event pt 2 | another dream

[moustre]

Event Log: June, A Midsummer Dream's Nightmare

THE STARS ABOVE You feel like you're floating. Around you, colors and sounds and smells swirl as if trapped in a whirlpool, vibrancy and hue ever shifting. The more you watch them, the less solid they are; they only become clear out of the corner of your eye. The area around you begins to feel more solid as well, until your feet are on the ground, the wind brushes playfully against your face - and you know one thing, and one thing alone: this is a dream, and an incredibly realistic one at that. It is so very cold, and it is so very vast. Millions of stars stretch out across the still wasteland, the water unforgivably frigid to even those covered in fur; for those without, there's still a chill that expands in your chest as you turn and find absolutely nothing in the massive, shimmering lake. As you begin to walk, shapes shake out of the water; the ground rumbles with their rising, the outlines and shambles of buildings covered in stains and thorny plants. As more rise, inscrutable in their original purpose or shape, you begin to realize this is - or was - a city. You realize something else: you're not alone. Not the way you weren't alone in dreams before, with those who came through the mirror or who might later come through - but around you are the natives of Aefenglom itself, dressed thin rags and looking exceptionally confused. Almost immediately, the sky fills with red stars, and the voice of Nerissa Bell rings throughout the empty space: "Will all members of Parliament, the Guilds, those who have mastered and are mastering divination, and my Mhairi dearest please come to where the red stars fall? Thank the lot of you very much!" There's a beat, and she continues. "Everyone else, keep your wits about you, won't you? Take care of each other." She sounds a tad bit more serious than usual - and it's no wonder, given the circumstances. There's not much else to do though, and with this dream shared among all residents of the city... You might as well take a look around and see if there's anything to be found out, just like any other time. But be careful: Magic seems to be on the fritz, more liable to backfire regardless of one's experience with it - and the same goes for more magical traits of Monsters as well, such as water manipulation, illusions and charms, finding magic, dragon breaths, and etc.

I. THE CITY As you make your way into the city, navigating the wreckage of what once was, it becomes all the more apparent how overtaken it is. To call them ruins would be gracious; you walk in a tomb, now, atmosphere filled with all the gravitas and dread that comes with the stillness of one. And truly, it is still. There doesn't seem to be any other life, besides these new visitors, at least not as you begin to investigate, your companions approaching this with more trepidation. Because while it may take some exploration for arrivals to realize where they are, many natives know right away what this place is with a grief that's palpable: a. IT'S HOME The dawning realization is stark for everyone, as they find familiar cobblestone streets cracked, in disarray, dead and dying grasses and caked "oil" filling the cracks. These streets lead to just as familiar places: a bakery you've grown attached to since you arrived, a store that once carried knickknacks that was passed by every day, the Coven, the Haven itself. Perhaps now it's easier to understand what those inscrutable structures were, at the edges of the recognizable shapes of what had been buildings, once upon a time - after all, even those that are freshly minted as arrivals this Iuneril have spent enough time within the Bright Wall to surely be able to know this gate was once here, and that portion of the wall wrapped around the city there. What remains of the Wall is charred, broken, stained in an oil-like substance that still glistens at just the right angle, and overgrown in those thorny vines to the point that some sections must have been destroyed because the growth came from within. The track of the magitech engine that runs the city is uprooted, gnarled in places as if it were bent by large hands or crushed underfoot, the bridge and the engine itself collapsed into the canal of the River Temese. Even from the higher banks it's easy to tell the metal is rusted and corroded, but also charred like there was an explosion or fire; the inky murk of the river consumes the rest, and it's not recommended to try and brave the waters, given the unsettling feeling they give off. It's not unlike the sensation of the cave... Homes and businesses are destroyed, or in ruin, and it becomes clear that they met this fate in different ways. Burnt down, collapsing in upon themselves from the weight of neglect, overtaken by the thorny vines, covered in the inky black of what is fast becoming obvious as signs of the Cwyld... even the Haven has suffered these conditions. The barracks, once flush against the Wall, are completely destroyed and exist only as rubble now. One might find traces of themselves in what had become their homes in Aefenglom, if they look close enough. The natives certainly are, in their upset and confusion. b. ONLY REFLECTIONS LEFT All roads in Aefenglom lead to the Coven and Parliament, in the end. No walls remain around where the Coven once stood, and there's barely any rubble to indicate that they did. The gate that always stands open, as you know it, is nowhere to be seen - at least, initially. A glance around the entrance will show that it was likely blown off its hinges; it's embedded in the earth a dozen yards away into the city proper, gnarled, a monument in and of itself. Stepping into the scorched courtyard shows that the blast came from within the grounds itself, though it's hard to tell what the source might have been. The building itself is more or less completely caved in; the infirmary is in particularly bad shape, with the stairs leading to the ICU - the basement below the infirmary, where those heavily infected with the Cwyld are taken care of - are full of debris. The floor of the infirmary itself is largely collapsed into the floor below, blocking all means of access. None of the runes that are typically visible in the halls, across the ceiling, or along the floors are activated, and there's a distinct lack of the warm and homey magic that would always welcome one into the Coven. In its place is an oppressive stillness, smears of the Cwyld visible across the ruins, spilling out across the yard from the building itself. A garden once sprawling with ingredients and food is dead, and the stables and livestock pens lie in wreckage. There are no signs of the animals that many became familiar with. But amongst all the wreckage, the Looking-Glass House stands. The cabin is a little charred on the outside, wrapped in layers upon layers of the thorny vines that have woven their way through the city itself, but still intact. Getting inside is a challenge in and of itself, but not impossible, if one manages to avoid the thorns of a clearly infected plant. But the interior? Dusty, certainly, but not an ounce of damage. Mirrors are propped up against surfaces as always, hanging on the walls, and the building feels endless as always. Some of the mirrors are shattered as if something struck them, but not a single piece of glass touches the floor. The stillness is just as unnatural as that of the city itself, but different. While still eerie, there isn't a sense of dread, of oppressiveness, of being watched. It simply... is. c. BURNED AWAY TO ASH Taking the other route leads to what remains of the Parliament building. Much like the Coven, its floors have collapsed into itself - but the building has always been a tall one, so the collapse is even more stark, like all of the top floors fell into the underground records. No signs of the Cwyld are apparent, save for the infected vines sprawling here and there, but they seem more recent than anything else. Wood and stone are charred, to the point that it becomes clear with enough investigation that fire was the sole cause of its demise. The smell of smoke still lingers, with both ground and air around the wreckage feeling hot compared to the chill of the world around you, a fire still burning within the Parliamentary Records themselves. And if one moves the rubble enough - though care should be taken, as it's precarious, and further collapse is inevitable rather than preventable - smoke rises from cracks and openings. Even the clocktower wasn't spared, the broken face now in further wreckage, burnt with its metalwork hands locked to 3:00. The bell is nowhere to be seen; if it fell, it fell through the building and into the records beneath, lost to a fire that's still burning unseen beneath your feet. But if one listens closely, maybe they can still hear its ringing... But it becomes clear you're not truly alone, no matter where you go in the city. Forms pass through out of the corner of one's eye, there and gone when you turn to look too closely at them. Humans and Monsters alike in shape, but faceless, sometimes wisps of color, sometimes shadows in the shape of people. Regardless, they can be seen disappearing around the corner of an alley, walking by the broken window of a storefront that's been ransacked, coming and going when you least expect them. A whisper of a ghost. Some of these faceless shadows seem to be caught in the motions, reliving their day-to-day, the ones that they took the most. Others fade in and out of strange actions; fighting unseen foes, throwing equally unseen things at buildings just as much as what must have been people, running and running through the streets - and then, eventually, through you. Passing through these specters, these shadows of people, leaves a clammy chill on your skin that permeates to the bone. And then they're gone, and it's silent again. Nessie and Mhairi will be around for talk once they're through with the other leaders of the city- but we're only allowing for OOC summaries this time, rather than any IC threads! Their thread is here.

II. THE WASTE Turning from the city, you trek your way further into the waste. Walls continue to rise around you, but none block your path, and they get further and further apart as you continue. The dread within your chest builds the farther you go though, until it's a struggle to lift your feet - but at the same time, some strange momentum keeps your legs moving. The water slowly rises from ankle to knee height, to waist, to mid-chest... or for the small, it might be treading dangerously close to shoulders, to head. Eventually, something changes - whether due to your continued march ahead, or due to turning around to head back towards the city. a. THE STAIRWAY TO THE STARS As you continue on, the water level begins to lower again - or is that due to the stairs that appear without warning beneath your feet? Made of solid white quartz and seeming to float on their own, the air gets colder and harder to breathe as one makes their way upwards. Turning back once you begin isn't possible either: the stairs have disappeared behind you, dropping with a solid splash into the water below. Those able to fly feel an odd pressure that keeps them grounded, and attempts to do so will simply give them the same experience the stairs have: right into the murky sea, which is much deeper beneath the stairs. One good thing about this heavensbound stairway is this: it offers a good view of the waste, which seems to expand forever, as well as the blood red twilight peeking over the horizon - not to mention the distinct absence of the sister moons that share the sky. With a keen eye (or simply letting your vision adjust) shows shadows lifelessly milling about the waste and its air; they're harmless, but bring with them soft crying and pained whimpers, limping with obviously broken limbs. Those familiar with the Wilders and the Witches of the Coven will notice the one solid-seeming thing about them: the pins for their cloaks, the Coven's symbol barely being able to be made out. It'd seem the only way to get down is to fall, as the stairs simply continue up and up into the sky until one is completely unable to breathe or move, either due to gravity or due to ice coverage. b. THE LABYRINTH Attempting to turn around and head back to the city works, but not for long; where walls would stay from one's path, walking back yields the opposite. The walls slowly bunch together until finally, they surround you - with an ugly sound, a low ceiling slides on to complete the area, and without warning sconces light themselves. The water remains knee-deep, sloshing loudly in the utter silence as one moves through it. The labyrinth is long and winding, with some walls broken enough to enable stepping through them, and shadows cast long by the torches lighting the walls. Bones of unlucky explorers roll and rock underfoot, breaking easily with too much pressure. To put it lightly, it isn't a very happy place. The center of the labyrinth is completely dark, no sconces in the area lit - none with torches in them either, on closer inspection. No treasure is left to find here, though the source of the labyrinth's water is: a spring formed by a massive fissure in the ground, ever bubbling, so loud it's a wonder you hadn't heard it anywhere else in the stone maze. The culprit of it lay nearby, long dead: a Minotaur, or its massive skeleton, at the very least. Some of its bones are blackened, specifically its arms up to its elbows, legs up a little past its knees, and its right eye socket. The rest are a mix of normal yellowed and similarly infected grey, black-spotted bones. Touching the bones starts an infection on the character that did it, though it only covers the same spots found on the Minotaur's skeleton.

III. THE DEPTHS Going the way of what had once been the harbor shows an endless sea, nary a wave in sight in the absence of the Sisters. It reflects the red twilight of the sky, each and every of the millions of stars above you, almost glass-like in its stillness. But there's a call that the sea has, and once you've set sights on it, the urge to continue is powerful, hard to resist. Succumbing to that call has characters stepping off what remains of the harbor, walking along the beach, even jumping down, just to reach the water. But rather than sink immediately into it there's firm footing on what seems like ice, the chill seeping through raggedy clothes, skin, fur, feather, down to the very bone. It's sturdy enough to allow even the largest Monster to begin the journey forward into the depths, angled deeper and deeper, until it suddenly drops off and you're submerged without a foothold. It's there that clarity returns, and the fear of drowning might fill every sense. But you can breathe. You can speak. It is a dream, after all. a. THE SHIP GRAVEYARD All around you, at first, is the remains of the harbor. Everything is encased in coral and aquatic plantlife, but there's very little life otherwise. No fish, no dolphins. Nothing. The world is all the more silent beneath the waters, especially with their absence, and the skies above grow dimmer the deeper you go, but always there's the unmistakable red hue to everything below. Some of the plants provide paltry light, bioluminiscent and lighting the way to a grisly scene. Buildings that have fallen into the harbor's waters, the remains of docks, various dinghies and boats, all sunken and lost to the world above. A few ships are visible, their hulls blown out as if attacked, both from the inside and out. There's no treasure, if you're brave enough to explore them, but there is the black oil caked to the interiors just as much as the exteriors. The wood is charred, and it's easy to tell that these ships were sunk from within just as much as they were from outside attacks. But the further one goes into the depths, the truth is revealed: beyond, there lies a ship graveyard. With Litha in full swing, many of these ships may be familiar, having set off on their voyages for the season. Here they lie, in similar states of destruction as the ones in the harbor. Exploring them answers few questions, and raises greater mysteries; what had been supplies, weapons, magic tools and wares, all loaded into their cargo bays, as if they were setting off on a great journey. And it isn't just a graveyard for ships, either. Many of them have passengers, unidentifiable save for small trinkets here and there. The Coven's insignia, a badge of the Parliament, possessions that might speak of their professions. They're nothing but skeletons, now, man and beast alike loaded onto the ships and heading for a destination that's lost to them now. Ice forms along the hulls of some ships and the wreckage beneath, pathways woven throughout the underwater world. They're walkable, allowing characters a choice between swimming, dreamily floating, or walking as they traverse the depths. b. WHAT LIES IN DEPTHS Beyond the graveyard come soft cries, which could almost be mistaken for a whale song if they weren't so... so sad. Following the call, though one won't be compelled to through magical means, reveals the source: various dark shapes in the gloom beneath the water, shadows, listless and drifting. They swim without much purpose, and come in a variety of aquatic shapes. Some could be mistaken for the missing marine life, for Merrow, but their dimly glowing white eyes tells of something worse. There are very few of them, and they don't seem to register the presence of anyone around them. An explanation, perhaps, for their numbers comes as the red of the distant sky above is blocked out by a great shape. A veritable Leviathan drifts with an almost laziness through the open waters of the ocean that you've reached, greater in size than any ship in the graveyard. Its hide is marred from fights long since forgotten, but mottled in oily black, smudged grey, its algae, coral, white cracks in the black illuminating the waters around it. Its plated head moves to and fro, massive flippers disrupting the patterns of the creatures around it without notice.

Welcome to the second part of the event! As a reminder, this takes place on the 22nd - or rather, 3AM on the 23rd if we're being technical and not following the logic of "It's not tomorrow until I sleep". If you have any questions or need any clarifications, you can ask them here! And as always, while we do encourage you to use this log, you can feel free to thread things out on your own log or elsewhere. Regardless of what you choose, we hope you have a good time!

And as a final parting note: If a character dies in the dream, they'll simply reappear at the beginning rather than waking up like normal.

Comments

Harry Dresden | Dresden Files | OTA

[iminthebook]

Waking Up is Hard To Do

Waking in the weirdness, Harry swore, and did his best to find his way toward those Red stars. A master he is not yet, but both back home and here, he has a proclivity toward divination and finding people, and this is definitely all hands on deck. So he girds himself and starts in that direction, teeth chattering some from the cold, and stopping occasionally to reassure others, both fellow arrived and natives alike.

He wants to know what he can do, and he needs to do something. Has to do something. He uses his concentration and passion to try to create a warm wind to warm himself, and the air literally lights on fire, then his spell fails, and he cries out in surprise, staring.

"Hells bells!"

***

I. THE CITY

a. IT'S HOME

Seeing his house, the home he shares with Justine utterly ruined and broken, oily and turned into something out of nightmare fills Harry with rage and confusion. He feels a need to make, and to rebuild, but he knows something is off. This feels like a dream, but why are they here? Why is anyone here?

Staring at his house, he cries out, and shudders, and looks around at the city. Why?

"What the hell is going on?"

***

b. ONLY REFLECTIONS LEFT

Seeing the Coven in ruins now, that is even a bigger shock. It has been a new cornerstone for him since he arrived, a place of a solidity and feeling of home that was almost more than his actual house. And now? It feels like a slap to the heart and face and a kick to the gut.

He stalks inward, hands almost glowing with the unpredictable magic of this place, rage and worry and a kind of fear alight in his eyes and expression. He looks for those he knows and for classrooms he has been in, and he worries as he see the ruins that he will find bodies, too, and when he does not, he is thankful.

Sight of the Cwyld everywhere fills him with a sick feeling, a sense of unreality worse than the rest, for this infection should not be here, not in the center of all.

Sighting the Looking-Glass House, he heads that way, fearing what he may see. It is still intact, and that sends a shiver of fear and pain through him. Why is this place still whole? Why is it contained? Why did nothing touch this? There is a mystery here and he aches to find answers.

Flickering ghosts of images and senses of something else being there, fade when he looks at them, but they are there and he chases them, stalking them deliberately, with an intent that fills him, an anger that flows like a flickering fire. Clues or ghosts? Either way, maybe there are answers?

And they vanish suddenly, and that leaves... nothing.

What does one do in a nightmare world? And how do you wake up?

Reflections

[interlucere]

[ It's at the back of the looking-glass house that Harry will find her, the young mage doing what she can to try to make her way inside. The fact that this place is likely a dream doesn't offer her any solace. Dreams don't make sense here, and she can't just assume that that will offer any sort of safety.

This is why, as she tries to pull at the tarry black vines winding their way around the exterior of the house, her hands are wrapped in as much fabric as possible; the torn hem from her dress acting as a protective barrier from the infection.

But she doesn't seem to be making much progress. A knife would be really nice to have right about now. Or perhaps another pair of hands. ]

Re: Reflections

[iminthebook]

[ Seeing her, he peers at what she is doing, and wordlessly falls in with her, first trying his magic in the form of a flame against the things, which seems to flare out of control, then fade again and he sighs. "Hell's Bells!"

Considering her and it, he slips his shirt off to tear strips from it, wrapping his arms up to his elbows, and his feet to his knees, then starts trying to tear and kick at the stuff. ]
Maybe if we concentrate at the same point, we'll make headway...

[interlucere]

[ Her gaze slides over to him, then just ask quickly darts away as he removes his shirt. She immediately understands what he plans to do, even before she hears him tearing the fabric.

Even in a dream like this, manners are important, so as he starts to rip and kick at vines, she keeps her eyes forward. Between the two of them, it seems like they are making some progress, a door appearing in the gap they have created in the thorny bramble. ]

[iminthebook]

[ Even as he works alongside her, he concentrates, words in his mind and in his heart, forming on his lips as he reaches for the vines harder, and with more will, and his hands begin to glow a solid, angry blue.

It is almost like force given edge, and it seems to cut the stuff a little more. ]

I never dreamed anything like this before.

You?

[interlucere]

[ What kind of magic is that? Some sort of enhancement? Seems the most likely—although the fact that it works here is more surprising than the strong glow enveloping his hands. ]

Nothing this vivid.

[ Evasive. She avoids meeting his eyes as she continues to tear through void-black vines; leaving no room for him to interject. ]

If you want my opinion, this seems more like a vision than a true dream. A warning.

[iminthebook]

[ He stops to think on that, and nods. He gets back to it. ]

It may well be. This whole world is magic. And it may be that the world, itself, is trying to warn us.

[ Harry's world has some energies like that, and he is not sure if it could do the same, but he would like that. ]

a. IT'S HOME

[ishisstrength]

Justine was walking through the house picking up pieces of cinder and ash that had once been the books she'd so affectionately coveted. It was all gone. It felt distant, unreal and speculative; that was before she came across the bouquet she had saved against the ravishes of time with her magic. The spell had faded and only thin dried stems remained.

The collection of flowers had been a gift, left anonymously on her door step and now they too were gone. She couldn't bring herself to touch the stems and seconds later she heard Harry's cry.

She moved like a ghost through the house and stopped at what was once the front door. "Harry?" Her voice was soft and pained, her chest aching as their home was all but destroyed.

Re: a. IT'S HOME

[iminthebook]

Harry spun and when he saw her, staggered to her, hands opening to pull her close and hug her. For her comfort, for his, for both.

"Gods, Justine, I am glad you're okay. This place is... this is..." Horrible is the only word that comes up, but it seems inadequate.

home

[ishisstrength]

Justine stepped forward, meeting Harry in the middle of the small walk way up to their home. She slid into his arms as if there wasn't a weight to their friendship or a careful distance crafted between them. They both needed something solid to hold them together.

Least the chaos swallow them.

"I know." She whispered as she rested her head against his broad chest. "I know." She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his center. "But you're okay. Broken things can be rebuilt."

Re: home

[iminthebook]

Harry held her, and shuddered, blocking everything else out, and he concentrated.

"I've got you." He whimpered lightly but held on.

"We are not alone." As he held her, and he concentrated, blue light slowly spread over them, and pushed the darkness back some. It was a calm, hopeful light. It originated from one of his hands, and a symbol that glowed into being there, and he held it in his mind as he let the words fill him and he murmured them to her ear.

"In fearful day, in raging night, with strong hearts full, our souls ignite, when all seems lost in the War of Light, Look to the stars-- For hope burns bright!"

home

[ishisstrength]

"Harry."

She whispered his name and closed her eyes as she leaned against the solid comfort of his tall lanky form. Each second had been testing her, teasing and probing at the edge of madness, but Harry's voice was deep and rich and it gently guided her away from the darkness. 'We are not alone.'

God, or whoever resided over this world, she hoped that Harry was right.

"I don't know what to do."

Re: home

[iminthebook]

"We stay together as much as we can, we watch out for each other, and we avoid anything that looks dangerous."

He held her close and sighed, shivering. "We are not alone, and we are going to wake up, eventually."

He hoped.

home

[ishisstrength]

Justine nodded her head but didn't feel like she could speak. Her heart ached while her head screamed and beyond all this magic crackled life fire igniting at the edge of her senses.

"I want to believe you Harry." Her voice was soft, cracking beneath the weight of her words. "I'm not strong enough." She trembled as she curled her fingers around his shirt and clung to him.

She needed him or she wouldn't survive. "I can't."

Re: home

[iminthebook]

Harry held her for a few minutes, and nodded, smiling, but her words made him frown. He pulled her over to where they could sit on some piled up stone and sat, pulling her down to face him if she would let him.

"Justine, you are stronger than you know. You have a capacity to do much more than you know right now. I know you don't believe me, but it is true." He nodded again.

"We'll get through this, and whatever else happens."

home

[ishisstrength]

She met his gaze and after a moment she nodded. Justine didn't know if she believed him but she wanted too. Right now she needed to believe him. "I want to believe you." She echoed her thoughts. "I'm trying."

She closed her eyes and nodded again.

"Where should we start? I... I don't know where to look." And there was nowhere for them to escape too.

Reflections

[figmentpigment]

At least ghosts living in the Haven's husk move with something like a purpose, even if it's only the distant echoes of a routine lost in the past. All the dreamers can do is wander and wonder after them.

Harry's not the only one chasing shadows for some hope of answers; the dark, oozing demon limps around a corner after a wispy memory of a witch, but it freezes at the sight of a whole and healthy human.

The demon isn't the smartest, but it knows at least a monster dribbling black fluid in an oil-rotted ruin looks pretty bad. This human doesn't look to be in a great mood either, but... well, who would be, in this situation. Unless, for example, your face is stuck in a perpetual eerie smile.

The demon stares for a moment, then very quickly tries to back away from Harry down the hall.

Re: Reflections

[iminthebook]

Harry stares for a second, then swears and runs after the... thing? Person. whatever.

"Hey, stop!"

He skidded down the hall toward the person, or well, he was assuming person. What was going on>? He had no idea. Was this one of the new arrivals? Was this something of the dream?

Harry felt a creeping crawling rolling over him.

[figmentpigment]

Well, that just about figures. Humans have a bad habit of being incurably curious. The demon takes Harry's call as an indication yo do just the opposite, its limping gait speeding up.

It's not so used to running away from people, though, and it's a tad too conspicuous to hide. So, it'll just have to go somewhere it can't be followed...

DONK

Harry gets a good look of the demon running headlong into the wall like an absolute buffoon. It staggers back, clutching its face and wobbling. That--that's weird. It should have been able to--huh. Belatedly it remembers Harry, and puts its back to the wall, breathing heavy as he approaches.

[iminthebook]

"Are you okay?" Harry raises his hands, spreading them wide to show he was unarmed and trying to communicate his desire not to fight.

"Are you from here?" He had no idea what this person might be, but he guessed the best way to find out was to ask. Right?

"Can you talk?"

[figmentpigment]

It doesn't drop its guard, less worried about what the human may do yo it than what it could do to him. It braces itself for the wave of violent anger, the urge for vengeance that will push it to strike down the man before him.

It doesn't come.

Its heavy breathing slows. The demon's claws dig into the unyielding wall. Slowly, it shakes its head at Harry.

[iminthebook]

Harry nods and sits. "Can you write?" He pulls a valuable pen and paper out of his jacket, unsure if the other will understand, but willing to try.

He extends them, carefully.

"I wont hurt you."

[figmentpigment]

It stares a moment, then very slowly lowers itself onto the ground. It cocks its head to one side as he pulls out the stationary, leans forward, pauses, then snatches the paper from his grip.

It waves one hand at him, dismissing the offered pen. Instead it draws a finger along the paper, leaving somewhat splotchy but perfectly legible lines behind it.

W H O A R E Y O U

[iminthebook]

Harry reads it, and nods.

"I am called Harry Dresden. One of the people drawn here through the mirrors. I've been here for about two months now."

He smiles, hopefully reassuringly.

"What are you called?"

[figmentpigment]

It considers. It's not Bendy, not right now. But it doesn't quite feel like it's The Ink Demon at the moment, either.

I D O N O T K N O W

A claw taps at its chin for a second.

T H E M I R R O R C H A N G E D T H I N G S