Camille’s Thursday evening odd encounter(Preston)
Date: 2025-06-26 18:52
(Camille’s Thursday evening odd encounter(Preston):Preston)
[Thu Jun 26 2025]
In Northern Wing Bookshelves/span
The northern wing stretches out in orderly rows of towering oak bookshelves
that reach from the polished marble floor to the coffered ceiling twenty feet
above. Brass rails run along the tops of each shelf unit, supporting rolling
ladders that glide silently on well-oiled wheels. The shelves themselves are
packed with volumes of every size and age – leather-bound tomes with gilt
edges stand beside modern hardcovers and yellowed paperbacks. Soft amber
light filters down from frosted glass fixtures suspended between the rows,
casting a warm glow across the book spines while leaving pools of shadow in
the deeper recesses. The air carries the distinctive scent of old paper and
binding glue, mixed with hints of lemon oil from the regularly polished wood.
At regular intervals, small reading alcoves break up the shelving, each
containing a simple wooden table and chair positioned beneath narrow windows
that look out onto the Ivory Quarter’s tree-lined streets. The floor’s
geometric pattern of black and white marble creates pathways between the
stacks, the stone worn smooth by countless footsteps over the years./span
It is about 65F(18C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Elm and Blackstone/span
(Your target discovers a cursed object in an antique shop or estate sale – a mirror that shows not your reflection, but your darkest possible future self. The owner desperately wants to get rid of it, but anyone who looks into it becomes obsessed with preventing what they’ve seen, leading to increasingly desperate and dangerous choices.)
It’s not everyday that Preston finds himself searching through the library, but today is one of those days. The man marches along rather noisily, boots thunking across that geometric marble patterned floor. “Hm,” he murmurs to himself, looking confused for half a moment before he spots Camille somewhere along the stacks. A grin begins to form on his face, just marching straight over to Camille. “Found you,” he states, crossing his arms over his chest – stopping just in front of Camille.
Camille looks up at Preston from amongst the shelves, blinking a bit “You must surely know sorcery. First you discover the secret of my foot size, now you find me amongst this twisting turning maze?” she asks incredulously in that soft spoken voice as she stands up. She’s damp from the rain outside still, her hair hanging lower, and somehow within the library, her feet bare.
Preston fishes something from his pocket, it’s a coin. Tossing it up into the air, he catches it – revealing a heads. “Nah, Cammy,” the man mentions, “I’m just lucky, it’s all there is to it.” Stuffing that coin back into his pocket he pats it once, and glances down at her bare feet, curiousity building in his face. Maybe he’s a foot wizard, or something like that – something that’ll help him discern whether or not the indigo-haired woman is lying to him.
As the two converse, there’s a sound that’s a little close by. It might just be two shelves over. It sounds like a scuffle is going on, some hushed conversation. The words might be picked up by someone with better hearing, but it does sound like voices.
Whether he remembers it or not, Camille’s claim of her shoe size would have been appropriate perhaps for a very large pixie. Camille, however, has normal sized feet for one her size, albeit perhaps a bit more delicate or dainty. But everything about the girl looks a bit delicate and dainty. “Oh, I suppose.” she says softly with a glance aside.
Her attention is drawn away from Preston towards the sounds “I think someone’s arguing over there…” she says “We should go to make certain things are okay.” A convenient distraction as she starts to pad off that direction, silent as a mouse without shoes… As most mice tend to be.
“Hm?” Preston wonders glancing towards the other books – apparently easily distracted now, or just very curious about whatever it is that’s going on there. “Yeah,” the man replies, following behind the dainty, silent, not a mouse-girl but close enough. A hand reaching into his pocket for something as he walks. He’s less quiet, boots clomping across the marble floor.
Camille lingers close to one of the bookshelves, picking one that intervenes between the commotion and herself. Here she pauses to liten for a moment.
It’s either the boots, or whatever is going on seems to have settled down for a time, because as Camille and Preston round that corner towards the shelves, they’d come to find that there’s nobody there. Except a flash of clothing disappearing towards the exit of the library. A fluttering of pages.
Resting on the floor where the couple was, looks to be a handmirror. It’s rather ornate with a gold trim, it’s left just right there, somehow uncracked from what looks to be a fall.
Camille calls out to the dissapearing figure “Oh wait, your mirror!” she steps forward, but without response she frowns. Looking to Preston over her shoulder “I should collect this, and return it to her.” she says softly as she bends down to retrieve the mirror.
Preston hustles towards the end of the shelves, peeking out. “Nope,” he calls over his shoulder towards Camille. “They’re gone.” Strolling back towards Camille, he looms just slightly in front of her – peering at the mirror, but not staring directly at it. “I think it’s yours now.”
There’s an almost eerie, oppressive feeling to the mirror. It’s a handmirror, but it somehow feels heavy and cold, and yet.. it’s almost inviting in a way. Like it wants you to look at it. To stare into the depths of that glass.
suppresses the little smile that almost forms and nods to Preston “Ahh, my hair is a mess.” she comments softly as she opens up the mirror to peer inside, reaching up to try to fix up what droops and dangles across face and shoulder. Despite her somewhat disheveled appearance, Camille finds herself lost a bit as she gazes into the mirror, a dazed expression creeping over her.
As Camille peers into that mirror, something in her appearance shifts. An oppressive, inviting heat runs up her hand, wanting to somehow pull her into the glass. It can’t more than likely, but it’s a power. There’s a flicker in the reflection, a shifting, a pulling, a change. It shows Camille in a different light.
Reality almost twists about her, the reflection almost leaping from the mirror, becoming reality. The reflection shows Camille, huddled on the floor of this very shelving, ripped clothes, crying, and very clearly wearing shoes.
That warmth seems to seep throughout the woman, pulling at her very desires – consuming. A slight voice whispering into her. “This is what happens to you,” it calls, “Change it. Feel it.” The voice is soothing, and comforting. Urging the viewer on.
The girl finds herself nodding a bit, affected by the power of the mirror, expression slightly vacant. “It tells the future.” she murmurs dreamily, letting that feeling of warmth sooth her, she gives a little decisive nod as she seems to come out of her daze. Her attention shifts to Preston. The source of the shoes. Probably he was also guilty of ripping her clothes, or would be. Her blue eyes narrow suspiciously, and without a word, Camille turns to the nearest bookshelf and starts to scale it, seeking to climb atop to ‘safety’ “No, stay down. You can’t come up here.” she’d call down to Preston from atop the bookshelf.
A voice rings out through that warmth, and through that power. “Hey, woah,” comes Preston’s voice, rumbling and quiet. “Camille, what the hell are you doing?” The man is probably way too large to effectively climb up a bookshelf, and it already rocks precariously – teetering just a bit with Camille atop of it. More than likely it’s not built for things like this. For people scaling it. “Come down, yeah?”
Camille settles herself atop the bookshelf in an attempt to stabilize it and herself in the process, long legs curled up under her as she lays a hand on the top of the book shelf, crouched on her haunches on all… Threes, given that her right hand holds the mirror. “I am afraid I have bested you, you will not have me today.” she declares with imperios triumph, turning her gaze back to the mirror so that it can praise her for how clever she was.
“What?” Preston replies, calling out to her. “Put the mirror down.” A command, his voice creeping through – almost forceful in nature. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The man’s eyes dart from side to side, looking for shelving or a ladder, or something he can get that’ll help him climb up. Alas, nothing is in this section.
The mirror changes, pulls at Camille some more. It shows a new future. This time she seems more triumphant than defeated. Preston lays on the ground beneath her, and she’s posing atop of him, foot atop his chest. She’s bloody, but grinning wildly. The man defeated beneath her, looking lifeless.
Camille shakes her head vigorously “It told me of your plans to take me and shoe me.” she informs him with a triumphant tone, her blue eyes alight. “I’m not going to put it down.” She informs him, turning back to the mirror’s image. This one causes her a bit of fret “Oh, no no, he was just going to… I wouldn’t slay him for that.” she tries to explain to the mirror.
“Look, you’re going to fall,” Preston adds, watching the shelving teeter a little more. This one might have been a bad choice to climb up, a bolt or two got loose or something. “Just climb down at least? I promise I won’t shoe you, okay?” There’s concern in his voice, worry. “If you climb down, and put the mirror down I’ll walk away. No shoeing.” Though he pauses once, “Slay me?”
The mirror, the voice laughs quietly into Camille’s ears. “This could be you,” it declares. “You can slay everyone who tries to mess with you.” It urges more, pushing and pulling at her thoughts, at her brain. “I can show you everything. Your future. What is it you want?”