The Forest Cathedral Mirror

The pillars are covered in moss that smells of old rain. Sunlight filters through the vaulted ceiling, mixing with the green canopy above. A small dog rests at my feet. Its dark eyes do not blink. I trace the knot in the stone floor, remembering why I entered the structure. The air here has the weight of unused breath. I reach for the nearest column; my fingers brush against damp bark. Across the aisle, a tall, tarnished mirror hangs. I look into it, and the glass shows the space five minutes prior—the column I just touched is still smooth. The dog raises its head, watching the reflection of the mirror, but its eyes do not blink.