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Vyn

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„I think I'll turn in for the night.“ Vyn seemed concerned.

„'Aight!“ a knock against the wheel. „Sleep tight!“

The door closed behind her. She wanted to delay the transition, but couldn't. A deal was a deal.

Body slumped down slowly onto the blanket. Vyn blinked.

Before the flesh had time enough to sag into comfort, Vyn that wasn't opened their eyes.

Got up quickly. No stretching or preparation. The vessel would obey.

The door creaked in surprise in protest. So did Jem. „Not sleeping?“

„Remembered something.“ The smile was perfect. But only the left shoulder knew how to shrug.


*​


Crorefell breathed fog. Shutters closed. The city had one more fool tonight.

The figure walked slowly. No rush. No hesitation. Their coat didn't match the street. Their step didn't match the poor visibility. Night wasn't yet Akmal's. Still, the dogs refused to bark. Black cats would cross the street another time.

One hand red up to the wrist. Some might've called it paint. But no one did. No one approached. A lantern twitched in the wind, revealing a glimpse. Vyn's face. But the shoulders were wrong. The walk was wrong. The silence that followed. Not all the shadows behind her belonged to the street. A man followed. Or something in the shape of one. Robed and tall. What little was visible of his skin spoke of mist. He kept pace, just out of touch. Never once looked up. Or around. Pace mirrored.

They didn't speak or exchange glances.

Somewhere behind the procession, someone else had taken notice. Someone who knew how to follow without being followed.

The woman with Vyn's face knew where she was going. And the city held its breath.
 
A deal was a deal.

And Silk kept her deals. So she watched, as a shape no one remembered. She was just another soul tonight: threadbare clothing, worn boots, a cracked tin cup that hadn’t seen a coin in hours. Her ashy hair matted, her face dirty street smoke, the kind of grime that made folk look immediately away. People saw her, but didn’t notice her. That was the trick. Not invisibility spells. Just being the sort of thing Crorefell had learned to ignore.

No one looked twice at a beggar, no one cared. Crorefell was a city of faces, but no one cared to know them all. Beggars were part of the landscape, like the stones on the streets. They were there, but they weren’t truly seen.

She watched Vyn leave. Or rather, the thing that wore Vyn’s body leave. The body had no time to settle into the comfort of sleep before it had risen again.

Silk followed at a distance, slinking through crooked alleys and secret shortcuts. But there was something else, no someone else. A second figure trailed behind Vyn. The thief kept her pace slow. A good ten paces behind. Maybe twelve. Just enough to melt if either of them turned their head.

The figure ahead, Vyn’s body, or the something wearing it walked, not with haste, but with purpose. Silk’s fingers twitched, itching to understand what was unfolding.
 
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The pace changed without warning. One moment a sleepwalker, next pivoting down an alley. A door opened into a bakery, still warm with oven breath. They passed without so much as a nod to the baker's apprentice inside.

Out the other side. Cross a narrow street. Into an herbalist storefront. Lanterns put out. The door should've been locked, but it opened for them. Another short path, another cut. Another exit.

Through an inn, place still bustling. Past a game of cards. No one bothered. Out the other way before slowing down.

They weren't running. They were listening. Each step a question.

Are you still with me?

The pair would never stop. The Vyn that wasn't took the next turn. The hooded figure kept pace, adjusting in mute compliance. They were headed away from the shops and into darker, narrower streets. Sounds becoming more sparse.

Soon only footsteps cared to be noticed. Heels against cobbles. But only one rhythm. One sound.
 
Silk’s eyes narrowed as they started to move fast. Vyn's body, or whatever it was... bolted. The thief tapped the side of her cloak, just once, a subtle signal. A rat’s flick of a tail. Hold yer tails low, boys. Keep ‘em pinned. It wasn’t the first time she’d used them, and it wouldn’t be the last. A rustling sound in the alleys.

Silk moved on, not breaking pace. A small voice echoed from the alley behind her, almost too soft to hear. “The woman’s gone through the baker’s. A tall fella with her.” Silk pivoted down another narrow alley. Another urchin, a grimy face peeking from around the corner. “Green door, ken’s open, she’s on it."

Every alley, every street corner, whispered to her, each one another signal from the children who knew these streets better than anyone. Another signal, fingers knocking against the stone. Boozing ken. Clean pass. She moved like a cat through cupboards. The tavern was loud. Silk was quiet. The back door thumped shut behind the pair and Silk was already vaulting the fence to its side yard. A small orkin girl dressed in an old potato sack pointed down a dark alley with a bony finger.

Silk’s lips tightened. The fiend was playing with her. She had been led down this alley before, knowing the scent of trap when it was rigged. Narrow streets. Fewer lights. No people. She didn’t follow directly. That might even be suicide. A stack of firewood became a step, became a leap. Up to a window ledge, crawl, press to the ceiling beam.

She climbed, fingers finding holds in chipped stone, toes on broken plaster, the side of a poorhouse giving her the height she needed.

Heart hammering. She was with them. Still watching.
 
The woman came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the narrowing alley. Her follower broke the perfectly practiced distance. Something was exchanged between their hands. As soon as the handoff was done, the woman broke off in a run. Took a sharp left. Leaving behind a low squeal of hurt and small bits of blood staining the stones. The tall hooded figure continued at a steady pace, straight down the previous path. Same as before, only he was now leading the way.

What had been a single problem had now become two. The path forked ahead.

The wrong woman or the wrong man. One to chase and one to stalk.

A choice before her.

What would Silk do?
 
Her deal was to watch the woman. That was stone-set.

The thief hit the muck of the alley without a sound, knees bending easy. Her hand brushed the ground for balance, came up sticky. She glanced down at her own hand. Blood. Fresh.

A dark smear across the stones, still glistening under the light of a half-dead lantern above. Her nose wrinkled. Bad sign. She remembered what Vyn had said about the creatures she shared her body with. Without thinking, Silk reached for the iron pin stitched inside her sleeve, thumbed in rough circles over her heart... three times, sunwise. Iron wards off grave’s fingers. Old gutter-cant, old street superstition.

She sucked her teeth.

Cobble, wall, low roof, Silk hurried after the woman, staying tight in the angles, feet kissing stone, hands snatching every ledge and loose drain to steal seconds where she could. Boots scraped stone only when needed, balance and momentum doing the rest.
 
The alley stretched long. Stone gave way to cracked earth, world thinning where the Road had bled out years ago. She moved without looking back. A sharp right, feet as quick as could be. Another and a slowing. A break. But not to rest. To prepare. Her hand held onto the leaning wall, ivy and mortar wrestling for dominance. She allowed herself to stain the surface, whispering something. But that wasn't the strange part. The wall talked back. More quiet words exchanged and finally something loud enough to be audible.

„Accepted. Come.“ Voice tender. Before the words fully left the woman's mouth, something other than the vine began twisting on the surface of the wall. White from a distance, and the faint sound of scratching. The air folded wrong, the side of the house forgetting it was solid, and allowed it through. First a wing, then another. Followed by a beak, head, one of the eyes black another milk – and finally the full body was through. Wrong beyond the shade it chose to dress in. Third leg tucked across it's middle. A raven made by a man who had never seen one before.

It dropped to the alley floor behind her. Incredibly stable on the third talon, it was more walking than hopping. Silent as guilt, it didn't need to be instructed. As quickly as it had dropped to the tiles, it shot into the air.

The watcher would not be allowed to continue unwatched. No one would.

The vessel was getting tired. She needed to get her work done. The Vyn that wasn't continued forward slowly. Passing a gate that didn't know how to close for many moons now. Entering a house that forgot what a door was. Moving to enter, she allowed the body to sag with fatigue.

This was the place.

This is where it would be done.
 
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Silk had seen all manner of odd things, but this? That made her spine knot tight beneath her rags.
The wall moved. And what it birthed had no right to be shaped like anything. A raven, but not. And then it looked.
Whatever that was, it saw her.

“Gods spit...” she muttered.

Because that thing wasn't just a spy. It was a warning. We see you.

Still, she moved. She had to. Up the low stack of barrels, over a cracked wall, slipping through the skeleton of a long-dead tannery. Silk flowed over the city's bones like a fox kit. The woman was slowing and entering some old ken where the shutters didn’t blink anymore. Light on the cobblestones, the thief followed. She passed a crumpled barrel and an old shoe. This place was quiet as a grave already full.

The City of Fools had alot of houses like this, gutted husks with memories in the walls and mushrooms in the corners. Silk peeked through the side window. It was gummed up with years of grime, the glass warped like a dream. She leaned in close, and peeled the grime with a quick scrape of her thumbnail, just enough to see.
 
Inside, the Pale was already drawing.

It moved without sound or question. Dragging fingers across the floor. The lines it left behind shimmered faintly. An attempt at geometry. But off somehow. Wrong. Shapes that rewarded long observation with headaches, were being drawn on the thirsty floorboards. Liquids ranging in different shades of red and orange, and one particular purple were being held in place easily by the settled dust. The symbols were tying into each other in a circle.

A large mirror hung in the middle. Caught the eye like overpolished brass. No rope or support, it simply floated there. Swaying slightly, without rhythm, it didn't seem to hold a reflection. Just a faintest shimmer of light. And if looked into long enough...

Silk.

Only she wasn't crouching to a window. The reflection standing and looking back to the originator. The face appeared partially scratched out, but the semblance was undeniable. Then it dropped to a crouch, as if learning from the hidden spy.

Fluttering accompanied the moment. Quiet at first. Then louder, closer. Then quiet again.

And then it came. A small gust of wind before the raven started diving. Silent as it dove for the watcher, in a most unbirdlike manner.

As the watcher became quarry, the woman inside turned exactly to where Princess was crouched.

Slow. Knowing.

And the smile was wrong for the face that wore it.
 
Her eyes drank everything. Silk’s fingers twitched near her dagger, but she kept it sheathed. The Pale’s movements were methodical. Was it drawing power from these symbols, or just painting some bizarre masterpiece? Rituals? It didn’t sit right with her. Magic wasn’t her game. It was a wild card that could turn things upside down.

The woman’s smile was wrong and it twisted the Silk's gut. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Something about the way the mirror shifted, the way it reflected her. Her face... or something wearing it like a coat, scratched out like a wanted poster that someone got too personal with. She wasn’t going to get close to that.

Shit. This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

Instead, Silk carefully backed away from the window, keeping her eyes on the scene inside, didn’t blink. Until the wind whispered the warning. A faint rustle of feathers followed by the whoosh of air as it descended straight toward her.

The raven.
Not a raven.
It dove.

She moved sideways, not back, because prey runs. She scraped her shoulder on the brick. Darting behind the nearest pile of old furniture, someone had tried to burn. The raven’s talons scraped the air where her face had just been.

One mistake and you’re dead, she reminded herself. You don’t get paid for throwing your life away.

Without a second thought, Silk darted inside the house. She didn’t hesitate for a moment, slamming the door shut behind her with a loud crash. The noise reverberated through the house. Silk strode straight into the room, not bothering with caution or stealth.

Her foot landed heavily on the circle of symbols, smudging the lines with a satisfying scrape. She walked straight through it, the circle of symbols. Blood and strange liquids splashed across the floor, but she didn’t give a damn. "All this for me?" she asked, her voice colored with annoyance. She crossed her arms.
 
She did not allow surprise to mar her features as the spy ducked inside. But her amazement was still betrayed through the Pale that stopped its work, head cocked. It snapped to attention, fully upright. Unsure how to handle the situation. She couldn't steady the rage that pulse in the vein across her forehead. It moved even when she forced the rest of the body still. Even a blind man could read that she was upset. Useless mortal things!

The door that was shut kept getting molested by sounds of scratch and wing. It took the creature a good few seconds to give up the pursuit and return to its hovering state far above.

The ritual bled outward now. Altered, but not stopped. The weave bonding to th disturbance. To the leg, the foot, the girl. Another unnatural smile spread from the caravan-bonded vessel. It wasn't an interruption. It was an unplanned evolution.

„Careful little one.“ She did her best to mimic the tone Vyn used with Marcy. Gentle, mocking. „It's tethered to you now.“ Not her best work. But she was satisfied.

She did not wish the Pale to harm the tether just yet. It might anger the ones who were positioning to siphon the shroud. She knew how upset she had been the last time a link to sustenance was severed without warning. It would be unwise to make that kind of enemy needlessly.

As Silk moved beyond the circle, the blood clung to her foot with an unnatural hold. The rest of the symbols slid silently across the floor. Leaving behind grooves in the yet undisturbed dust, the snakes of crimson, orange and purple were hoping to encompass the girl.

Mirror remained in place. Its swaying stopped.

It was focused on Silk.
 
Something tugged at her sole. She drew back a step instinctively, heel halfway off the floor as the sluggish smear of red clung tighter. The sigils on the floor shifted, she caught it. They were moving around her. Not rebuilding what she’d broken, but changing. Compensating.

“Yeah, no,” she muttered, stepping back. Tethered, the woman said. Silk didn’t like that word. “Tethered?” The thief repeated “What in all the pissholes of the city does that even mean?” A shiver ran up her spine. She forced it down. Fear was for later. Fear was for safe places.

Her breath caught in her chest, that old burglar’s instinct yelling at her, trap, trap, trap! She knew traps. This wasn’t like a guard dog or a tripwire. A hiss of dust lifted. Red and orange slid across the boards like oil on water. Don’t be scared, she told herself. You’ve robbed plaguehouses, for gods' sake!

But her eyes flicked again to the mirror. That reflection in the glass. Her hands flexed at her sides. Watch me, will you? A flick of her wrist, and cold steel whispered from its sheath. The small throwing knife balanced perfectly between her fingers for a breathless instant. She threw. It struck the mirror dead-center with a high, clear chime.

... and didn’t shatter. The glass rippled. The knife should’ve bounced off when shattering the mirror glass. But instead, it hung there, point first, as if she just stabbed into thick honey.

Shit.

She stepped back. The bloody sigil sucked at her shoes. “I’m starting to think this isn’t about me watching you..."
 
She watched the little one struggle with curiosity. Her own plans having to change was uncomfortable, but nowhere near what the mortal seemed to be experiencing.
And then she threw her dagger at the mirror.
To her shame, the Spirit allowed the vessel's hand to twitch. Not like this body had the tools to stop it. Still, she shouldn't have allowed weakness to show so easily. Before she had time to recompose, it broke surface.

As the hand crept through the mirror, the sound that followed it was that of a rock falling into still water. It grasped the hilt of the dagger as if it held it for a lifetime. And it did, Silk's fingers had known how to work that blade. As if dragging itself out by the knife, the whole arm came out, then a shoulder, a leg... but when the face finally emerged, it was wrong. Much like the reflection before, parts of it were scratched out, a white nothing staring back at the room. It moved like a praying mantis as it pulled its other leg out, never once out of balance.

„⸮ɿɘʇʇo υoγ nɒɔ ɘɿom ɈɒʜW .bɘɈqɘɔɔA“ the voice was Silk's and it wasn't.

At those words, the woman that was borrowing Vyn's face stepped further back. It was not supposed to be this sentient. At this level of awareness it might be a challenge for her to handle, let alone a street rat who didn't know better.

A voice stung behind Silk's eyes, one only she could hear.

„You opened the door. I remember you now.“
 
Silk took one step back, then another. Her boots scraped against the blood ink on the floor. Her shoulders hit the wall. Rough and cracked wood against her shoulder blades. No more room to retreat. The thing dragging itself out of the mirror made her want to rip her own eyes out just to stop seeing it. Wrong joints. Wrong balance. Like a drawing made by someone who had never seen a person, but heard about them in a nightmare.

“Put it back,” she said. Voice sharp now. No mocking. Not playing. “Put it back, Vyn. Or whoever you are. Put it back! Whatever this thing is, you call it off! Stop it!"

“You opened the door. I remember you now.”
Silk flinched as the voice hissed behind her eyes. Too close, too clear. “Oh, fuck off,” she hissed, half under her breath. “I open a lot of doors. It’s kind of my thing.” She turned, a reflex more than a decision, and she met the wall.

No one there.
Not behind her. Not in the room.
Inside.

The realization hit her like a fist. The voice hadn’t come through her ears, it had bypassed them and sank straight into her mind.
“You’re in my head!” she said aloud. Furious. Her jaw tightened.
 
Loneliness started to speak, because she saw her chance. Slow, like she was administering medicine. It was easier to heal wounds you inflicted yourself.

„Perhaps I could...“
"⸮nib-mυlɘA ,ƨυ Ɉƨniɒϱɒ ɿɒw ɘϱɒw oɈ ʞɘɘƨ υoγ ob ɿO .Ɉon blυoɔ υoY !oИ" The mirror spirit’s voice came in the sound of broken glass. The gifted knife in its grasp, now pointed straight at the vessel.

Snakes of blood lifted from the sigils below, slithering in the air. But they weren’t going for Silk. They instead formed a wall of intent and warning between the two spirits.

Loneliness froze as the world tilted. For the briefest moment, she could feel the knife beyond the flesh. She masked the flinch well, too well maybe, as she inched backwards. Her hands lifted up slowly, open palmed and empty – peace between them.

She didn’t recognize the name Reflection had spoken. But it knew her.
And that name, Aelum-din, felt right in a way more frightening than blood or shroud.
Because Reflection did not make mistakes.
Only revealed what was already there.

Reflection turned back to the cornered caller, trying to force its face into a humanoid shape. A single eye, matching Silk’s left, was best it could do at the moment.
It moved with a grace it had recently learned, quiet in a way only silks could be.
Closed the distance without rush, until it stood close enough to share breath, if such foolish things were necessary.

“.ƨmɿɘɈ ƨƨυɔƨib ƨυ Ɉɘ⅃” Voice back to Silk’s, and forever slightly off.
 
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