[b]Lucien![/b]

This is just. The [i]saddest[/i] library. In fact, calling it a library is like calling a rain puddle a pond: technically correct, but only if you squint and consider it from someone else’s point of view. This is a book pit.

Nobody’s taking care of the bindings, there aren’t any shelves; clowns just toss books in. This is an endpoint of knowledge. That’s a first edition [i]Heraclytes[/i] codex that landed face up on top of a moldering encyclopedia.

“Well,” the Professor says, haltingly, “all the more reason for someone to take it on as a responsibility, yes? I’m sure they just don’t have the academic background to appreciate— [i]The Baron’s Rake, with Full Folio Illustrations[/i]— all right, perhaps not the best example. But that’s why they need a [i]curator.[/i]”

***

[b]Ailee![/b]

<Oh, of all the luck!> She holds the scarf and lets you start picking at the sticky ice treats. <I’m still getting used to being down an arm. Can’t go on barn duty down here.> Makes sense. Back home, she’d be rotated to a position where she could help her family out while getting used to her new limits. Did she lose it on this most recent delve? How long’s it been gone?

Then she focuses on you properly and she shifts slightly; the surprise of being addressed properly has faded, and she’s put her face back on. <My runners,> she says, noncommittally. <What’s a girl like you doing in the [Dark Carnival] anyway?>

Makes sense. There are shapeshifters and angels and all sorts of things down here. You should have been more suspicious, too! What if she was a Chameleon luring you in with her amazing skin control? But there’s not that telltale haze, you’re probably safe on that one.

Still. Her eyes are sharp as awls and she’s doing her best to not let anything pass until she’s got a read on you. So don’t embarrass yourself.

***

[b]Jackdaw![/b]

And your arm is pulled into the mirror.

It’s cool to the touch. Feels like water, but not quite the right consistency. More resistance than air. Is it breathable? Good question. The grip is pretty inexorable, and the only reason you’re not all the way in is because Wolf has your coat by the collar, but let’s be real— she’ll let go if she’s worried she’ll get pulled in with you.

And the face that’s pushed her way out of the mirror’s surface is [i]smirking[/i]. She’s got names— very old names— painted onto her fur, this Jackdaw does. Names that make your eyes water even looking at them. The air’s hot this close to them; if she wanted, she could probably set you on fire. She’s wearing the robes of an Archwizard and a tiara set with a heart-ruby, the light within throbbing in time with her breath.

She speaks a NAME that scorches the air and sets your shoulder on fire, and your clothes begin writhing and pulling tighter around you as she invokes The Garment-Queen, spinner of the clothes of the gods.

This Jackdaw sure is a real go-getter who knows what she wants! And what she wants is you, in a straitjacket of your own coat and gagged by your own scarf, stuck in the mirror in her place. And she’s Ailee-tier, if not... even higher?

This is probably not good. [b]Overcome[/b] her, or else she’ll trap you in the mirror!

***

[b]Coleman![/b]

A classic stand-off, baby train vs. gun-tongue. Then the Blemmyae relents, and takes a step back.

“Undo what has been done, Child Coleman. Return my pod to me and I shall give you your life.”

Easier said than done. You don’t even know if Black Coleman is here! Using only the resources at hand, including the vastness of the Dark Carnival, how do you intend to close off this temporal paradox?