Zaerith, entranced by the mirrors and holy symbols of Mask, stepped closer to the first looking glass, near the spiral staircase. Oddly, something could be recognized within the fogged reflection. A charred staff? Soon, scorching eyes of fire glared from brilliant robes mostly shrouded by the replicated miasma deep within the solid window. 

The reincarnated wizard was somewhat startled by the now closing proximity of the shouting, as a mourning mother effortlessly descended the wooden helix, bobbing in each step as if tethered to invisible strings. Her arthritic hand clutched a malformed doll. The figurine possessed a strange leer with four arms and four legs, missing one eye, stitched on the hem of its sackcloth dress, a frayed tag. It bore the words. 
[h2][i][b]Is No Fun. Is No Blinsky.[/b][/i][/h2]
Not entirely lost in her sorrow and despondency, her eyes locked onto Lucian, holding onto that familiar tome.

[color=00a651]“Give me the CHILD. And all will be well.”[/color]

The trickster touched the unpolished surface reflexively and gazed back at the woman, with a pointy finger.

[color=maroon]“Stop right there. What is this?”[/color]

The champion gleaned the trapped silhouette over the rogue’s shoulder, understanding its mystical purpose and the emphasis of that word. He exclaimed to the puppeteer and the bladesinger.

[color=navajowhite]“Don’t look into the mirror. It will siphon your soul.”[/color]

>The Unnamable must roll a Charisma save with Advantage. Zaerith and Egil passed. The woman is near Zaerith in front of the mirror near the stairwell.