Moonsilver, the pale-feathered raven arrives, following Raven.

Tonight, the Shrine of the Thirteenth god has been dressed up for company. The curtains are pulled from the mirrors, candles and torches flickering in a constant play of light and shadow that is only echoed in one of the other mirrors, creating shadows where there are none and light where it does not exist. The benches have been polished to a mirrorsheen, the ancient altar washed and set with candles, and a small golden pot sits dead centre.

Standing before the altar, is a taller woman in an aeterna gown dotted with grey and black adornments. She is still, hands clasped before her and her mirrormask-covered face is directed at the entrance.

Sir Alren, Scholar Duran, a perpetually put-upon assistant, 5 Templar Knight guards arrive, following Bianca.

Despite the unease of the predominantly Oathlander squad of Templars in Bianca's company upon entering the eerie mirrored halls leading to the shrine, the holy woman seemed at ease. She glided with no pomp or circumstance, a ghost of serenity and stark white against the environment's darkened hues of dusk. She joined the small gathering, taking a more reserved place at the rear of the group here as simply one of the faithful rather than a woman of her station.

Moonsilver, the pale-feathered raven have been dismissed.

Looking about, Aelgar notices Bianca has entered. He is leaning into a wall to the side already and so it is the work of but a moment to slide back unobtrusively and offer a slight bow and a smile her way before resettling himself quietly against that wall in a slightly less casual lean.

Caprice's light footsteps carry her into the shrine, the isabelline silk and citrines that adorn her shining as bright motes passing through shadows but blending into the golden brilliance of the central room. There's no discomfort in her stance, her expression - only a tourist's hesitancy over where the eve's event require her to sit or stand.

Bianca leaned to place her hand on Aelgar's shoulder before he withdrew, offering a gentle murmur and slight smile before bowing her head and returning her attention to the masked woman.

When the Princess Natasha Thrax arrives for the vigil and blessing, she is dressed to match the motif and decor present within the Shrine of the Thirteenth; swathed in a vintage silhouette of darker-than-midnight silks, her characteristic austerity is all the more emphasized by the high collar, long sleeves and draping skirts that pool like ink into the ground until only the pointed tips of her thigh-high boots are visible under the embroidered hems, hair fashioned in a coiffure that carries little by way of embellishment but pinned in such a way to display the illusory effect of rich chocolate tresses that seem to be held up by their own power. As long legged strides assist with her cutting ingress, she is far from unaccompanied; despite the tall heels, Lord Romulius Blackshore manages to tower over her still by a few inches, long, pale fingers tucked securely into the crook of his elbow, and dressed in a manner similar to her own, albeit for him it is the usual - a uniform of a kind when he rarely ever diverges from his own black clothing.

The pair don't appear to be in any hurry to interject themselves in the proceedings as the faithful slowly filter in the hallways for Sister Giada Morello's vigil and blessing, maneuvering their way through the fringes of the gathering. The princess' keen near-obsidian gaze sweeps across the grand well appointed space in a wide net, effort evident in picking up familiar faces. It's an attentive one, nevermind that she's presently engaged in soft conversation with her companion, face tilted up to him as she drops a quiet whisper in his ear, a brief squeeze of her fingers against his sleeve made while inaudible words are exchanged.

Aelgar returned a nod and a smile to Bianca, not interrupting the service with and sound but respect evident in the expression.

Olive green eyes turn to Bianca, and the Mirrormask inclines her head slightly in greeting. While her mouth is covered, the words are clear and tone warmly welcoming. "Come in, come in. I do not expect a large crowd tonight, so let's all move up." Hands extend to invite the arrivals to the benches closer to the altar. "Welcome to the Shrine of the Dark Reflection. Some of you may not be used to the Shrine, and the mirrors can unsettle some others, but tonight we are united as the Faithful. Come closer, and we will pray."

Finn the large Northern hunting dog with icy blue eyes, Rocco, the rascally assistant arrive, following Thea.

Bianca dipped a subtle bow of her head to Giada upon her acknowledgment of her and upon her request for the small gathering to move forward, the Legate took no dally time and complied in a whisper of aeterna and umbra to find a place on the benches. Her hands then moved to rest palm up atop her knees in preparation of the pending prayers.

Like his companion, Romulius Blackshore is swathed in all of the dour austerity that the Mourning Isles are famous for - black leathers and silk allow for an ensemble befitting the mood of the Shrine, though it's just as likely he'd wear the same to any other appointment for the evening. The cerulean gaze that serves as a biological signature of his lineage sweeps the chiaroscuro of the Shrine, something between fascination and trepidation tinting his regard though there's a half smile that makes itself known on sight of a small handful of familiar faces.

Whatever whisper might have been offered by Natasha is returned in a similarly muted volume before leading towards the altar at Giada's invitation, letting smile fade into a more somber look that this sort of affair *must* demand. He helps the princess to a bench, first, before taking his own seat beside her.

Romulius has joined the Polished Reflective Bench Seating.

Aelgar @me also slides back down the aisle between wall and seating, moving onto a bench and settling near the outer aisle he had come from, the regular at the shrine apparently content to leave the more accessible seating for those arriving for the sermon.

Aelgar also slides back down the aisle between wall and seating, moving onto a bench and settling near the outer aisle he had come from, the regular at the shrine apparently content to leave the more accessible seating for those arriving for the sermon.

Natasha has joined the Polished Reflective Bench Seating.

Thea is late. She knows it as she slips inside, quietly stepping toward a bench. Thea isn't here for any blessning of mirrors, she doesn't have one at the moment. No, she's just here---simply because. Seeing people, Thea nods her head in her quiet greeting before having a seat.

Thea has joined the Perfectly Balanced Bench Seating.

Aelgar has joined the Perfectly Balanced Bench Seating.

Bianca has joined the Perfectly Balanced Bench Seating.

Caprice has joined the Perfectly Balanced Bench Seating.

There's a respectful dip of Natasha's head towards Bianca once she's led by her escort closer to the altar, the Legate being a distinct and easily recognizable face among those clustered in the Shrine. Thea, Aelgar and Caprice each get a wordless greeting, the subtle turn of her mouth all the more muted given the reverence this place demands until her face angles forward again once Romulius has chosen their seats. Fingers curled lightly over his own, she settles upon one of the benches with his assistance, drawing inky skirts slightly on one side to make room for the larger man to settle next to her. Whatever soft reply he has for her garners the flitting specter of a more visible smile, brushed at it is with vestigial traces of affection that doesn't quite flower into a full expression, though no additional words are exchanged once the masked godsworn starts the service.

As people settle in further to the front, the aeterna-wrapped Celebrant turns half to nod at a Silent Reflection. Two of them step forward, one with a smoky crystal decanter, another with a pristine towel. They bow before the altar, set down the implements, bow again and depart.

The Mirrormask's eyes close, her palms lifted supplication. "Blessed Lord Tehom," she says, her Lenosian accented voice tender and soft, "Lord of Duality, Gifter of Reflection, Teacher of Balance, we gather at your altar to give you thanks and praise. We bring ourselves and the symbol of ourselves to you, seeking wisdom and true sight; we do not fear the truth of ourselves, living as you have taught. Rest with us this while as we attend to your due."

Natasha's gracious greeting was met with a similar reply on behalf of the holy woman. Bianca dipped her head low, moonlit gaze lingering on the pair of Mourning Islanders with an undertone of warmth matched by the subtle drawl of a smile across her lips. BUT then prayers began and her chin dipped low again in a bow before the God of Duality, however one of her palm up hands reached aside to Thea who had found a place near on the benches and she gave the newest Wyvernheart's hand a familial squeeze, lingering as the prayer went on.

Hearing the prayer starting, Thea turns to the Mirrormask. With a bowed head, she grows respectful, though that doesn't stop her from watching. There's a familiar smile to Bianca. Faint, but there, returning the squeeze with just as much familiarity, totally relaxed here.

Aelgar is silent and still, watching the priestess with dedicated attention, seeming to be studying her movements and gestures, so focused has he become. Erect of posture and hood laid back to allow a clear view, he is the picture of a man totally at peace with his surroundings and in the moment with the ceremony.

The call to prayer sees Romulius's head dip into a gesture of reverence, though gaze remains fixed to the Mirrormask and her sermon to observe the ceremony, interest in its procession unmistakable.

1 Culler Boatswain, 2 Culler Midshipman arrive, following Samira.

Invocation completed, the Second Reflection turns from the altar to face the supplicants.

"The use of a mirror is a sacred thing," she says, slipping gently into the sermon part of the service with a calm voice. "You have all heard of superstitions and stories, all of them imploring the listener to treat mirrors with respect. Not to charge headlong into what you do not understand. The ideals of the gods vary from one to the other, but it is the Thirteenth that oblilges us to slow down our activity and fully engage in our worship of the Pantheon." Her mask moves slightly as she speaks. "Lord Tehom explains to us the true value of reality: that there is always another side, that time -must- be taken to meditate on our weakness and strength, that balance is in all things. When we take a mirror into our daily practice, we do so acknowledging that we are fundamentally flawed." She pauses to let the crowd catch up.

Her attentiveness intensifies, however subtly the act actually is where Natasha is situated, expression rendered inscrutable by solemnity and the inherent respect prevalent in the devout. Long academic's fingers fold into one another, linking as her head dips slightly forward in silent prayer.

Samira is a late arrival to the event, approaching the shrine with stealthy footsteps so as to avoid drawing attention. Her initial intention is to linger near the back of the gathering, but the glimpse of an empty spot on the nearby bench provides a perfect opportunity. Using her small stature to her advantage, she hastily ducks into a seat and clasps her charcoal-smudged fingers together in her lap while turning attention upon the masked speaker.

The first words of the sermon bring the curl of amusement to Romulius's lips - 'respect', perhaps, is a more delicate term for how those superstitions he's familiar with would profess the proper treatment of mirrors to be. Still, there's no indication of any protest of his own at how the Mirrormask speaks of the Thirteenth and the virtues of his place amongst the Pantheon.

Aelgar remains still, focused, although an attentive person might notice his eyes flicker to a nearby mirror and back as the sermon flows over that particular topic. There is nothing in the Brother's appearance to suggest any pretensions to perfection, plain leathers and plain grooming more reminiscent of traveling functionality than courtly refinement, but even were he in fine raiment his quiet attention and open expression might suggest he is immersed in the lesson and not in himself.

Samira has joined the Perfectly Balanced Bench Seating.

When a new and yet famililar face joins them at the bench, Thea looks over. She bows her head and offers a slight smile to Samira, greeting her quietly.

"So then, if we accept that we are 'flawed', we come to the question." and here the woman's head tilts, shards of mirrors catching light and fragments of a face, no that face, no wait -that- face among those gathered. "The question is, simply put, what lessons can my flaws teach me? Of course, this may sound different to each of you, whether you say 'What do I stand to gain by facing fear and discomfort?' or 'How can I use my weakness to support my strength?' The questions asked in Reflection are meant to push you beyond what you have imposed upon yourself. It teaches wisdom. The question is always proactive."

When the prayer ended and the sermon began, Bianca's eyes again lifted to the woman before the altar. As she listened there was a nod of agreement from time to time, just a subtle downward tilt. Her hand remained with Thea's in that familial bond until the Wyvernhart decided otherwise and with Samira's arrival her soft smile returned and another nod of greeting was offered to her though attention soon drew back to the speaker.

The questions posed no doubt find consideration, though they don't draw Romulius to dive headlong into any sort of self-reflection at present. Gaze drifts from the sermon, a moment, to regard the play of light and shadow throughout the chamber, making use of the array of mirrors to glimpse further than his position might otherwise allow.

The last few months are rife with lessons; the brief flicker of pensiveness returns on Natasha's alabaster mien, however briefly, at the words uttered by the sermoner, gaze focused on the front of the gathering and observing the masked figure. Particular attention and stellar memory allows her to recognize the voice filtering from the reflective facade situated on the godsworn's face, but otherwise her features maintain their hold on her signature impassivity, and one that may rival most paintings and sculptures with how readable it is. Her eyes, however, brim with unadulterated, restless life, drinking in the details no matter how stationary her position.

Aelgar inhales and exhales slowly, not tension visible in the erectly seated body or the serene face atop it. One might get the impression he had done this before, right here in this very spot. He seems no stranger to the reflection or to the reflections around him, but more like he was participating in a very familiar and practiced setting.

Samira's features are drawn into a look of pensive concentration, her focus intent upon the sermon. The quiet greetings offered her way don't escape her notice, however, the shadow of a smile and a subtle upnod offered to Thea and Bianca in response.

Thea is oddly comfortable right now, with the Mother of Mother's. She nods her head in agreement at whatever the speaker has said, her gold-flecked green eyes shifting a bit.

Someone wearing an artfully concealing stygian mirrormask holds her hand out and a smooth, glossy black stone that fits in the palm is given over. For now, it's simply held in both hands around the natural waist. "In this asking, we find the wisdom of balance. So it is that we use mirrors as symbols of what we do not know and what we fear." Still speaking, she turns back to the altar. "When we take in a mirror, we must treat it as the holy implement that it is."

The cover of the pot comes off and is handed to the Silent Reflection who seems to be her assistant today, and caramel-hued hands lower the stone into the pot. The rim of the small pot is wiped ritually clean with thirteen passes of the immaculate aeterna cloth, the woman continuing the sermon. "These things inside of us that we leave unexamined, unchallenged, these are the things that hold the most power over us. Symbolically, we use the mirror to remind ourselves that we can exercise balance on the line between flame and shadow. Balance is a daily practice, one of obstinant dedication and a willingness to be in over your head as you learn how to swim." The decanter is uncorked and sparklingly pure water is poured into the pot over the black stone. Holy water. The Mirrormask wipes her hands dry and replaces the pot's lid.

Someone wearing an artfully concealing stygian mirrormask's back is turned again, the mask presented to the gathered Faithful. "If you are ready to begin this practice, this duty to the gods, then bring your mirror and have it blessed." Olive green eyes swing from face to face. "Perhaps you have no mirror. Come anyway and receive His blessing."

Bianca takes Silver Mirror Pendant from a tawny gold leather scroll case attached to a chain.

Bianca has joined the line.

Natasha has joined the line.

Romulius has joined the line.

Thea has joined the line.

Aelgar has joined the line.

Turn in line: Bianca

Bianca rose with immediacy, her hand plucking from a pouch on her beautiful scroll-case (a stellar design by Caprice) for a small and well-worn mirrored pendant. It's design may be familiar to some, an Arterius creation. As she approached the altar and the woman before it the little mirror was extended between them on the pale and open span of an ink-stained palm. Her head bowed again as if in prayer in wait of the blessing.

Samira has joined the line.

It's the ritual that dark eyes flare with their amber stars, Natasha watching the movement of cloth over stone with interest, having not been familiar with the practice, and taking the opportunity to educate herself with methods and devotions that she has not been aware of previously. Words on balance resonate, and agreement touches on the porcelain lines of her expression in her intent observance of the godsworn presiding over the current congregation, but once worshippers are called to present their mirrors, the princess rises from her seat, tall, lissome figure unfolding in a swift, clipped movement that brings black silks to rustle near-silently to the floor. She takes a step towards the aisle, somewhere behind Mother Bianca but before Romulius, and patiently waits her turn as she retrieves a simple mirror framed in silver from her pocket, unwrapping it from the bolt of silk that protects its surface from marring within its environs - it's a small thing, barely the span of her palm, though it seems to be identical to her companion's once it finds the low ambient light of the candles positioned around the mirrors and the front of the pews.

The Celebrant's assistant removes the lid from the pot, though the Second Reflection does hand a slightly harder time picking the pot up with her only one-hand-left hand. The Mirrormask accepts the pendant from Bianca and lays it flat on her non-ink-stained hand. A finger is dipped in the holy water from the stone-holding pot, and a single line is drawn from top to bottom as quiet words of blessing and suplication whispered in its wake. The mirror is flipped to show the back and the same application of holy water is joined the continued prayer. The Mirrormask finishes and hands Bianca's pendant back. "Thank you, Mother Bianca."

Turn in line: Natasha

"So let it be." Bianca murmured once the blessing was completed and the pendant returned. "Thank you, Second Reflection." She withdrew after that to keep the line moving, returning to her seat.

A smile is impossible to see, but the Mirrormask's eyes are warm at Bianca's thanks.

Once Mother Bianca has her mirror blessed, Natasha moves towards the front to offer her mirror to the Second Reflection, her head dipped low in wordless prayer.

Someone wearing an artfully concealing stygian mirrormask accepts the mirror from Natasha, pausing for a warmly murmured, "Thank you, your Highness." Once again, she dips a finger into the holy water held by the Silent Reflection assisting her. As she prays, the finger draws a line bisecting the mirror with the holy water, supplications and words of blessing spoken almost tenderly to the mirror. As with Bianca's, she turns it to draw another vertical line down the back. When the blessing is finished, she hands Natasha her mirror back. "Blessings to you. May your Reflection bring you Balance."

Turn in line: Romulius

It might be little surprise that of the whole service, words on facing worries of drowning in order to learn to swim find the most impact with Romulius - the only indication that the man is particularly practiced in matters of faith is the blue stone pinned in stygian upon his breast, a close inspection of which would reveal Mangata's symbol inscribed upon it. Still, the sermon's conclusion sees a look of quiet gratitude towards the Second Reflection before rising at her prompting, leading Natasha towards the assembled line before falling in behind her. He reaches into a pocket upon his doublet to retrieve something wrapped in black velvet, unraveled to reveal a polished mirror framed in silver, just small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

Once the princess received her blessing, he follows in her wake to present the object - an exact reflection of the one blessed a moment ago - to the Mirrormask for the sacrament.

Someone wearing an artfully concealing stygian mirrormask takes Romulius' mirror. "Thank you, Lord Blackshore," says the Second Reflection behind her mask. The ritual is likely familiar by now. The finger brings the holy water to the mirror, words of praise for Tehom married with gentle requests for courage and protection during reflection. The mirror turns; another line is drawn. When finished the mirror is returned to the man. "Blessings on you. May you find Balance in your pursuits."

Turn in line: Thea

As the blessings continue, the mirrors all around the shrine seem to start to vibrate. It's subtle at first, just a very gentle shaking when one gazes at their candlelit reflection within the mirrors. Then, as the mirrors tremble, black shadows start to stretch out over the mirrors, blocking out all reflections and showing only darkness. From within the darkness of those mirrors, there is the sound of chittering insects, of voices murmuring in unison, the scent of woodsmoke as if a forest is burning down. The mirrors tremble once more, faster now, and, several cracks begin to chase along the silvered surface of the mirrors, but the darkness and the sense of being watched, of being so very carefully watched, begins to fade...

Reaching into her satchel, Thea is quick to pull out a simple pendant. Nothing extravagant. Just enough to serve it's purpose, something to small. She makes her way to the Mirrormask, quickly as to not hold anything up. Thea produces it easily, gently, in one swift motion.

Once it's blessed, Thea is quick to make her way back to her seat, just as quiet as she has been, but not before giving her thanks.

There is, naturally, a VERY cautious pause as the Second Reflection accepts the pendant from Thea. But then the woman squares her shoulders and resumes her work. This time, however, her words are carry with more strength. "Blessed Lord Tehom, you who give us wisdom, bless this mirror and bind it to your purposes. May it be sacred to your worship and to the following of your Faithful. We plead you sanctify us that we might praise you more fully." The mirror is marked on both sides as she prays, handing it back to Thea so she can escape.

That same interest lingers during the blessing of her mirror, Natasha watching the Second Reflection as she blesses frame and reflective surface, the warmth in her tone inspiring a faint lift in the corners of her lips. "Thank you for your guidance and benediction, Second Reflection," she murmurs softly, before taking a few steps to the side. She doesn't seem inclined to leave the vicinity just yet when her companion is next in line behind her, dark eyes falling on Romulius when he presents his own mirror; as she waits, however, the hairs at the back of her neck prickle, before she turns, slowly, to regard the surrounding mirrors in the chamber and nearly drops the one she has in hand when shadows bleed like spilled ink through the frames, taking several steps back - in the end, it's the chittering that drains the color on her face, the scent of wood burning stinging her nose and in the process made to recall a few recent dreams. "Rom," she whispers, unable to help it, taking a few steps back from the mirrors and clutching the silver frame in her palm.

Turn in line: Aelgar

Aelgar is frowning at the mirrors now, looking to both sides and fingering his axe. He approached the priestess, though, and...

Aelgar is calmly going through his clothing when his turn comes, finally producing a small, hand-sized mirror in a folding case from his belt pouch and holding it out to Giada with an innocent flicker of a grin. He remains silent but dips his head respectfully to the mirrored face as he stands evenly balanced on two legs and waits.

Aelgar continuing to glance boldly aside at the misbehaviing mirrors. There is a slight movement of his lips as he murmurs his own prayer beneath his breath.

The shifting of the mirrors seemed to only minorly raise Bianca's alert, having seen quite a few peculiarities when it came to the worship of Tehom... that was until that insect choir and scent of smoke filled the area. Bianca's gaze turned, brow drawing knit in the familiarity of it and her Templar guardsmen were now /definitely/ uncomfortable as they moved without question to surround the Legate and do their duty in the face of a potential unknown foe. Thankfully, for the nervous templars the manifestation faded though they now remained as sentinels around the holy woman. Sir Alren, the aged Othlander Templar, appeared particularly displeased and tense.

Turn in line: Samira

Moonsilver, the pale-feathered raven leaves, following Raven.

"Thank you, Second Reflection." There's a gracious dip of head from Romulius before he moves to follow after Natasha - his tracks, though, find a stop at the shuddering of the Shrine's many mirrors. Hesitation is short-lived, the Sword quickly closing the distance to the princess as a hand rises to the straps of his baldric preemptively, ready to shed it to draw his greatsword. The fading of the strange phenomenon, though, keeps it fixed to his person - peacebound as the scabbard is, it's unlikely that he would have managed to see the blade put to use regardless. A comforting hand finds Natasha's shoulder, something offered in a murmur even as he looks about the Shrine with suspicion.

Someone wearing an artfully concealing stygian mirrormask When Giada finishes praying over Aelgar's mirror, she murmurs her thanks, eyes twinkling VERY faintly. The mirrors misbehaving is enough to have produced a reaction. "Lord Blackshore, the gods generally dislike it when weapons are drawn in sanctified spaces," she says with an attempt at humour.

Someone wearing an artfully concealing stygian mirrormask goes back to her blessing of Samira's mirror.

Thea lifts her eyebrow, realizing what she's seen. She thins her lips, her hand close to the hilt of her kopis. Thea gives a quick glance to Bianca, then back to the mirrors before they fade away.

Aelgar fades back from the Mirrormask, but he does not return to a seat. Instead, he moves discreetly a few feet to the side and plants himself, less impressive than a Templar but just as determined, once again calm but his lips still occasionally moving with some internal dialogue.

The black shadows which work their way across the reflective surfaces around the shrine seize Samira's full attention. She watches with a hint of trepidation, tension building in her posture. When her turn comes to step forward, she remains rooted in place for a moment longer, her feet refusing to carry her forward until the sensations begin to fade. She forces herself to take those first purposeful steps forward then, offering her mirror for the blessing. Like most of her possessions, the handheld mirror is a simple and inexpensive thing, plain and no bigger than her palm.

Someone wearing an artfully concealing stygian mirrormask checks composure and performance at hard. Someone wearing an artfully concealing stygian mirrormask marginally fails.

Turning away from Natasha, Romulius gives a dip of head and shoulders into a curt bow to Giada. "Of course, Second Reflection. I'd not dare." Perhaps the motion a moment ago was just a startle reflex. Perhaps he *would* dare, if the mirrors continued to act out.

Someone wearing an artfully concealing stygian mirrormask is, on the other hand, clearly -pretending- that it's just another day in paradise even when it obviously isn't. She takes Samira's mirror with a nod. "Thank you, Messere Samira." She dips her finger back into the holy water. There's a tiny shake there and she pauses to breath deeply. One steadying inhalation later, she draws a line down the mirror and resumes praying softly.

Bianca had remained seated during the sudden incursion of the shifting mirrors and when it came to an end her hand lifted to Sir Alren's forearm in hopes of easing the Templar. To know avail, of course. Oathlanders gonna' oath and as far as the older man was concerned this place was cursed. See the mirrors? Obviously cursed. In contrast Bianca had eased as soon as the chittering had faded, nevermind the moving shadows or burning scent. That particular audio element had touched upon a memory she was loathe to relive and with its signifier passed she resumed her usual subdued calm without further fluctuation. A nod of assurance was sent Thea's way, gesturing to the Wyvernhart to return to the benches with her.

Wary dark eyes remain cast on the mirrors and the effects - particularly the oppressive sense of being watched - start to fade; Natasha's gaze flits over to the hand on her shoulder, where sun-darkened fingers rest and her head inclining absently towards the source of the murmur close to her ear, Romulius' familiar Islander cadence filling it. There's a nod, however absent, though she's wordless still - reassurance manages to find its way on the line of her mouth, before easing back into her seat and resuming her perfect posture, however made rigid by prevailing tension. Eyes drift to the rest of the congregation and over the faces she finds and whatever reactions are stamped upon them.

When all the mirrors have been blessed, the Second Reflection gives a curt nod to the Silent ones. Calm and efficient they process through the shrine recovering all the mirrors with their thin black curtains. "Thank you all for coming," she says cheerfully, "and for staying through Mirrormageddon. Sometimes the light can be a bit dramatic around mirrors, but the service has ended. Thank you all again." Nothing to see here.

Thea subtly relaxes when--whatever that was starts to slowly go. Taking the que from Bianca, she returns back to her seat. Allowing the Oathlanders to do what Oathlanders do. Nevermind she's one now too. OOPS! But then the service is OVER! "Thank you for this,"Thea hears herself saying. "It was---enligthening." Is that the right word?

The line has been dismissed by Someone wearing an artfully concealing stygian mirrormask.

There's visible relief on Romulius's face when curtains are drawn over the mirrors, as though fabric alone could fight off whatever his expression suggests might lurk behind them. He rises, then, to offer a hand to Natasha to help her to her feet, offering another bow to Giada, "Thank you for the sermon and for the blessings, Sister." He can't quite manage the attempts at levity that she summons, and the motion to walk the princess towards the exit is a brisk one.