Terror. A dimension mirroring the living one--but morphed to reflect the imagination of its Overseer. And the current Overseer... has refused to relinquish her power for centuries, tormenting her souls--"terrors"--into becoming... zombies.
Arielle f...
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Learn the hard way, he'd said. The Being's words echoed inside Penelope's head, their vibrations vicious, their consequences disastrous. Each breath she took burned her lungs, and every exhale pushed a thick smoke from her mouth. She'd been so close to transforming into one of her own monsters, and still wasn't sure how she'd delayed it from happening.
But it was a matter of time before she lost her wits and had no control of herself anymore. It was no use pretending, and better to absorb all she could now, and throw it at the Being when he disembarked in her room. He would; sooner rather than later.
The mirror—her enchanted mirror, the one she'd trusted for centuries—refused to obey her. It wouldn't divulge her numbers, wouldn't show her the outside of her house, wouldn't whisper to Penelope in the Void, to ask for her help. Its surface was coated in fumes, impossible to see into. Even if she'd wanted to visualize her haggard appearance, Penelope wouldn't have been able to. She'd tried wiping the glass, conjuring water to splash over it, had even yelled profanities she detested at it. But nothing worked.
The mirror's magic wasn't dead. No, it was animated, awake; it spoke to her. It told her to give up, to accept defeat, to give away her powers, and march on to her fate. Someone else had stolen the mirror from her.
"No," she'd said to it, the first time it dared utter such nonsense. "You can't tell me what to do."
"I can, and I will," it said, sounding akin to the Being. Did he have control of the mirror, now? Had he figured a way to sneak into the house? Was he there, that instant?
Penelope's ability to view the outdoors had waned with all the flames; she'd hindered her own powers, to her regret. But before she'd lost her sight of the outside, she'd seen the Being trying—and failing—to weaken her barrier of fire. No, he couldn't have defeated it, not so soon. She didn't doubt he'd break through eventually, but she anticipated it would take hours. Days.
Penelope had no idea how much time had passed. How many minutes since the Being's voice had begun to slither into her mind, its smooth coolness crippling her, dulling her fire. The battle between cold and heat continued to rage within. And though she'd all but become a figure of fire, she still sensed ice in her core, trying to crack through her heart. The Being was still there, and if not in the house, he was close.
And powerful. And stubborn.
"You can't win. There's nothing to win," said the mirror, ripples racing across its surface.
For a second, Penelope thought she might regain control of it, that the ripples meant the Being's hold on its magic was fading. But to her dismay, the ripples disappeared, and the glass remained foggy, impenetrable.
"Well, you can't win, either. You're still outside, and I'm in here," Penelope sneered at the mirror, "so this will go on for all eternity, for all I care. I can play this game forever, but can you?"
