Round 97

The mirror shattered, its frame warping and twisting as it pulled them in. Varrika's scarred knuckles went white around Merrin's arm as the ground beneath them trembled violently. The air crackled with eldritch energy that made every hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The mirrors lining the hidden chamber shifted and writhed in response to their presence, each surface catching the flickering torchlight and reflecting it back in ways that made her head spin.

She'd faced worse than a few creepy mirrors, though she had to admit these ones gave her the distinct urge to look away. But even as fear threatened to overwhelm her, Varrika knew that they couldn't turn back now. They'd come too far, sacrificed too much to give up on their quest for the Time-Splitting Sword.

Merrin's sharp eyes caught movement in the shadows— or perhaps it was just the flickering light playing tricks on her vision. She whispered something under her breath, but Varrika couldn't make out the words over the creaking of the stone around them.