Glass Masks in the Glass Castle

Marissa’s countenance was a muted canvas, her skin a soft, almost translucent alabaster, so fine it seemed to dispel the ambient light rather than reflect it. Her hair was a solid, sculptural mass, falling in a severe and perfect angle that framed her pale face. Its color was that of deep black found in the deepest, most sunless parts of the earth, a mineral shade of no different to her cloak that seemed to absorb all light and warmth, holding its shape with a lacquered permanence as if carved from a single, dark jewel.

And then there were her eyes… eyes that betrayed the trepidatious state between stoic and manic— pools of polished obsidian set deep within their sockets, holding a fathomless stillness, and beneath them lay the faintest suggestion of a perpetual bruise, a testament to sleepless nights spent in the company of unseen thoughts. Her eyebrows were delicate, dark arches, like the distant, perfect curves of a winter branch against a pale sky. Her mouth was a study in subtle melancholy, perpetually downturned at the corners, a silent punctuation of resignation, as if her lips were forever shaping an unspoken elegy. An aura of quiet melancholy clung to her, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in the air that suggested the silent resonance of a distant, sorrowful bell.

I sighed internally and looked forward. The deeper passages of the mirror realm hummed with a rising harmonic, a frequency that vibrated in the teeth and made the air feel dense as water. Marissa's voice cut through it all with the dispassionate clarity of a coroner dictating an autopsy report, each word carving a path through the heavy air.

"The pressure intensifies with each descending level," she explained, her words echoing strangely in the crystalline corridors. "Much as water crushes those who venture too deep into oceanic abysses. Marvalyn's prison lies at the realm's deepest point, where magnetic gradients approach the crushing force of collapsed stars—an inescapable tomb."

Xiao Ru's ears drooped with obvious apprehension. "Surely we need not venture to such depths?"

"Fear not, little fox," Marissa replied, her smile carrying undertones of condescension. "Marvalyn does not lie in such a prison any longer, and the roots we seek lie at more merciful depths, though their precise location remains… problematic."

Remi chose that moment to unleash a torrent of spectral chittering that made Marissa's expression curdle like milk left in summer heat. Through Ami's translation, the ghost revealed weak points where accumulated energy had strained the mirror realm's structure.

I noted how Marissa's gaze lingered on our spectral guides with something approaching hostility—a detail that lodged itself in my mind like a splinter.

"Who else awaits us in these depths?" Serena inquired, her fan snapping open with nervous precision.

"A complete ensemble," Marissa replied with theatrical flourish. "Fey and their confederates, each playing their appointed role in this temple of consequence."

"Where do they lurk?" I pressed.

"Observing our every step," came her answer, accompanied by that infuriating smirk. "I suspect our next opposition congregates at the chasm ahead—unless they prefer ambuscades during moments of respite."

The sound reached us before sight—crystalline notes that seemed carved from winter wind and starlight. A flute song that belonged to no earthly instrument drifted through the fractured air like audible moonbeams.

"Miyuki," Marissa announced, her tone carrying the weight of old acquaintanceship.

Serena's grip on her fan tightened until her knuckles went white… though non oupire’s ought not notice the subtle shade of paleness. "You know her as well?" I asked, noting the tension that suddenly inhabited her frame.

"She owes me a drink," Serena replied with grim finality.

The mundane nature of the grievance struck our assembled company speechless.

"It's the principle of the matter," Serena added, as though this explained everything.

The flute's melody was severed mid-note, a thread of sound cut clean.

Before us stood a figure of stark, unsettling contrasts. A jester's hat is settled on her head, its base a band of some dark, soft fabric. From this, its single, long point rises not as cloth, but as a flickering holographic projection. The light wavers and drifts with an unnatural, lagging grace, forming the image of a floppy cap with a silent, holographic bell glimmering at its tip.

Beneath this strange crown, a half-mask of lacquered porcelain conceals the right side of her face—a stark, real accent against the illusion. It is a smooth, emotionless plate, broken only by a single, mournful eyehole, sweeping up at the temple into a delicate, wing-like flourish. From around the mask and cap, straight, dark hair falls to her shoulders—a jagged bang waving its severe curving lines a stark contrast to the rest of her theatrical costume. Her dress was a simple black cut, almost childishly terrible, accented by a row of crimson buttons like beads of blood. A physical plume, like a single, stylized white feather, juts from the side—much like Marissa’s strange epaulet.

Then, from behind a column of fractured reflections, another figure drifted forward—a woman surrounded by four orbs of dancing flame that orbited her form like malevolent satellites. Her hood cast shadows that seemed to move independently of any light source, and beneath it, only darkness was visible.

Her appearance is dominated by a tall, tapering hat that seems carved from a single piece of petrified, swirling wood. A prominent keyhole is etched into its center, like a door to the secrets of her mind, and piercing the side is a single, ornate key—its purpose, whether to lock or unlock, a mystery.

Beneath the hat's stylized brim, short, dark hair, cut in a shaggy bob, frames a face of quiet composure. One of her eyes is closed in serene contemplation, while the other is a perfect orb of absolute blackness, a miniature abyss…

A simple, unadorned cloak is fastened at her throat with a plain, circular clasp, its fabric falling loosely around her shoulders and suggesting a life of quiet pilgrimage or ascetic study.

"Do you know her?" I asked Serena, who shook her head with the sharp negation of someone who preferred to avoid complications.

"I've seen her in passing," Marissa offered, though uncertainty colored her voice.

"A feyborne magician," Ashley spat, and the venom in her tone made my skin crawl.

Ashley's breathing had become ragged, her hands vibrating like an over-wound clock spring. "I've encountered their troupes before. They do terrible things… at least I think it’s one of them… of the kind that burned down a shelter I'd built from sticks and tree sap."

I scratched my head, unsure what to make of such a mundane grievance in the face of our current crisis.

Marissa scoffed. "Then it's decided. These two will fight so we may proceed."

"What?" Ashley's voice cracked with horror.

"Perhaps we could all attack at once—" I began, but Marissa's glare cut me short.

"Where is the honor in that?"

Before she could step forward, Miyuki, with her flute so rigid, raised it to her lips. Her melody filled the cavern, and suddenly our exit became solid mirror, trapping us in this chamber of reflections.

Marissa's eye twitched with rage, dark lightning crackling around her clenched fist, but the flute player waggled her finger in warning. "Ah ah ah."

"She can manipulate mirrors with music?" Xiao Ru asked.

Serena nodded grimly. "Something like that."

The next melody erupted with violent intent, sending jagged shards toward Serena, who rolled and dodged with desperate grace. Meanwhile, the hooded magician sent blue flames racing toward Ashley—fires that burned so intensely they melted the mirror walls where they passed.

"What do you call yourself, homewrecker?" Ashley snarled as she evaded the stellar heat.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know what you and your kind did!"

"Terrible things, perhaps, but nothing so… mundane," came the reply.

Ashley gasped at the casual dismissal. "Mundane? How dare you—"

"We have to do something," I said, but before Marissa could act, the flute player's next song trapped us all in crystalline bonds—hands and feet caught in mirror fragments that existed in quantum superposition, impossible to break. Only Marissa seemed to fight the restraint with any success, her movements predicting where the bonds would appear. If nor for the never-ending quantum tide, Marissa would have shattered her restraints in seconds… though it seemed to only offer minutes in turn.

Xiao Ru had teleported, attempting to chip away at my restrains as they climbed my body… to little success.

"In five minutes, you'll all suffocate," the flute player—Miyuki—announced with cruel laughter.

Serena growled her response. "You'd rather kill than give what you owe?"

"I have quite a tab," Miyuki replied with casual indifference.

Rage transformed Serena's fans into miniature tornadoes that tore through the air toward her tormentor. Miyuki dove for cover, but not quickly enough—her leg split open, blood painting the chromatic floor.

Ashley continued her deadly dance with the magician, the area behind her now resembled a molten burrow of some great arctic spider carved by errant flames. Then disaster struck—she slipped, and the magician loomed over her with a sphere of black fire.

"A cold flame," the magician explained with academic interest. "It will freeze you until your very atoms cease moving, then shatter you like glass."

"Wait," Ashley pleaded. "Shouldn't I at least know your name? The one who bested me?"

The magician laughed. "Fine. I am Mana."

Ashley's smile held the deep satisfaction of a plague doctor confirming a diagnosis. "What a fool."

Suddenly Mana hung suspended in air, invisible forces holding her motionless. "You couldn't see my shadows, could you? Too much light, but they're always there. I just needed your name to compensate for the weakness."

Mana snarled but regained composure quickly. "If you've restrained me, you cannot possibly harm me!"

Ashley's headbutt was swift and brutal, sending stars exploding behind Mana's eyes. The blow wasn't enough to render her unconscious, but it bought precious time.

Serena and Miyuki traded increasingly desperate blows—shards in Serena's arm, cuts across her thigh, while Miyuki's mask lay shattered and her legs were ribbons of torn flesh. Blood pooled around the glass charmer as she summoned spikes from the ground toward the sliding Serena, one piercing Serena's leg and pinning her in place.

But Serena was already too close, and her fans were already in motion, lifting Miyuki into the air before sending a wind blade that cracked the flute in half. The fragments flew directly into Mana's back as she struggled with Ashley, knocking the breath from her lungs and sending her into unconsciousness.

Miyuki collapsed in defeat, our bonds dissolving as the broken flute's power died. Ami and Remi had vanished at some point, though when, I could naught truly say.

"That was close," I breathed as Ashley rushed to cradle the wounded Serena.

"I'm fine," Serena smiled through her pain, but her shriek when Ashley freed her leg from the spike suggested otherwise. Ashley immediately tore strips from her own shirt to bind the wound.

"Can you both continue?" I asked, eyeing their injuries with concern.

"Unlikely that we'll face an ambush now" Marissa said, already moving toward the flame-carved exit. "The remaining threats will be at the core."

Ashley made the difficult decision. "Serena can't walk. Leave us."

I looked to Xiao Ru, whose apprehension was written clearly across her features. The path ahead promised worse horrors than what we'd already faced, and we were about to face them with a diminished party. But the alternative was allowing whatever grew in the shrine's roots to reach maturity.