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Running Amok. On Your Marks, Get Set, Go!

Carla's eyes flick over the snuffed out ruins of her paraphenalia with mere murderous fury, but when they fasten on the mirror, her peeved-to-say-the-least expression changes to one of horror: that special kind of slow motion horror you get when it suddenly dawns on you what could possibly go wrong with something you thought was perfectly safe, heartbeats before it does so.

"You FOOL! Close the flap now or-"

Before she finishes, the wind whips up again, snuffing a few more candles out. The different rags, hanging and beads start to sway and clack together. Huh? So what? You stare at the mirror for enlightenment, noting that half the candles are out, but the rest are burning brightly around the circle with raggedy flames.

Then before you eyes, the silvery surface of the mirror, which had seemed pretty solid to you just a second ago, starts to ripple and sway in the breeze like a sail! Strange, broken shimmers of reflection slide along its surface, and a little subconscious part of you notes that its blowing about OUT OF TIME WITH THE WIND!

The breeze in the tent suddenly picks up to become a stiff wind, blowing the tent flaps back and forth. The mirror billows obscenely, and it seems to have a weight and momentum about it that is definately Eldritch, something like a cross between a flapping sheet and an ocean swell. The wind carries on strengthening to gale force. Several small and fragile sounding items smash on the ground.

Most tellingly, Carla ducks.

The candle flames are almost horizontal now, yet they seem to refuse to go out. The mirror's surface undulates again, and for a split second you suddenly catch sight of the utterly normal reflection of one of you on the warped mercury surface of the mirror.

It's...


Written by Lupine

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