# Chapter III: The Mouth in the Reflection

- Link: https://jarlhalla.com/reflections-mirrors-secrets-journey/
- Published: 2025-06-08T20:45:22+02:00
- Author: knoksen

I no longer sleep in the conventional sense. My body rests, but my consciousness
does not retreat to the recesses of forgetful repose. I float in a fog of awareness.
It is a space between moments. I am always listening for the silent approach of 
what rises from below.

![](https://jarlhalla.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/i-no-longer-sleep-in-the-conventional-
sense-my-body.webp)

The house has grown restless in my stillness. Furniture shifts when I turn away.
Windows reveal landscapes that change from blink to blink. I’ve taken to covering
the mirrors, but they pulse behind the cloth like open wounds. Once, I caught my
reflection crawling along the ceiling. It paused to look down and mouthed something
soundlessly before retreating into the plaster.

Then came the voice.

It began as a whisper, rising from the fireplace one evening as I studied Treme’s
manuscript. The syllables had no analogue in human language—wet, clotted sounds 
that made my teeth itch. But I understood them. Not through translation, but through
absorption. Like oil sinking into bone.

![](https://jarlhalla.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/it-began-as-a-whisper-rising-
from-the-fireplace-one.webp)

> “We are the mouth. You are the tongue. Speak what has been forgotten.”

The voice emerged not only from the hearth. It also came from the mirror frames,
the knot-holes in the floor, and from within my teeth. It spoke in riddles formed
of memory and metaphor:

> “To descend is to become the angle. To become the angle is to unshape the self.”

Treme’s journal hinted at this stage—he called it the Reflective Phase. It marks
the point when the boundaries between self and place become porous. When identity
is not eroded, but recontextualized.

> “In the mirror, I do not see myself. I see the question that was asked before 
> I was born.”

I began to write uncontrollably. Not prose, not poetry—glyphs. They poured from 
me in fugue states, scrawled onto walls, my skin, the inside of cabinet doors. Symbols
that, when aligned, revealed moving patterns like the cross-section of a dream. 
The language of Yegothra.

![](https://jarlhalla.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/i-began-to-write-uncontrollably-
not-prose-not-poetryglyphs-they.webp)

The third time I covered a mirror, it shattered. Not outward, but inward, pulling
the blanket into a slivered void. From that hole emerged a hand—skeletal, with too
many knuckles, etched with runes that bled black steam. It did not reach for me.
It simply gestured.

I followed.

I placed my hand upon the shattered glass, and I passed through.

What lay beyond was a realm composed of reflection. It was not light bouncing off
form, but a world _of_ mirror. Here, every object pulsed with the awareness of being
perceived. Buildings bent to observe me. The sky was a dome of shifting eyes. Every
step I took echoed with a voice from behind. The voice sounded like my mother, though
she has been dead ten years.

There, I met the Mouth.

It was not a creature, but a construct. It was an orifice the size of a cathedral.
It was lined with teeth like obelisks. Its lips were formed from fused humanoid 
torsos. It did not speak, but within it swirled every word ever spoken, a tempest
of language and meaning. I stood before it and felt it taste my thoughts.

![](https://jarlhalla.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/it-was-not-a-creature-but-a-
construct-it-was.webp)

And then, it showed me.

I saw the true Gutter—not merely a place, but a concept older than language. A flaw
in the schema of existence. The Mouth feeds on contradiction, on the discord between
what is and what cannot be. It consumes guilt, trauma, unrealized potential.

I saw my life splinter in its gaze. Every lie I ever told became a doorway. Every
regret, a stair.

I returned to the house soaked in black ichor, my skin trembling with the residue
of unspoken truths. The mirrors were now windows, and beyond them the reflection
watched, no longer mirroring but anticipating.

![](https://jarlhalla.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/i-returned-to-the-house-soaked-
in-black-ichor-my.webp)

It waits for me to finish the glyphic map.

Each symbol I write opens more of the house. I’ve found staircases that ascend into
earth. Rooms collapse when I enter. A hallway leads into the dreams of my childhood
cat.

I fear what I will become when the map is complete. But I also crave it.

For in the Mouth’s breath, I felt peace—not calm, but _purpose._

---

_To be continued in Chapter IV: The House That Remembers_

---

If you find the themes of reflections and consciousness engaging, you might be interested
in exploring the concept of [Altered States of Consciousness](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Altered_state_of_consciousness),
which delves into how our awareness can transform beyond the ordinary. For those
intrigued by mysterious languages and symbols, the idea of a [Constructed Language](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Constructed_language)
might capture your imagination, showcasing languages intentionally designed for 
aesthetic or experimental purposes. And, if the notion of otherworldly realms piqued
your curiosity, the theory of [Parallel Universes](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parallel_universe_(fiction))
might offer fascinating insights into the possibilities of alternate realities and
mirror worlds. These topics could provide deeper context and enrich your understanding
of the narrative you’ve been exploring.

Chapter III: The Mouth in the Reflection