"This… is me?"
Hunter could not believe her eyes.
Daylight from the window spilled across her face, revealing skin paler than she remembered. But it was her hair that made her stomach do a flip.
What should've been dark was now the color of snow. Her eyes widened, and she gripped the mirror with both trembling hands now to keep herself from dropping it. The face staring at her was hers… and yet not… if that made sense.
Maybe it was due to her earlier disorientation that she failed to notice the changes, but her skin too, once sun-touched and warm, now seemed pale and did not belong to the girl she remembered being.
The changes in her hair and skin were nothing compared to her eyes. They were no longer brown. The color had drained from them, replaced by something strange and light, somewhere between silver and pale amber, and it caught the sunlight like polished glass.
Hunter shook her head.
'I must still be dreaming… this… this isn't me… who is this? What is this?'
Dropping the mirror, Hunter rubbed her eyes once, then twice, and again until she was satisfied. She was certain she had been hallucinating. But when she picked the mirror back up, her reflection was still the same. A heavy feeling sank in her chest as she refused to accept what she was seeing, and worse, she had no idea what to make of this terrifying transformation.
She lifted a trembling hand to her face, tracing the familiar curve of her cheek, her jawline and the shape of her mouth. It was her. Every contour, every faint scar, every detail made her see real self, yet somehow she wasn't. It was as if someone had taken her image, copied it from her memory and painted over it in the cold shades of winter.
She wanted to scream— she would have. But due to her wound, the sound broke into a harsh grunt as she hunched forward, her hand pressing against her abdomen.
"What… What happened to me?" she whispered, panic blooming in her eyes. Everything felt wrong, even her pulse was suddenly too loud. Her own body now felt foreign to her, as though her very self was slipping right through her fingers.
It was terrifying.
Who did this to her?
Was it these people? The priest? Who?
Meanwhile, Harlow and the healer exchanged another puzzled glance. While the healer looked visibly concerned about Hunter's mental state, Harlow was starting to wonder if he had brought a mentally unstable girl to his home. There were so many reasons behind why he couldn't trust her, but he knew the healer well enough to realize she wouldn't let him toss the girl back out before problems arose.
"Is anything the matter?"
The healer's voice was laced with worry, but when Hunter looked at her, she noticed the girl looked more wary of them and frightened to the core.
"Where… where am I?"
********
In the main altar of the serpent's temple, after the priest was done listening to the troubles of the people that came to seek his guidance, he leaned back and turned his gaze towards the scribe.
"Any news regarding who wrote that letter?"
The scribe paused, his quill halting mid-air before he looked at the priest, then he sighed disappointedly and shook his head.
"Nothing yet, I'm afraid. But… whoever is trying to soil the temple's name must be one of our own. That is all I can say."
"And why do you believe this person must be residing within the temple walls?"
Before the scribe could respond, the door to the altar suddenly opened, and a young acolyte dressed in crimson robe walked in. He crossed the marble floor and lowered his head respectfully, whilst holding up the lamplight in his grasp.
"The lamplight you asked for, Father Ivan" he said, handing it to the priest.
The priest accepted it with a calm nod before dismissing him with a wave. When he was gone, the priest turned to the scribe and said: "Tell everyone who asks of me to wait. I'll be meditating in the sanctum for a few hours. I still need to visit the Elowen family later today, so have the prayer scroll ready. Perhaps a candle as well."
The scribe nodded, and the priest exited the altar.
The young acolyte from earlier was strolling through the empty hallway, the blank look on his face slowly giving way to quiet frustration as his fist balled at his side. Another acolyte passing by noticed and walked up to him.
"Hey Rowan, what's been going on with you these past couple of days? You seem really off. You feeling alright?"
Rowan shot his companion a glance before averting his gaze.
"Mind your own business."
"Is this because of that girl who died?" His companion pressed, making his shoulders stiffen. "It's not against the temple's rule to grieve for a loved one. I mean… you always liked her, didn't you? What's her name again… Hunter, am I right?"
Rowan's eyes hardened to form an unfriendly glare. "Don't talk to me like we're friends, Theron. Stay out of my business. I'm not repeating myself next time."
Theron only blinked, then gave a lazy smile.
"Still as hostile as ever. I thought coming here might have softened you a bit but you're a tough one. Anyway, if you ever need someone to talk to, just know I'll be here for you, okay?"
"Jerk."
"No foul language in the temple," Theron chided with a grin.
Rowan paid Theron no heed and continued to walk ahead, hoping his personal stalker would finally take the hint. He fuckin' hated this place.
********
Arriving at the sanctum, Ivan placed the bronze lantern on the wall bracket before closing the door behind him. With his hand stretched forth, thin crimson lines branched across the surface of the wood like veins before fading completely from sight, magically sealing the entrance so no one would 'accidentally' enter.
Satisfied, he turned to the stone idol that embodied the mind of the deity.
His lips curled subtly, and his hand stretched forward once more as he moved the heavy stone statue out of the way with a low rumble, only to reveal a narrow staircase spiraling into darkness.
Reaching for the lantern he had brought with him, he descended the stairs without hesitation. The deeper he went, the more cold and stiller the air became. Dust clung to his robes, and the noise of the world around him faded into silence.
At last, he stood before a circular slab of stone. He leaned close and murmured a few words under his breath. In response, the slab shuddered and rolled aside with a groan, granting him passage into the hidden chamber beyond.
He stepped inside, and the slab rolled back into place. The chamber was dimly-lit by torches set between ancient-looking pillars, and its center was a round stone table. It was etched in old runes and divided into rings.
Six figures sat around it, their faces cloaked in the hood of their robes. Ivan moved forward, and he took his seat among them.
A woman's voice then teased;
"Aren't you early for today's meeting?"
Ivan clicked his tongue. "I already took care of more… important matters."
"Matters like killing that poor girl and dragging her name through the mud?" She countered. "Quite petty of you, Ivan. But… anyways, did you find the shard?"