Obsidian Vectors

The shell settled with a minute scrape, and your hand moved across the cool clay to touch the rising planes. These dark surfaces weren't mirrors, but absorbers—light vanished into them, leaving hollows where reflection should be. A tremor ran through the air, barely audible yet felt as a shifting in one’s bones; each monolith seemed not fixed, but slowly accruing and shedding something unseen. The whole arrangement held the quality of fine grit under pressure, an ongoing negotiation with forces beyond what could be readily known.