessed.

To my astonishment and horror, I realized that time flowed normally only when I stayed in one place. When moving between any of the three locations, time instantly vanished, advancing approximately an hour with each shift. This anomaly grew increasingly complex and manifested in constant changes, turning into an incomprehensible enigma...

I felt an urgent need to head to the lake and fulfill a task of vital importance: obtaining clay. While many would consider this endeavor arduous, my conviction was steadfast regarding the existence of clay in that place, as if the very earth whispered the presence of this hidden treasure.

During my tireless explorations along the lake's shores, my perceptual sensors found a fine, silky texture characteristic of genuine clay. Its slippery and sticky touch confirmed, without a shadow of doubt, its existence in that remote location. Scrutinizing it meticulously, I distinguished a subtle brown hue in its appearance, as if harboring ancestral secrets in its apparent simplicity, revealing a forgotten narrative in each prominence.

The versatility of this plastic material ignited my imagination, envisioning it as the sublime choice for forging a vessel destined to safeguard food, an object meant to transcend time itself, immortalizing my passage through this mysterious territory.

As my eyes examined the fragments of stone intertwined in the clay, a curious impulse urged me to take a handful between my hands and skillfully stretch it into a consistent thread. To my amazement, the thread remained intact, without fracturing, attesting to the quality and purity of this authentic clay, as if its very essence resisted being deformed or dismembered.

However, amid my astonishment and fascination, an unsettling sensation began to take hold of me. The silky and slippery texture of the clay seemed to come to life under my fingers, in a twisted and contorted dance of subtle yet disquieting character. A wave of repulsion and displeasure coursed through me, as if my hands were in contact with something more than a simple earthly material. It was as if my fingers were in intimate contact with something foreign to this tangible world, something that defied the boundaries of human understanding and ventured into the mysterious realms of the unknown.

The challenge that awaited me lay in the skillful manipulation of that enigmatic and ominous substance, whose mystery was hidden in the depths of time, where the shadows of the past intertwined with the designs of the present. Majestic stones, some of considerable magnitude, stood silent guardians near the lake, erected as witnesses to primordial times, serving as mute witnesses to ancestral secrets buried beneath their imposing presence.

With determined effort, I managed to move one of them to the shore, feeling the ancestral weight of its mass pressing on my inquisitive spirit, as if an archaic force resisted disturbance, zealously guarding the mysteries surrounding that monument of ages. Although not of colossal dimensions, its imposing presence provided a suitable foundation for my restless intentions, as if it were a sacrificial altar awaiting its use in a dark ritual destined to invoke powers beyond human understanding.

However, its proximity to the water greatly complicated its relocation, challenging my resolve in an unsettling game where human will was subjected to the indomitable force of nature. In the end, I prevailed, and the rock rested in that shadowy spot, where it awaited its destiny imbued with shadows and ominous omens, as if the earth itself had conspired to place it in that exact point where telluric energies seemed to converge in a macabre cosmic dance.

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With almost supernatural patience, I submerged my hands into the frigid waters of the lake, using them as instruments of purification to meticulously cleanse the surface of the rock, as if performing a forgotten ritual that transcended time and dimensions. Every nook, every crack, had to be purged of earthly impurities, preparing the ground for the ominous fate that awaited it, as if I were communicating with ancestral entities whose true purposes were known only to beings that wander in the shadows beyond our understanding.

An oppressive silence hung over the place as I carried out that mystical and unusual ritual, as if the entire universe held its breath, aware of the importance and power of that act, as if creative forces observed expectantly and insidious the culmination of that dark spell. The wind barely whispered, as if fearing to interrupt the communion established between my being and the rock imbued with enigmas, as if the very air currents carried unfathomable secrets and hidden messages in their subtle murmur.

Next, with a trembling and shaky hand, I placed the collected clay onto the stone's surface, a dark and malleable material, akin to the essence of nightmares. Its cold and damp touch seemed to pulsate between my fingers, as if harboring a hidden and malevolent presence that awaited release from the deepest, vile depths. The task of molding and shaping it proved to be a tortuous challenge, a sinister dance between my hands and that clayish being that took on a life of its own under my influence, as if every pinch and every shaping resonated in the shadows of the primal abyss.

In the uncertain flow of time, it seemed to extend into a perpetual now as my mind delved into the abyss of creation, exploring the boundaries of the forbidden and the unknown. Every twist and stretch of the clay challenged the laws, a daring invitation to transgress the barriers of the known reality. The material, obedient to my designs, also revealed its own will, an unsettling volatility that fueled my unfathomable curiosity and threatened to defy my dominion, acquiring a deceptive softness that veiled its true nature.

I observed it with shadowy and enigmatic eyes, evaluating every shade, every detail of that corrupted material. Every contour and fold of the emerging form seemed to whisper unspeakable secrets, as if my dark art had managed to capture the essence of abysses and primordial terrors. Only when I was convinced of its perfection, of its ability to summon the unfathomable and unveil the unfathomable, did I know that it was ready to move on to the next step of my anguishing experiment, delving even deeper into the abyss of blasphemous creation and forbidden knowledge, where only the brave venture, and the foolish find their demise.

The clay rested on the rock for an indefinite time, while its transformation completed in a confusing and enigmatic process. The boundaries between the tangible and the supernatural faded, plunging my perception into a state of perplexity and wonder. It was essential to subject it to a new filtration process, as if attempting to purge any trace of impurity that dared to profane my creation, banishing from it every vestige of impiety and desecration.

With great care and precision, I proceeded to cut a fragment of cloth from the left sleeve of my garment, a fabric impregnated with my own essence, an echo of my being. Afterwards, I gave myself to a thorough preliminary washing, removing any impurities that might affect my objective. However, a perplexing problem presented itself: the cumbersome drying process would take considerable time, perhaps hours or even days.

Driven to find a suitable solution that would not hinder my progress, I felt an irresistible force urging me to explore alternatives that would circumvent this obstacle imposed by the inexorable passage of time. It was at that precise moment when an ominous revelation seized my perceptive mind, a poisoned intuition that led me down a dark but promising path, to use that anomaly...

I decided to take advantage of the unusual anomaly in that gloomy border, using the hidden authority lurking in its domains for my own benefit. With unyielding tenacity, I clutched in my hands the piece of fabric subtly infused with my deepest desires and most guarded secrets. Thus, I ventured once again into the sinister grove, guided by the whisper of shadows and the sleepless entities lurking in the unknown.

When the two realms, one tangible and the other subtly enigmatic, converged in a transcendental clash, the very fabric of time was shaken by a tumultuous shudder, a cosmic vibration that brought with it the disturbing disruption of the established order. As if by the art of an abominable enchantment, the piece of fabric, previously steeped in the hidden essence, emerged suddenly, freed from all moisture. This immediate metamorphosis was overwhelming and deeply unsettling, defying the innate laws that govern our known universe and plunging my mind into a state of awe and fear at the elusive nature of the reality unfolding before me.

Back at the ominous lake, I yearned to obtain enough clay to be deposited onto the piece of fabric. Although its volume was not excessive, it suited the purposes I eagerly sought to achieve. With meticulous precision, I hung the clay over the fabric, tying it to a twisted tree with a knot loose enough to allow the filtration of impurities and undesirable substances. However, I still needed time to pass for the drying process to fully consummate, in an unsettling wait filled with anxiety and anticipation, where the flow of time became a lurking and capricious enemy.

Therefore, I decided to venture once again into that dense forest, convinced that upon my return, the task would be accomplished. That cursed anomaly, infused in the very warp of time, had corrupted our conception of reality, unsettling the foundations of our human understanding. The undeniable and grotesque proof unfolded before my eager eyes: a process that, under normal circumstances, would require a considerable span, had been altered and replaced in a matter of seconds, defying all human logic and reasoning. The clay was partially dry but still retained enough moisture to be shaped and manipulated, presenting a hybrid texture that fueled the ambiguity of its existence, a fusion between the dry and the wet that ignited the flames of the inexplicable.

With a mix of disturbance and aversion, I began shaping the clay between my hands, kneading it delicately to give it a smooth texture and rid it of any trace of air bubbles, as if I were extracting the very essence from hidden abysses, a substance resisting full revelation. The mass yielded under the pressure of my fingers, taking on a uniform appearance devoid of any undesirable imperfection, as if obeying a will from spheres beyond the earthly, a mysterious force guiding my movements with an overwhelming and perplexing presence.

In every turn of my hands, I experienced an overwhelming sensation, an intimate connection with the unfathomable. With innate mastery, my hands unfolded a supernatural choreography on the clay, shaping it with a skill only attained by those versed in the secrets of art. Each movement, each calculated pressure, accompanied by cunning with sticks and stones, molded the formless mass into a labyrinthine vessel worthy of the most refined culinary creations, evoking reverence and astonishment.