Cecilion's throat closed tight as the figure leaned closer, the air thickening with the stench of scorched earth and rotting iron. It didn't speak aloud anymore; the pressure, the threat, throbbed inside his skull like a nail being hammered deeper and deeper.
"Choose."
The mirror shimmered again, and Cecilion saw it more clearly now — Paige staggering through a dark corridor lined with broken statues which follows her the moment she pass by them, her arms slack at her sides, mouth moving soundlessly like she was calling out for help that would never come — or perhaps, muttering a name.
Zixuan, on the other hand, was fighting. Clawing through bramble and twisted roots, blood slicking her fingers, teeth gritted in a silent snarl. Every step forward tore more of her apart. It seems as though she had already entered at least the third set of doors.
