[[[Musica ౨ৎ])]
'It is always fun, after all, to marvel at the mess another calls a life, innit?” Amani remarked, her lips curling into a small, amused smile. She was responding to Arya’s chiding about her curiosity regarding Arya’s personal affairs. “Curiosity is a virtue,” she chuckled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “But you’re right, perhaps it’s not my place to judge your… entanglements. It is, of course, my fault for assuming you were wiser than that.” She teased, her eyes glinting with amusement.
Amani listened with rapt attention as Arya began to dissect her flair for the dramatic. “Who would keep things interesting if not you?” Arya leaned in slightly, her expression a mock seriousness as she posed the question. “Do you ever tire of playing the lead role in your own drama, or is the spotlight simply too addictive?”
“The latter,” Amani confirmed with a smirk. “I could never tire of the spotlight, dear Sellenova.” That was actually a lie, but one she told so often it almost felt true.
The truth was more complex, or perhaps it was more straightforward than Amani thought. There was a good reason she was not part of the Egnima house, other than the fact, it would agitate her to be in it- it was not that the stage, metaphorically, was not what she would like to call home, but in a way it was still her home. It was something she had particularly grown used to, though it would be a lie to say she enjoyed. Perhaps if her life had been different, then… “Depends on one’s definition of occasionally,” Amani said arching a brow.
Amani had to agree, that a touch of sentiment does make a good poetry, after all, poetry or any piece of literature is supposed to invoke a feeling in you, Whether one likes or does not like that feeling, it was still a feeling and it was true, that when reading Arya’s poetry, there was an uncomfortable feeling that had developed - one that had hit quite close to home. But will Amani say all of this? Of course not, who do you take her for? “Raw emotion has its place, sure. Let us agree to disagree. But without a purpose, without a deeper meaning, it’s just noise. It’s like watching a child throw a tantrum – a lot of sound and fury, but ultimately pointless.” She had leaned in slightly, then stood straight, crossing her arms, her eyes flickering to Arya as if she was in deep thoughts. In a way she was, after all, she was trying to find the right way to disagree with Arya. “Yes,” Amani said, not particularly directed to anyone but herself. " I’d rather have art that provokes thought, that questions and pushes boundaries. Sentiment is just a layer, a façade. Strip it away, and what do you have left? That’s what interests me. Art meant for shock factor invokes a feeling, but does it invoke a profound thought? Most of the time no, and that’s why I find art that only plays unto one’s emotions lazy, cunning and cheap in its allure."
After this, Amani had gone on to say, as a response to Arya’s talk of right poetry, that perhaps Arya’s poetry had not been the right poetry for her. Unlike most of her words towards Arya, that had not been said with any true malice laced in them, it was indeed a playful teasing remark-said, perhaps, to see how Arya would respond to it. As expected, she had been quite cipher in her response, questioning Amani’ s usage of ‘right kind of poetry’, “Unfortunately, I cannot find it in me to disagree with that,” Amani had said in response to Arya’s statement that her poetry invoked a feeling in Amani. “I suppose there is some used to your poetry after all,” Her lips tugged to a smirk as she took the poetry away from Arya’s hands and placed it back on the wall, where it belonged.
**“Run!” Amani had hissed, grabbing Arya’s arm and pulling her away from the approaching horror. They sprinted through the dimly lit space, their footsteps echoing off the walls, the sound of their breathing ragged and desperate. Amani’s mind raced, trying to remember the spell that could get them out of this nightmare. Latin and French phrases swirled in her thoughts, a mix of ancient words that held the key to their escape.
Amani tried to recite the beginning of the spell, to open a door, but instead of a door being opened, they had gotten a riddle.A riddle! Just what they needed, Amani sighed, as she recited it out loud for Arya to hear, asking if Arya had seen any glass around the place.
To that, Arya had said it’s not about the glass in the room but another mirror, telling Amani to trust her on this, to which Amani had bit back a remark, nodding her head, agreeing with Arya’s words to find that mirror.
It was an illusion, it was an illusion, Amani repeated in her head, but it didn’t make the situation any easier. The creature’s voice echoed ominously, sending shivers down her spine. Mirrors could blur the lines between reality and fantasy, and while she knew this monster was an illusion meant to perplex and give nightmares, its presence was unnerving. If she hadn’t seen that vision behind the creature’s eyes, if Arya’s vision and hers hadn’t intertwined, perhaps her heart wouldn’t be racing as it was.
Amani’s feet landed on the edge of a pond, and she blinked, pulling away from it as she wondered where it had come from. Realizing this was indeed an illusion, she gazed at the pond again. It had no reflection and looked quite like glass. Look for the glass that is more than it seems
“Sellenova,” Amani called out for Arya, “I think I found what we are supposed to be looking for.”