She pulled her hand back through the quicksilver. Definitely a portal of some kind, she thought. Appearing solid until touched, it rippled when she spun her finger on it’s “surface.”
Not that portals were hard find. Any good shop carried maps and travelogues; it was simply a matter of choosing which portal to where. She remembered those dreary childhood vacations when her parents had dragged her through portal after portal, always promising the next one would be “the bestest.” Which was why she took a strong, almost obsessive, dislike of portals and avoided them entirely.
Not that she enjoyed teleportation much better. Wanting to be cool, she went on trips for the “rush” when the transportation program was amped up. Teenagers getting high by coming and quickly going from planets with certain atmospheres. The usual high school sort of stuff.
Wormholes gave her migraines, she seemed to always catch a cold when time travelling, and in parallel universes the flu. She wondered if finding a portal in the bathroom of her new apartment was enough to break the lease. Probably in the smallest print, backing out due to portals, aliens, or ghouls was not allowed.
Nothing could be done about it until tomorrow. She would get a plain old mirror, not a gateway to another world, to hang over her bathroom sink.