Cragne Manor (2018)
> x mirror (@ Train Station Lobby)
You take a long look in the mirror. Even in these dim and dingy surroundings, you are as good-looking as ever.
> x northward mirror (@ Mausoleum)
The mirror is positioned in the northern corner of the room. It has an oaken frame and a small bas relief of a human figure in the stone above. When you examine your reflection, you find that it reflects only you, not the room that surrounds you. You stare at yourself, staring at yourself, floating in a purple void.
> x southward mirror (@ Mausoleum)
The mirror is positioned in the southern corner of the room. It has a brass frame and there is a bas relief of a small humanoid in the stone above. You see a small version of yourself, though it is not exactly the same. Its posture is more confident, defiant even. When you look at its eyes, you see that its eyes do not match yours and it instead watches your hands carefully.
> x westward mirror (@ Mausoleum)
The mirror is in the western corner of the room, but it has been destroyed, though oddly enough, not broken. It looks as if it were melted. There is a bas relief of a writing quill in the stone above.
> x eastward mirror (@ Mausoleum)
The mirror is positioned in the eastern corner of the room. It has an pine frame and a small bas relief of a spider in the stone above. When you examine your reflection, you jump backwards away from it. The mirror does not seem to reflect you, but instead it shows you as if a giant had crumbled you up like a piece of paper. Your neck is folded so that your ear is resting on your collarbone. Your arms are bent, and twisted. Bones break through the skin, and spurs jut to the surface. At first you do not think it is actually you, but it clearly is. The creature in the mirror has the same terror in its eyes that you do.
> x mirror (@ Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant)
A perfectly normal bathroom mirror: one of those big frameless dealies that they hang on the wall above the sink. In it you can see the bathroom reflected: the stall/toilet, the urinal, the shower, all floating in a terrifying dark void filled with unfamiliar stars. Wait what.
There's a sign on the corner of the mirror that says "Mirror Temporarily Out of Order - mgmt.".
> x mirror (@ Gallery)
An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame. The bottom left corner is cracked and broken into large shards. A painting of a child is posed directly opposite the mirror, and glancing at your reflection, you can see her dispassionate gaze over your left shoulder.
[if mirror shard untaken:] A sliver of otherworldly moonlight is spilled onto the floor next to the mirror's broken corner. On closer inspection, it is a mirror shard, glowing as if it were showing a private reflection of a moonsoaked world.
> x mirror (@ Workroom)
The mirror is mounted in a rather crude frame of wrought iron. The glass is in poor condition, pitted and fogged.
[if first time:] What's this? When you touch the frame, something comes loose from behind it and flutters to the floor. It seems to be some kind of delivery note.
- The glass does not reflect you, or the room. You are peering into an infinite starless depth. Somewhere in the distance, shadows might outline the shape of a face, peering back... or not? You cannot make it out clearly.
The glass does not reflect you, or the room. You are peering into an infinite starless depth. Far in the distance, a face forms... an epicene face, wrinkled and shriveled; but its dark eyes blaze with fierce gnosis.
The eyes lock with yours.
"You dare!" The words burn in your brain, although there is no whisper of sound. "I achieved this plane in order to study the secrets of cosmic order, not to be disturbed by blundering novices from..." (the eyes squint) "...Vermont!? No! I forbid you. Let your scrying glass be sealed, in the name of Gretel Aschar!"
The face is whipped from your sight, leaving the glass clear and empty.
You peer into the glass...
You see a shifting field of geometry, all illuminated by pearly light. Within it, Gretel Aschar's decrepit face slowly comes back into focus. Her wrinkles twist into a scowl of utter disgust.
"Fine. Fine. You seek the way to the Gates of Slumber? Find the writings of my student Ersebet. A fool, she was, but she knew more than a little of the ways of Dream." A glare of unutterable contempt. "And she knew, for a wonder, how to leave an old woman alone."
The geometric light seems to turn inside out, and the face is once again gone from your sight.
> x mirror (@ Women's Restroom)
- [without lipstick] It's you, Naomi Cragne, staring back from the mirror. Good-looking as ever, if maybe a bit frazzled from recent events. [one of] Right then. You look focused, confident; your lips are a bit pale, but what can you do? [or] You stick out your tongue...no odd coloration. [or] My goodness, you look more and more like your mother every day... [or] Eyes maybe a bit bleary. [at random]
- [with lipstick] Mmm, luscious red lips--ones that total fox Brandon Cragne might want to kiss...that is, if she played her cards right. Otherwise, the same mousy brown hair pulled back in clips, the same lame grey tweed school uniform. The same pallid complexion. Heavy sigh.
> x mirror (@ Girl's Room)
The person in the mirror was definitely not her. She was at least as old as her mom, staring blankly, occasionally opening and closing her lips as if in a trance. She appeared to be wearing [a list of worn items].
> x makeup mirror (@ Carol's Room)
Your face is distorted in the makeup mirror and items behind you are a blur.
> x silver mirror (@ Laboratory)
- [default] A heavy silver mirror, tarnished and clearly old. When you glance into it the reflections of the house seem to resolve, the inhuman angles and dizzying design resolving into a more sensible pattern.
- [if in its frame and closet is untidy] The reflected pile of clothes miraculously resolves itself into a kind of sense, allowing you to differentiate clothes from within the mass. Space folds in upon itself, and then all the shirts, pants, and underwear fold themselves as well, filling the cabinet drawers—and leaving the shelves empty.
> x mirror (@ Sitting Room)
[as Naomi, first time] You gaze at yourself in the mirror, marveling at the way the afternoon sun shimmers across the gold and gray hues in your neatly coiffed hair. Moira has such a talent for the latest styles that you can hardly help but employ her assistance every morning, even when you have no plans to go into town.
Today you chose to wear one of your violet dresses with thin black stripes and velvet trim. The high neck and full sleeves of the tailored coat are double-lined to protect against any errant draughts. Lord knows how they like to scurry through the house this time of year. And it has been so especially cold as of late.
"Really, darling, with all the time you spend gawking at your own reflection, I don't know how you have much time for anything else," Eustace says, his words soaked in irritation. The argument from the night before lingers between the two of you. You can already taste a bitter retort forming on your lips. You swallow it back down.
He continues. "Would you be a dear and ring Moira for me? I believe I saw the postman come through and am expecting an important letter." He motions to the bell pull before turning his newspaper to the next page and shaking it stiff.
[as Lillian, if Eustace alive] What's this? Who is this woman staring back at you? She is dressed... bizarrely, to put it mildly. And yet, there is something familiar about her. Something... oh. Oh God. What... what just happened?
Your eyes adjust to the dimness of the dusty room. You check yourself over, and find you are yourself again. Were you dreaming? Or were you a woman from another time? It's hard to tell. You've been feeling like someone else everywhere you go in Backwater.
[as Naomi, if Eustace alive] A regal woman with graying hair and harsh features stares back at you.
[if Eustace wants opener, add:] "Have you found my letter opener yet? I must ask that you return it to me immediately," Eustace says.
[as Lillian, if Eustace dead] You gaze at your reflection, your eyes rimmed red. There's a spattering of blood on your face and across your dress. Some stains can never be cleaned, once they are too deeply set. In such cases, you must rid yourself of the garment entirely. You should never have become Mrs. Rolling. How ridiculous you've been. You are a Cragne through and through, like your father, and your father before him, back to the very founding of Backwater. So, too, shall your son be a Cragne. It is in the blood.
And then, you are not you. You are the other you, yourself. You clutch your stomach and heave, ready to vomit, the image of that man lying in his own blood fresh in your mind. You weren't actually there, right? It was all in your head. Got to be.
You look down and find yourself holding a strange windchime. How did you get this? Maybe Lillian thought you should have it. You doubt you'll ever really know.
[as Naomi, if Eustace dead] A spider's web of cracks runs across the mirror. A hundred fractured reflections stare back at you. Only the present remains. And, you suppose, your future.