She'd been asleep, but now she's here - an unfamiliar room, and not a very nice one. A cellar, in fact - barrels of wine and jars of strange, unlabeled liquids filling up dusty old shelves. The only light is a harsh worklamp positioned over a table against the far wall. She wanders over - carefully now, this is not a good place for bare feet - to take a closer look, and-
Oh! She shuffles back in quick horror, her hands clasped over her mouth. Someone has been working on a mask. In another circumstance she might think it beautiful craftsmanship - the painting so lifelike, such a good approximation of skin tone and texture. But it makes her almost sick to see it. The mask is a too-perfect likeness of her own face.
The brown tones of her skin, every shape and curve of her features perfectly rendered - no slits to see through, only closed eyes, even lashes, rendered perhaps with horsehair. She doesn't want to get close enough to see or touch.
Her back finds a wood pillar, a weakening support - it shifts slightly when she runs into it, and she can feel the head of an old nail jabbing at the small of her back. She steps forward quickly. Got to be more careful. Better yet, got to find a way out.
She skirts around the table, its singular light so like a grotesque invitation, seeking out an exit. Even a small window will do. As she gropes through the lengthening dark, she can't seem to take her eyes off the mask, terrified by its deathly stillness, the accuracy of it.
Finally, her hand finds the half-rotting bannister of a staircase leading up, oh thank goodness - she's about to turn away, casting one last fearful glance at the mask-
Its eyes are open.
This time she can't help letting out a scream. The mask's eyes - her own eyes - are staring coldly at her from the table, like at any moment it could get up on an invisble body and start toward her, or like its mouth could open and speak.
She turns away in terrified anguish, hurrying up the stairs so fast she almost trips several times, finding the door at the top, stuck fast with swelled wood. She throws her little body against it harder and harder until, finally, it bursts open and she stumbles out, free, heart still pounding, breath still coming hard and fast.
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Oh! She shuffles back in quick horror, her hands clasped over her mouth. Someone has been working on a mask. In another circumstance she might think it beautiful craftsmanship - the painting so lifelike, such a good approximation of skin tone and texture. But it makes her almost sick to see it. The mask is a too-perfect likeness of her own face.
The brown tones of her skin, every shape and curve of her features perfectly rendered - no slits to see through, only closed eyes, even lashes, rendered perhaps with horsehair. She doesn't want to get close enough to see or touch.
Her back finds a wood pillar, a weakening support - it shifts slightly when she runs into it, and she can feel the head of an old nail jabbing at the small of her back. She steps forward quickly. Got to be more careful. Better yet, got to find a way out.
She skirts around the table, its singular light so like a grotesque invitation, seeking out an exit. Even a small window will do. As she gropes through the lengthening dark, she can't seem to take her eyes off the mask, terrified by its deathly stillness, the accuracy of it.
Finally, her hand finds the half-rotting bannister of a staircase leading up, oh thank goodness - she's about to turn away, casting one last fearful glance at the mask-
Its eyes are open.
This time she can't help letting out a scream. The mask's eyes - her own eyes - are staring coldly at her from the table, like at any moment it could get up on an invisble body and start toward her, or like its mouth could open and speak.
She turns away in terrified anguish, hurrying up the stairs so fast she almost trips several times, finding the door at the top, stuck fast with swelled wood. She throws her little body against it harder and harder until, finally, it bursts open and she stumbles out, free, heart still pounding, breath still coming hard and fast.