Mirror ImageMature

Games? What games? Oh gods, this isn't good.

Falcon shifts uneasily behind the shifters, fidding with the hilt of his sword, unsure whether to draw it or not. There is power eminating from the witch; a malice so tangible it seems to haunt the air around her. It makes the hairs on his neck stands on end just to look at her. As if sensing him looking, she turns to him, manic white hair sticking up in all directions:

"Nervous?" she simpers. "Aww, poor thing."

The condescending note in her voice sets Falcon's teeth on edge. His hand tingles and he raises it threateningly, displaying the tattoo to the witch. Her eyes widen as she sees the mark:

"Interesting..." she hisses. Drake steps forward defensively:

"Are you going to get on with it or stand there jabbering all day?"

The witch smiles nastily, revealing a mouth full of pointed yellow teeth.

"Very well."

Then, with a shriek so piercing it makes Falcon clutch his ears, a blaze of white light envelops the group. Seconds later, Falcon opens his eyes, rubbing his head and groaning. Then he freezes.

Okay. I wasn't standing here before.

Instead of the narrow passageway, Falcon finds himself standing in a larger space, like some sort of cavern, but with no way in or out. The same eerie blue stone runs in veins through the walls, but in thinner streams now, like the thin silvery tendrils of spider webs.

"Hello?" he calls. "Anyone here?"

Something coughs behind him, a pronounced overdramatic sort of cough. Falcon whips around, sword drawn, only to find himself face to face with the most enormous mirror he has ever seen. His reflection peers back at him through the mirror-smooth surface. Falcon raises an eyebrow, gods, he thinks, I look mangy.

He approaches the mirror and gives it a tap, listening to the strange ringing note. He laughs:

"A mirror, please. What was I thinking."

"I don't know." says a voice.

Falcon jumps and looks around wildly for the source of the noise, until finally his gaze returns to the mirror. His own reflection is looking back at him, a sarcastic smile on its lips. Falcon blinks stupidly and the mirror image laughs derisively:

"Surprise!" it cackles. Stepping casually out of the mirror it pulls out its sword - an exact replica of Falcon's own - and starts twirling it absent mindedly in its hand.

"So," the mirror image says conversationally. "Let's get on with this then."

Then, without warning, it lunges for Falcon's throat.

The End

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