Such a simple thing yet such a magnitude of difference. Her complexion following her mien. She’d never quite … countenanced the idea of it like that before, but it seems so obvious now, that if inner beauty and peace can be seen outwardly, so then can control of one’s features reflect the intended equanimity internally. She tries to do as her reflection has done, without thinking, for a moment.
But, if she is the one copying the mirror, does that not make her the reflection? And perhaps that is all the mirror needs…
“Ah!,” Erudisia hears the mirror say in her head, “You are lovely, my dear. I would change nothing, except… have you considered a slightly less… martial look? Perhaps something lavender to match your fair complexion, or even a classic neutral like charcoal?” As these words are spoken, Erudisia sees her reflection shift to show the different wardrobe choices, all perfectly fitted, and impeccably attractive. Yet it does not seem to be answering to her way of thinking, but rather following a script of sorts, like an artificer's automaton.
Erudisia’s eyes fix avidly on the lavender outfit. It is like nothing she has ever seen before, cinched inward at the waist, flaring at the skit, yet double buttoned on the breast and laced at the cuff and hem, pinstriped. Like some wild punky melange of men’s lordly wear, ranger’s forest gear, and Gnomish inventor’s wife. Her mind conjures a world of gaslamp lit cobble streets and hazy dark mornings where danger and society seem to blend and unite like two hands embracing.
It seems terribly apt.
She pulls at once square patch of her ill fitting armor and then pinches and pulls at the loose fabric at her waist and over the course of several seconds, though she pinches and pulls and the armor seems to respond as it should, she is suddenly wearing the outfit she has seen in the mirror and like a magician performing magic with not an ounce of sorcery in his body, you would be at a loss to explain the trick that you have seen, only sure that it absolutely must be one.
Erudisia glances down at herself in her new outfit. “What a rich lustre,” she says to the mirror.
"Meredith... Meredith... what is happening? What is the book doing to Erudisia? What did it do to that ill fitting armor? Should we stop this or see where it takes her next?"
Bell is wound up tighter than a spring -- waiting to pounce and tear the books out of Erudisia's hands if things look to be going offkilter.
Such a simple thing yet such a magnitude of difference. Her complexion following her mien. She’d never quite … countenanced the idea of it like that before, but it seems so obvious now, that if inner beauty and peace can be seen outwardly, so then can control of one’s features reflect the intended equanimity internally. She tries to do as her reflection has done, without thinking, for a moment.
But, if she is the one copying the mirror, does that not make her the reflection? And perhaps that is all the mirror needs…
“Ah!,” Erudisia hears the mirror say in her head, “You are lovely, my dear. I would change nothing, except… have you considered a slightly less… martial look? Perhaps something lavender to match your fair complexion, or even a classic neutral like charcoal?” As these words are spoken, Erudisia sees her reflection shift to show the different wardrobe choices, all perfectly fitted, and impeccably attractive. Yet it does not seem to be answering to her way of thinking, but rather following a script of sorts, like an artificer's automaton.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters
Erudisia’s eyes fix avidly on the lavender outfit. It is like nothing she has ever seen before, cinched inward at the waist, flaring at the skit, yet double buttoned on the breast and laced at the cuff and hem, pinstriped. Like some wild punky melange of men’s lordly wear, ranger’s forest gear, and Gnomish inventor’s wife. Her mind conjures a world of gaslamp lit cobble streets and hazy dark mornings where danger and society seem to blend and unite like two hands embracing.
It seems terribly apt.
She pulls at once square patch of her ill fitting armor and then pinches and pulls at the loose fabric at her waist and over the course of several seconds, though she pinches and pulls and the armor seems to respond as it should, she is suddenly wearing the outfit she has seen in the mirror and like a magician performing magic with not an ounce of sorcery in his body, you would be at a loss to explain the trick that you have seen, only sure that it absolutely must be one.
Erudisia glances down at herself in her new outfit. “What a rich lustre,” she says to the mirror.
"Meredith... Meredith... what is happening? What is the book doing to Erudisia? What did it do to that ill fitting armor? Should we stop this or see where it takes her next?"
Bell is wound up tighter than a spring -- waiting to pounce and tear the books out of Erudisia's hands if things look to be going offkilter.
Meredith turns to Bell and mouths, " I have NO Godsdamned idea."