Looking into a mirror [LE, D1] (closed)

[Samantha Hayne]

She would've blinked, if the Darkling could do such a thing. Perhaps she thought the grim reaper was standing behind her. Perhaps there had been a planned change in Simon's service contract.

"Time?" She asked with a whisper again.

She wondered too, perhaps, if the *thing* knew what it was. If it knew anything at all, beyond the lie it had lived.

"What for, Medea?"

[Mirachaya]

"The end?" The fetch hung her head. "I knew you would come for me, other Medea. The dreams said so." The older woman slouched in her seat. She sighed to herself.

About that time a yell came from downstairs, and merely a minute later a large commotion began on the lower floor.

[Samantha Hayne]

She considered that answer for a moment. Samantha... really didn't like it. She had planned it all out in her head you see. She would slowly give out hints each night. Upping the anxiety every time. The worry, the fear. And then, when the thing was as close to the pit of despair as she could without falling in, then she would reveal herself. And worse, what the *thing* was.

But it had figured it out on its own, hadn't it? Or perhaps it had only figured out part of it. Perhaps it thought Samantha was the fake one. That would have to be rectified then. And of course, no matter what the thing had learned thus far, it *still* had to suffer. Its end would not come now. Not tonight. It had to be made to doubt.

And then came the yell from downstairs; causing her to turn to the door. Silence followed for the most immediate moments; and she turned back to the thing on the chair; she leaned forward again...

...and a final whisper came. "You are old. Your imagination plays tricks, it does."

Then she turned, out the room and went downstairs. Though she did check to see if the magic still kept her hidden from the world, before she'd emerge into the room where the commotion was to be found.

[Mirachaya]

The fake Medea's eyes opened at that. At being told she was old and senile.... Samantha was still hidden from the world.

On Samantha's way down the stairs, EMT's would enter the mansion. Not more than a minute later, a body covered with a sheet was removed from the dining room. Tearful noises came from the dining room.

[Samantha Hayne]

Now this was... beyond any expectations. A body?! What had happened?! She had no notion that anything such as this might occur. Certainly she could not think she had anything to do with it. None that she had done would've caused a thing such as this. Yet, it seemed an awful coincidence that death should happen just as she here.

Her gaze moved around those gathered. Her eyes searching for Marie first and foremost of all, and if she could be found, then looking for others of her blood, to see if she might figure out if the body belonged to family, or to a servant.

[Mirachaya]

All family is there and accounted for, a woman guest is sobbing into the arms of a female servant. Marie looks scared, her father's expression is unreadable.

[Samantha Hayne]

There was relief as she noted Marie wasn't the one beneath the sheet, and Samantha started wandering between and around the guests. There was curiosity in her effort, though the urge to harvest the powerful emotions present would have to be indulged too. Her observations moved between those present, thoughts swirling; ideas forming. Theories discussed and rejected. Much perhaps, as those gathered were trying to make sense of things.

Emotions washed over her. It was the emotions of the sobbing woman that were strongest and most easily harvested. Sadness. Sorrow. Not her favorite, but it would do; and some of it rubbed off perhaps too. Not all of it converted into precious glamour, but some lingering as Samantha considered the fate of her family again.

The inscrutable expression on the face of her nephew; Marie's father; drew her attention then. Perhaps there would be answers there, a foil for that lingering sadness. She did still have that envelope. Those photos and the mystery they represented. Was this connected? Or had this been a simple coincidence? Perhaps it was just a heart-attack. Innocent, as such things might be. Perhaps not. He had been corrupted by her touch same as most the rest of the family. It was not unthinkeable. But murder?

She stepped closer, behind him. And again she whispered. Taking care to have the words be voiced low enough so that only he might hear.

"I fear you may have done this," were the words she gave to his ears. Were she lucky, he might dismiss them as a figment of his imagination. There were a lot of sounds around, after all.

She had told him a secret fear of hers. Now it was his heart's turn to tell her his greatest one.





Harvesting glamour from the woman: Wits + Subterufge + 2 - Harvesting Glamour: 7d10o10h8 4

Spending 1 glamour to activate Witches' Intuition on her nephew: Wits + Subterfuge + Mantle VS Composure + powerstat: 8d10o10h8 3

[Mirachaya]

The harvesting was rather easy. After all, a grieving partner is rather shocked and saddened. The emotions swirled powerfully over Samantha as she harvested the grief. As she felt out the other emotions in the room she felt something unpleasant rolling around her nephew. A sickening sense of... joy was it? Relief?

As she spoke behind him, he frowned and cocked his head. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it and then the Contract hit him. The fear she got back was a fear of loss of power, of loss of control. His heart sang of wealth ill begotten.


3 Insensate tilt

[Samantha Hayne]

Such wealth the family had; and he had chosen to enlargen his share through such means? It sickened her. His relief sickened her too. What had he done? And how did any of this relate to the strange photos she'd found? If it did so at all?

Twisting his fear would have little practical value, she realized. His was the kind of fear that would leave him an empty husk for a time; and so if he felt that fear he likely would not be compelled into actions that could tell her more. Still, perhaps not... Perhaps she might yet learn something.

And so she took it, and changed it; if for but a time. Samantha replaced it with the visage of the man in those photos, hoping that some gnawing worry might spur him into actions or words she could interpret.

[Mirachaya]

The man invaded his thoughts. His eyes widened a bit, years of practicing keeping oneself composed, fell away. Yet, it wasn't so much a worried expression. Curiosity, perhaps, but not worry. Then as the wyrd took charge he began to worry about the man. He excused himself from the chaotic scene and headed for the stairs with a single mindedness that rivaled his desire for more money.