Rocky Transition

I was sitting in the upstairs office of the museum with a cup of coffee when it happened. It had been a long day, and i’d set the work experience kid the seemingly unfuckupable task of dusting the exhibits- after repeating my warning, of course, that a good deal of of them shouldn’t be touched or opened. A terrified scream, rapidly strangled by a building-shaking thump and an astounding rending sound, brought me rushing downstairs.
The mirror room- i knew it. In there, there hung an ancient mirror, with regards to a foot around, made of polished obsidian. Behind the glass walls of its parade and display case, it was harmless- even though persons amusingly reported seeing the face of an evil hag in it sometimes. Watching it unprotected was fury and madness, even though- surely for those without my noesis of the old ways.
I arrived in the mirror room, and a horrid smell hung in the air. On the floor lay half a body- the lower half, hushed and still in the clothes i recognised from earlier. The skin had been stretched purple and torn away, and the organs inside that hadn’t been torn free leaked their contents onto the floor. The legs were at the bottom of a maroon spray that started below the wooden case of the mirror, and the hipbone lay almost versus the wall.
The case was broken- the wooden sides pushed outwards. Clumps of hair, matted with skin and blood, stuck to the frame of the mirror. Concentrating now, i stepped in front of the black disc, my sandals cautiously placed either side of the bile-sprayed limbs and pool of blood on the floor. Looking into the dark reflection of the room, i saw my double once more. In her hand was a haggard and pale arm that led down to a broken form, and a trail of darkness. Sure enough, when she lifted the half-corpse into the air, i recognised the shattered and stretched face.