A badly-wrapped package.

[eternally_aggrieved]

A brown paper package sits on Ahrotahn's desk in Relto. It shakes and wobbles, giving the general impression that it is grievously annoyed.

Comments

[calledtoventure]

...

She remembers the light. There was definitely something there, in the mirror's surface. And there was something in the poem, too.

She sits down across from the mirror, back against the stone, and enters the poem into her KI for later reference. When that's done, she looks into the mirror and thinks.

[eternally_aggrieved]

Nothing continues to happen.

Upon further reflection, the light and the mirror are definitely interlinked, but the poem seems... different. Separate.

[calledtoventure]

...Not the reflection, but the surface. Ignore the mirror, see the glass.

She moves her head slowly from side to side, trying to catch the light. Or, hopefully, the other light.

[eternally_aggrieved]

... For a moment, perhaps. But no more. It is not the light she knows in her memories. How could this mirror create that? Such things do not exist in reality.

[calledtoventure]

And yet she has seen it.

She sits, and thinks, and remembers.

[eternally_aggrieved]

The memory of light still lingers in her mind, as corpse-bright as ever. Like a will-o-wisp or the egg of a strange god.

It does not seem amenable to prodding.

[calledtoventure]

She tries to remember it onto the mirror's surface, to see the surface not with her eyes but with her mind, to imagine the light so vividly that she can look at the mirror and see it.

[eternally_aggrieved]

That doesn't seem to work, either.

[calledtoventure]

Then she might just sit and rest here a while.

[eternally_aggrieved]

Just on the edge of sleep, there's something -

Something odd.

A spider, pale and gangly, skitters past on the floor. It holds an eye in its mandibles. Absently, Ahrotahn notes that it looks much like her eye...

[calledtoventure]

Let's not make the same mistake twice, shall we?

"Hello."

[eternally_aggrieved]

There is no spider here.

[calledtoventure]

Another ephemeron.

She opens a new note in her KI.

* Cat (???)
* Poem, sense of about to --
* Light on mirror
* Spider with eye

about to what?
my eye?
memory? dream? other Age?
  sleep?
  serenia?
  halfsleep?
  just sitting still? (don't scare it off?)

means of travel:
books
mirror
OTC door
party portal thing
Bahro caves
star fissure
bahro stones
OTC delivery?
how did the cat get here?

poem, mirror seem separate but: poem, books - words?
  virtual-Selenitic theory

London
'not on the Surface' - is there a Cavern below London?
  how to get there if so?
  journey cloths, earth rotation?
  extremely dangerous, DO NOT DO THIS

egg room?

maybe-not options:
  fly to london, look around (or maybe someone has a book to there)
  ask for help (cavern)
  ask for help (forum)
  ??? mail a cat ??? (traditional, why?)

She leans back against the wall and lets herself zone out again.

[eternally_aggrieved]

Ahrotahn stands in front of a polished brass mirror. Her reflection watches her. Tension builds in the stillness. If she moves... If she moves...

She wakes back up.

[calledtoventure]

Interesting. +1 for the dreams hypothesis. She makes a note.

She'll come back to this later. For now, she moves the mirror somewhere more out of the way, down by the docks, and then goes about her day.

[eternally_aggrieved]

Her day otherwise remains untroubled by inexplicable mirrors, cats, or spiders.

[calledtoventure]

She goes to bed an hour early that night, after minting a Dyne.

[eternally_aggrieved]

The dream is waiting for her there.

She walks slowly along a corridor, brass mirrors to each side of her. To her left, they reflect her walking through an endless desert of ash, spiked here and there with the charred stumps of trees. To her right, an endless array of herself stands, watching her pass with somber faces. It feels oddly comfortable to meander here among her endless reflections.

Then she reaches a door in the right-hand side of the passageway.

[calledtoventure]

She opens the door and steps through.

[eternally_aggrieved]

It opens into an unremarkable room. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrors. It steps across the threshold, so she knows that it must be safe to enter.

Then she wakes back up.

[calledtoventure]

She records this in her journal, then checks the time. Time to get up? Or go back to sleep?

[eternally_aggrieved]

There appears to be time to go back to sleep, given that it is four in the morning.

[calledtoventure]

Zzz.

[eternally_aggrieved]

She walks slowly along a corridor, brass mirrors to each side of her. To her left, they reflect her walking through an endless desert of ash, spiked here and there with the charred stumps of trees. Turning to her right, she falls out of bed. When her eyes jolt open, moonish light filters into the room: for a moment, the floor beneath her seems to ripple, reflecting like a pool of mercury. Cupping her hand, she draws the silvery fluid up to her mouth, but it drains away through her fingers.

No, wait, hold on, she's awake. That definitely just happened.

[calledtoventure]

—the floor—the light—

Apart from memory, what remains, now that she's awake?