Little Sister
The firestorm raged but did not consume.
As the fire became too much for its own rage, it burrowed into the silver of the mirrors, breaking through the blind surfaces into what lay on the other side. The mirrors did not shatter, but instead of reflecting the black box of the Voice, they now became as transparent as windows, showing the rolling meadows, the mighty rivers, and the proud cities of Motherland. Where seeds of fire fell, they were planted, and bloomed, and bore fruit. Their fruits were the oborotni, the krovososy, the Kosmops and the Fists. The words of the Voice became the bodies of the Enemy.
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