[[[Musica ౨ৎ])]
Amani raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk tracing her lips as she spoke.“Indeed, everyone has their reasons, motives as varied as the human heart itself. In your particular instance, the motive was nothing more sublime than simple lust,” she retorted, her voice a playful, sarcastic lilt. She stepped closer, her gaze fixing Arya with a piercing intensity. " “And, as we both know too well, we have all dallied with our share of grievous errors and entanglements.” That last night was a testament to such folly was a relief known only to herself, Jesse, and him . it was a good thing, Arya did not know of such thing nor could it be used against her. “Some more than others,” Amani mused, a flicker of amusement lighting her eyes as they settled on Arya. “But errors belong to the past, to the realm of things we vow never to repeat. One can hardly hold such missteps against another, can they? And who’s to say my illness was feigned?” Her lips curved into a wry smile. “The chill in the air lately isn’t just a figment, after all.”
Turning to walk away, Arya—ever quick with a biting remark—uttered something that rooted Amani to the spot. For a moment, she stood rigid, collecting herself, hoping Arya had missed the brief stiffening of her posture.
With a calculated turn, Amani faced Arya again, her eyes locking onto hers with a renewed, steely resolve. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of boring you with history,” s he began, her voice a smooth, controlled cascade. “After all, the past is a tedious thing, isn’t it? Far more exhilarating to discuss the here and now… and what may yet come. This isn’t, after all, a history lesson.” Her mouth twisted into a faint, insincere smile as she rolled her eyes and pivoted back to the poetry displayed on the walls. Amani had previously questioned Arya’s choice to exhibit her own verses, dismissing it as sentimental after hearing her explanation. Her gaze narrowed slightly, a smirk playing at her lips as she observed Arya, poised against the pillar. “Charm, you say? Perhaps there’s something to that,” she replied, her voice carrying a probing undertone. “Charm, however, is a deceptive beast. It draws you in, cloaking stark realities with a veneer of beauty. Yet there is a certain charm in the illusion of sentiment, trite though it may be.”
Leaning in over Arya’s shoulder to glance at the poem in her grasp, Amani was silent, a whirlwind of thoughts kept unspoken until Arya dared to break the silence with a tone both light and sarcastically edged. “Oh, please,” she scoffed, her usual sharpness softened as she straightened, stepping back from the poem as though distancing herself from the stirrings of emotion it evoked. “Captivating verses, Sellenova. I’ll grant you that,” Amani conceded, her voice dropping to a colder, more distant timbre. “But do not mistake my interest for anything beyond an intellectual curiosity. I do appreciate good art, even when it verges on the melodramatic. After all, appreciating the arts is part of our nature—not everyone is a hopeless romantic or dreamer like your kind. Some of us already possess all that we need.” Her voice was cool and composed, her eyes returning to her nails, considering perhaps a manicure would indeed be a pleasant diversion on the morrow.
As they traveled deeper into the botanical conservatory, they had found themselves in a room of illusions , as Amani began to explain to Arya. They had landed in a mirror, and had placed their fingers on it, dreams- wishes and desires enchanted them as they looked within, until finally, the vision blurred and Amani broke free from the illusions. She had taken a moment to think, to brush her skirt, as she turned back to look at Arya who seemed to be in deep thoughts. After some seconds, she had snapped Arya away from her thoughts, asking her what she had seen. To that, she had said possibility. Perhaps, it was due to the fact that Amani did not want to be asked what she had seen or maybe it was something else, but Amani had simply nodded, not pressing further as she had told Arya to choose a mirror. The mirror Arya had chosen, Amani had not seen before nor had she used before, it was a strange mirror, one with an otherworldly glow, one that also drew her in and she wondered, why had she not gazed upon this mirror. She approached it, along with Arya. Unlike the other mirrors, this mirror was not empty- indeed, it was not reflecting Amani or Arya, but it was reflecting behind them, making Amani even more curious. Intrigued and cautious, Amani extended her hand, her fingertips just grazing the cool, seemingly fluid surface. Instantly, a low hum rose from the core of the mirror, and the room was filled with a soft, opalescent light. The surface of the mirror began to swirl with colors, forming and re-forming into shapes and scenes that pulsed with the rhythm of some unseen heartbeat.
As Amani’s fingertips made contact with the enigmatic surface of the mirror, a ripple of anticipation coursed through the air. The room seemed to hold its breath, caught in the suspense of what revelations this mysterious artifact might unveil.
But as soon as Amani’s touch met the mirror for the second time, a sudden, sharp crack shattered the silence, echoing through the chamber like a thunderclap. Before anyone could react, the mirror fractured into countless shards, each glinting with an ethereal light before scattering across the floor in a chaotic symphony of glass and shadow.
Amani blinked rapidly, her gaze fixed on Arya, who stood frozen in disbelief. The air crackled with an electric tension as Amani’s mind raced to comprehend the abrupt turn of events.
With a surge of determination, Amani summoned her shadow manipulation powers, tendrils of darkness coiling around her fingers as she reached out to pluck a broken shard from the wreckage. But as soon as her fingertips brushed against the fractured glass, a wave of dizziness washed over her, and the world around her seemed to warp and twist, as if reality itself were unraveling at the seams.
In an instant, Amani found herself engulfed in a whirlwind of illusions, her senses overwhelmed by a cacophony of sights and sounds that bore no resemblance to the tranquil confines of the botanical conservatory. She blinked rapidly, as she looked around- seeing Arya and at first Amani thought It was an illusion, not the real one, but there was something distinct about the way Arya moved that let Amani know it was not an illusion.
Confusion knotted in her stomach as she tried to reconcile the discrepancy between what she knew to be true and what her senses were telling her. Their illusions should not be intertwined—each shard of the mirror was supposed to reveal individual truths, not merge their realities into a single, incomprehensible mess.
With a sinking feeling, Amani realized that they were no longer in the botanical conservatory, no longer surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of their world. Instead, they stood in a realm of shadows and whispers, a place where the boundaries between illusion and reality had blurred beyond recognition.
which mirror was this? Amani wondered. A sense of foreboding washed over her as she surveyed their surroundings, the oppressive weight of the unknown pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket. Every shadow seemed to pulse with hidden secrets, every whisper a cryptic riddle waiting to be unraveled.
She took a step towards Arya, her fingers flickering her forehead, trying to check if she was real, and at Arya’s reaction, Amani could tell that this was very much the real Arya. “I was hoping you were a illusion,” Amani said her tone strange, as something started to sink in. “We need to find a way out of here,” she declared, her voice cutting through the eerie silence like a knife. “This isn’t like the other mirrors,” She said, ready to find ways to escape from here, but then, amidst the darkness, she saw it—a flicker of movement, a shape looming in the shadows. Amani’s breath caught in her throat as she beheld the vision before her, her blood turning to ice in her veins.
It was a reflection of herself, but twisted and distorted, a grotesque parody of the woman she knew. Her eyes were hollow and empty, devoid of the spark of life that usually burned within them. Her skin was pallid and gaunt, stretched tight over bones that jutted out at odd angles.
Amani recoiled in horror, unable to tear her gaze away from the nightmarish apparition that stared back at her with vacant eyes. This was no mere illusion—it was a manifestation of her deepest fears. “F*ck” Amani cursed, her voice not the usual poised collected tone it was, this was the mirror of fears. Well, she did not know if that was the exact name, but she could tell, that it was the illusion of fears, nightmares or whatever one might wish to call it, no wonder the mirror had broken, and trapped them hear together, it was trying to scare them. “This,” Amani began, her tone quite shaky. “Is the mirror of nightmares, I believe.”