Irana stood before the large full-length mirror, her irritation evident in the furrow of her brow. She studied her reflection, searching for some imperfection that would justify the agitation gnawing at her insides. Her undercut haircut framed her face, accentuating the sharp angles of her cheekbones. The teal strands of hair seemed to shimmer against her pale skin. Piercings adorned her nose, lip, and ears, glinting in the dim light of the room.
"Ugh, ain't a damn thing wrong with me. Frickin' pixie." she muttered under her breath, as her indigo eyes - a byproduct of the catalization process that had awakened her the arcane spark - scanning her tattoos that adorned her neck like a thorny choker.
She couldn't help but recall the argument she'd had with her sister, Anari, a couple days prior. After finally returning home, she'd searched the house but couldn't find her. Then she remembered the mirror. She'd climbed the three stories just to find the attic, which was overly ostentatious, empty. Her twin had been obsessed with the mirror ever since she'd seen laid eyes on it.
As she leaned forward, her fingertips grazed the cold surface of the mirror. An unexpected shiver rippled through her body as the glass seemed to shimmer like water disturbed by a pebble.
"Magic?" she whispered, curiosity momentarily overpowering her frustration.
That thought nagged at the back of her mind, adding to the unease that filled the room.
Irana's gaze remained fixed on the mirror. A dozen thoughts shot through her mind yet the deep questions she asked were answered only by her shallow reflection. Sucking in a breath, she activated her mage sight, examining the intricate web of flowing arcane circuitry that covered everything, including herself.
Leaning forward she traced the ones on. The mirror. They were sluggish in their movements compared to the lively twisting and intertwining the other healthy circuits had.
There was something odd about the mirror. Inspecting it further she took her finger and probed the edges of the mirror. As the mirrors surface rioled she caught sight of blackened, withered circuits along the frames inner edge.
Stepping back, she drew power from the tattoo on her index finger. Leveling her hand at the mirror, she jabbed her finger forward. A moment later the illusion shattered and so did Inara's calm.
There lurking in the center of the mirror was a tear in the weave. Her heart clenched at the sight of such a thing. For a mage this was one of the most horrifying sins one could commit. To scar the very source of one's power, the essence of the universe, was a dark act. Yet that left an unnerving mystery.
How was there an active illusion working over a tear? At most the spell should've been unstable, the formula unable to hold. Her brow furrowed as she checked the frame. Tracing her finger along the edge she confirmed that no formula had been embedded into its soft surface. That was the only explanation she knew but that wasn't saying much.
She hasn't gone to the universitus not did she have the desire to. Stuffy professors with far more stuffy content. It was enough to drive a girl mad. No, her path has been one of self discovery. One that had tested her, and had found her worthy in her reforging.
Inara huffed out a heavy breath as she stared at the tear once more. A heartbeat later the mirror reappeared, staring at the edges and then flowing out until it closed up once more. Inara blinked, her brow pressing down against the bridge of her nose.
A sickening feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, her intuition screaming that something wasn't right. Ignoring the trepidation that threatened to paralyze her, she reached out and touched the mirror once more.
The world around her blurred and twisted, pulling her into the unknown with an overwhelming force that left her gasping for breath.
Irana's heart pounded in her chest as her senses were assaulted by a maelstrom of colors and sensations. Stumbling forward, she found herself now facing away from the mirror and staring out into the attic. Her eyes darted back and forth, eyeing the cobwebs that clung to the corners of the rafters. Those were there before… right?
She swore that in that moment between touching the mirror and stumbling back the world around her had twisted and stretched, the room she had been standing in just moments ago giving way to something different. She'd heard the fragments of memories —harsh whispers of the argument between her and Anari. Was it the one they'd had three days ago?
Shaking the question off, Inara gazed around. She was still alone. Which reminded her of her true purpose for even coming back to this mansion.
"Anari?" she called out.
Her voice returned to her, a dull echo that seemed to lack it's typical animation. Strangeness aside there was still no answer. Only the heavy silence remained. A tyrant that smothered everything beneath it's rule.
Shaking herself, Irana brought her mind to focus. Her mage sight was still active, and she quickly took in the arcane weave surrounding her. It pulsed with a lush prism of energetic colors as the flowing circuitry appearing even more vibrant than they had before. But amidst the beauty, she found a troubling sight: the tear in the weave she had seen earlier had grown larger and more sinister, its dark tendrils snaking outwards like tendrils of smoke.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath. "Something's definitely not right here."
With a grimace, she reached out a hand to touch the tear once more, hoping to glean some insight into what this strange distortion could mean. But as her fingers brushed against the charred edges of the weave, nothing happened.
"Fine," she said, gritting her teeth. "I'll figure this out another way." She knew that whatever this phenomenon was, it wasn't natural; it reeked of foul magic, and she needed to find out what was going on before the price of those questions came due.
As Irana gathered her wits, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with this mansion. Gazing around the room she spied the thick amber broad Anari had worn the night of their argument. She'd been standing in front of that mirror, her reflection casting condescending glances as Inarin had placed the room.
Irana blinked. What had they been arguing about? Suddenly the context of their spat seemed distant and fleeting. What had Anari said that had made her so angry, so boiled and bitter, that she had decided to leave. She chewed her lip as she narrowed her eyes. Something was definitely off. A quick check told her she wasn't being enchanted but that didn't mean much.
There were other possibilities…
"Focus," she told herself firmly, trying to push through the fog that seemed to cloud her mind. "What were we doing here?"
She took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever challenges lurked beyond the attic's door. As she stepped out into the hallway she narrowed her eyes as she clenched her fists. The power stores within her tattoos responded to her touch. She wasn't going to be caught off guard.
The hall's features, once somewhat familiar, now appeared alien and distorted. She glared at the shadows as they stretched across the floorboards, and a faint glow emanated from the crevices between them. She blinked, attempting to adjust her eyes to the spectral haze that permeated the air.
"Anari?" Irana called out in a hoarse whisper, "I swear if your pranking me."
The silence that answered her was deafening, only amplifying her growing unease. She glanced around, searching for any sign of her sister, but found none. With each passing moment, her suspicions regarding this mansion intensified. I swear I'm going to burn this place to the ground. She promised herself, somewhat easing her tension. Should've sold it and bought a new ship.
That had been her intention ever since Anari and she had received the notice that they now owned the house through some inheritance but Anari had always wanted a large house like this. To her sister, this place must have seemed like a castle. Which would make her the princess and me… executioner? Irana huffed, she probably things I'm her jester.
Venturing further out into the third story, she was met by the hallway - a grand echo of a distant past. The chandelier, laden with glowing candle like bulbs, cast an intimate glow upon walls adorned in an old gaudy wallpaper of the darkest tones. It was as if the shadows themselves were etched into every design.
The only thing she loved, and consequently Anari hated, were the gargoyles. Grotesque yet intriguing, they were perched in the recessed corners of the hall, their stone eyes watching with an eerie indifference.
Above, wooden arches, darkened by time's kiss, created a maze of carvings depicting mythical creatures and ancient mages -scenes of forgottenand uncyphered lore. Creeping forward, the boards beneath her feet creaked, though the sound was smothered by the thick ornate rug, it's surface a riot of colors weaving a tale from one of the northern kingdoms.
glancing back down the hall, she was assured to see the old grandfather clock, an amalgamation of curved metal and alchemical starlight oak. It's three swinging hands ticked back and forth, swaying to some unseen cosmic rhythm as their polished golden metal glinted in the chandelier's glow.
A chill shot down Irana's spine as the clock's relentless ticking filled the silence with a mournful melody, as if counting down the hours to some inevitable reckoning. While Anari had seen something old and wizened, Inari had sensed the palpable decay that clung to the old mansion. There was a sense that it's once grand stature was marked my an era of dramatic opulence that had faded long ago.
"It's going to be great. We'll live like royalty." Irana muttered under her breath, mocking her sister as she traced a finger over the ornate carvings on the balustrade.
Her gaze swept the hallway, noting the way the wallpaper appeared to ripple ever so subtly, as if it concealed an unseen force beneath its surface. In the dim light, the shadows of gargoyles perched atop the banister seemed to flicker and dance, their stone visages twisted into grotesque snarls.
Irana huffed, blow out hard breath up into the bangs that had fallen into her face, before pressing forward. Each step was deliberated and careful. She eyes the halls end in the distance. Each step felt like a betrayal of her instincts, which screamed at her to flee from this place.
She aptly ignored herself.
Now she wished shed opted into dropping the money on that extrasensory tattoo she'd been offered. Right now her senses were on high alter but that didn't little good here. Hindsight's a bliter.
Irana continued down the hall, her eyes darting to the flickering shadows that danced upon the wall. Each breath soubded exaggerated in the eerie quiet, as though she were breathing in heavy ragged breaths. She strained her ears, listening for any sound that might indicate Anari's whereabouts. She froze as she heard a faint scratching sound.
Drawing upon her magic, she felt its heat building with the tattoos on both forearms.
"Hey? Who's there? This isn't funny." Irana called out, her voice wavering slightly as she clenched her fists, preparing to attack anything that dared threaten her.
The scratching persisted, growing louder as though in response to her question, as if taunting her. Or leading me…. She thought as her find raced on, images of foul ghoulish abominations filling her imagination.
Irana's eyes narrowed, scanning the doors on either side of the hall for any sign of movement. She crept cautiously along the corridor, the sound echoing through the empty house and reverberating in her very bones. Her arcane spark hummed beneath her skin, ready to burst forth at a moment's notice.
"Anari, is that you?" she whispered, but the only answer was the relentless noise. As she approached a door near the end of the hall, the scratching abruptly ceased, replaced by a strange, strained grunting sound that sent chills racing down her spine.
"By the blood..."
Irana's pulse quickened. Reaching out she tried the brass hand, irritation and determation fueling her as she attempt to barge into the room and confront Anari or whoever else was in there. Yet the door remained closed.
"Damn it!" Irana cursed, frustration boiling over into aggression.
Taking several steps back, she lowered her shoulder and slammed it into the door. The wood didn't do so much as bow. Panting, she glared at the wood, knowing full well that it should not be this strong. She blinked several times in quick succession, as part of her debates casting a torrent of fire and then dancing over the doors ashes, but that was just as likely to engulf the house. No, instead she took a deep breath and tried to sooth her flaring temper.
Something was wrong; something was very wrong indeed.
"Open, damn you!" Irana snarled, trying the handle once more, but it simply refused to move.
At all.
Gazing down at the handle, she clenched it between her fingers and twisted. Her fingers ached from the effort yet the handle remained fixed. Suddenly it hit her. She knew what was happening. Why the door, old world wood with a simple frame, had withstood her. Why the handle didn't move.
With a sickening realization, the hairs on the back of her neck rose. She'd somehow fallen into the spirit world. Her mind immediately jumped back to the mirror. The tear, it must have been a hole between her world and this one. She cursed under her breath. This made everything far more complicated.
As if this realization had a dispelling effect, she was now acutely aware of the strangeness of this place. It wasn't just the house. Her subconscious had been picking up on the subtle things that had marked this place as different. As other.
The air was different here, cold and heavy, weighing on her chest like an iron vise. She knew from stories passed down by her elders that everything within the spirit world was interconnected, and the reason the door refused to budge was because of this strange phenomenon. They'd called in a continuous whole. She thought she understood what that meant but she wasn't willing to be on it. Yet she knew what to do in this situation.
Turn around and leave.
And she did just that, trudging back down the hall. She was several paces away when she heard the grunting sound again. She paused. What if her sister had fallen through the mirror? She wasn't sure whether or not one has to have magic inherently within them to cause the transition. Judging from the stories she'd been told it wasn't likely.
Spirits used tears all the time to create traps, a way of luring people into their domain for whatever purposes they desired. Those people often never returned.
She was torn, part of her wanting to run away, the other worrying about her sister.
"Damn it," she said with a snarl, "I swear if this is some sort of joke…"
She knew it wasn't. How could her sister pull this off? Why would her sister pull this off? It didn't make sense and in her experience it was the simple answers that were the truth.
Irana closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm her quickly fraying nerves. She knew that panicking would only make things worse, but the fear clawing at the edges of her mind was difficult to suppress. Opening her eyes once more, she tried to focus on the task at hand - finding the source of the sound behind the door.
Ensuring no one else was around, Irana knelt on the cold floor. Lifting an index finger, she activated the magic in the tattoo that ran from nail to knuckle. The edge of her finger sizzled with orange energy. Now on all fours, she pressed her finger against the wood and started crafting a summoning circle.
Her fingers traced circles and lines, etching runes within them with a passing precision. Though this form of magic, the formulaic academic, wasn't her strong suit. She'd rather draw upon inspiration rather than formulas any day. Yet she'd learned her lesson early and so had taken care to learn the basics of the boredom-craft.
Little by little the circle took shape. She placed minor circles, working out the energy channels and wards she'd need to ensure her safety. She stuck her tongue out, letting the piecing press against the edges of her lips as she tried remember the various variables she needed to balance. A darker part of her wondered if she could tear a hole in the spirit world. That thought amused her long enough to get through her tedious task.
Irana wasn't much for formulas, it was the whole reason she went and got catalyzed and focused on being a ink mage. As she worked on a particularly important minor circle, she couldn't suppress a smile as she remembered a time when she'd tried to create a summoning circle while drunk. with unsteady hands and muddled thoughts, she thought she could liven up the party. The result had been disastrous, particularly when everyone was running away from the nine foot tall flaming daemar.
Pushing the thought aside, she slowed down ensuring the wards would actually hold and not overload. As she completed the circle, she stood up and closed her eyes. She fixed the image of the spirit she intended to summon within her mind. Specificity was always crucial when summoning lest one attracted unwanted attention. The incantation slipped through her lips, her tongue dancing of its own accord within her mouth. The air around her grew heavy with anticipation as the circle glowed.
The edges of the intricate design glowed a fierce blue, blazing with energy as the air around the circle formed a vortex. Irana's hair slapped against the side of her face and she had to keep herself from spitting the strands of hair that got in her mouth. The hairs on her arms stood on end, a tingling sensation coursing through her body as summoning circle responded to her command.
Slowly, the form of the summoned spirit began to take shape within the vortex. Its ethereal body shimmered as it solidified, the air crackling with unseen forces bending to its will. The spirit appeared as a shifting mass of shadows, tendrils of darkness curling around it like smoke, concealing its true form.
"Who dares summon me?" the spirit demanded, its voice echoing through the room like a distant storm.
Irana rolled her eyes. Every last spirit she'd summoned always asked that same exact question in that same exact voice.
"Names Irana. Now let's cut to the chase and negotiate."
The spirit's wide hammerlike head tilted as it studied her. A rumbling like distant thunder rose up within it. Then the sound rose, crescendo and crashed around her as the spirit laughed.
"Very well. Let us negotiate my fee."
"I'll give you a good review." Irana said, joking to hide the cold knot of anxiousness that was now forming in the pit of her stomach.
Though she ignored that particular emotion, as well as all the others, save for her determination. Spirits were slippery things with their own kind of magic. She had a suspicion that the spirit was trying to influence her right now.
The spirit's form flickered and wavered like moonlight on water. "You amuse me. Therefore I shall only ask that you shall give me a token of personal value, one that is imbibed with your... essence. I wish to taste the strength of your character."
Irana hesitated, her hand absently reaching for her ear. She fingered the piercings adorning it, each one serving as a reminder of a significant moment in her life. There was a particular earring that she knew held enough significance: a silver serpent that wound along the outer edge of her ear. Unlike the other piercing's, it didn't have a twin but it had been given to Irana by her twin.
It had been one of the only times Anari had given her something to wear that she actually liked. It was the birthday after their parents had passed away. The serpent earing had the ability to mold itself to be any size. Anari had presented it to her by wearing it upon her finger.
"It's a promise to never let you go. Just like the serpent holds on to you, so will I."
The sentiment was sweet, too sweet for Inara's taste but she appreciated her sister's gesture.
Irana hesitated. Did she really want to sacrifice something so precious? Her mind raced to the other objects on her person. None of them held any emotional weight other than she thought they looked wicked or were useful. This is why you don't summon spirits without a plan. She spat.
As she fingered the piecing, she realized that she'd much rather have her sister. At this point she was sure that Anari must have been eaten by the mirror. At least metaphorically... She hoped.
"Take this," she said reluctantly as she unclipped the earring and offered it to the spirit. "It's over brimming with sisterly love and all that shek."
The spirit seemed to consider her offering, its form shifting and twisting as though weighing the value of such a sacrifice. The room grew colder, and the air between them crackled with energy.
"Very well," the spirit finally said, its voice low and resonant. "I accept your offering."
Tendrils of darkness slithered through the air, reaching out and plucking the earring from her hand. Irana pressed her lips together as she watched the spirit bring the serpent close to its face. It's face split in two, opening impossibly wide. The serpent pendant deteriorated forming a cloud of dust that shot up into the air and then into the spirit's gaping maw.
Irana clenched her jaw as she watched. She couldn't suppress the sense of loss that now hung heavy in her chest. Pushing the feelings aside, she gestured towards the door where she'd heard the grunting sound.
"Open the door," she demanded, her voice cracking slightly.
The spirit shifted again, its essence flowing in tendrils of black smoke as it gathered like a storm cloud before the door. It's body broke apart, turning into thin streaming veins of darkness that seeped into every crack and crevice.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as if released from an invisible grip, the door swung open with a creaking groan. Irana gasped, her eyes widening with shock.