The silver abyss did not possess a floor, nor did it offer a horizon. It was a dense, non-linear lattice of suspended glass panes, each reflecting the fragments of a sky that had been murdered three lifetimes ago. In this place, the air tasted of cold quicksilver and old parchment, and the silence was so absolute that the beating of a mortal heart sounded like the rhythmic striking of an iron anvil.
This was the Mirror Realm—the deep, unmapped sub-tier of the Interstice that Lucien had torn open with the sacrifice of his right orbit.
