"𝕳𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝕴'𝖒 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖉 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑! "
Impatient with Madame Satan's slow method of convincing Sabrina to sign the book of the beast, The Dark Lord sends a figure from Lilith's past to give a more "youthful" approach...
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"DOMINUS, PATER. RESPICE AD MEA. EGO CREO FACIM"
Not wanting to alert anyone else of her presence, Persephone whispered the spell to herself quietly.
If her fellow demoness really was here she knew being found "trespassing" wouldn't go down well considering the circumstances.
She waggled her fingers a couple of times as if to check if the had spell worked.
Actually never mind; of course it had-she'd been doing magic for centuries.
But now for a mirror to see just in case she mused pushing herself up to her feet clumsily, still trying to get her bearings in this new human body. Despite her being "good" at shape shifting so to say (well if you want to get technical most likely one of the best) she was no stranger to accidentally giving herself an extra eye or nose.
She looked in to the first mirror, however instead of her reflection, the image mirrored back at her through the other side of the looking glass was a dimly lit bedroom, overlooked by a circular window, perfectly placed so the waning moon's somber glow seemed to shine directly through it, enveloping the small room in blue light.
The centrepiece of the room however, was the rustic metal bed in the middle of it, surrounded by an assortment of miscellaneous objects:
A Magic 8 ball, a rotary telephone, teddy bears, a cracked vase filled with purple Aconite flowers, archaic spellbooks yellowing with age and crumbling at their dog eared pages...
Persephone thought it looked like a junkyard— cluttered, abandoned and collecting dust rapidly by the minute.
Almost if someone had just closed their eyes and haphazardly thrown bric a brac about the room.
Tearing her eyes away from the questionable display, Persephone ventured onwards passing a series of mirrors in the house growing increasingly irritated as each of the ones she came across reflected a series of dimly lit, bric-a-brac filled rooms back at her as opposed to her reflection.
Each room differed from the last in purpose yet the style of interior continuously remained the same; she figured at this point they were from the same home—either that or the greendale style of decor was agonisingly bland and repetitive.
