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((Hallway))

"What do you fear?"

The booming voice startled Vero into letting go of anyone's hand it already had. It then promptly said, "Loud, sudden sounds."

Nothing. They continued walking until -

"What is it that each of you fears the most in this world?"

Another jump, and another, more shaken answer. "I-In the future, please be m-more specific with your questions . . ." Vero's antennae were now close to its head, anxious. Its hairs were beginning to rise with the feeling of being watched, and if the spirit had a heart rate it would have been going up.

It was very, very glad right now that it wasn't alone, or it would have turned tail and ran most likely.

{It's just a disembodied voice, lame-oes,} one aggregate grumbled. But all were on high alert regardless; if Vero had the mind to calculate, about 89% of them were frightened, and it was slowly rising.

Its eyes riveted on something glimmering up ahead, and it watched as a red-haired fur ghoul addressed it with visible concern before managing to pass through; it disappeared for her, but then promptly reappeared once she was on the other side. The mirror's surface wasn't solid apparently, and it continued to shift even after she went through.

"Step up and look into this mirror of truth, kids. Look into it and tell me what you're afraid of. If you do that, if you face your fear, you may pass."

For once, Vero was silent. Hesitant. Was this a good idea? It rationalized that if the fur-ghoul could make it, then so could it, but . . . It didn't want to face its fear so readily.

{It can't be so bad,} an aggregate comforted, though if it had physical form it would be quaking in its armor. {Just go up there and watch for a few seconds, and you pass. Easy!}

Not so easy, Vero thought, gulping as it approached slowly, its hands fiddling with one another.

~ ~ ~

Vero knew what it would see when it looked into the mirror, but wished it didn’t. Knowing made it no easier to view.

The room was quaint, almost Spartan, round and wooden – a rare and singular comfort in the home for it. In the corner sat several water spirits playing in a rock pool, and opposite that was Vero’s bed: sticks, honey, and straw bedding. It could live in these conditions if it was allowed outside but for the most part it was stuck within the reapers’ home.

Two Dionae of the venus fly trap variety were on other side of the bedroom door. They liked to snap at it when it passed by.

But none of these it feared. Vero waited on pins and needles until the door opened.

Kalis was an easy enough reaper to spot: rotund but aggressive, his frame sandwiched its way through the door with some effort; he waddled with the foreboding aura of a black cloud. “Where is it?” he barked.

”We . . . We do not know,” Vero answered, shrinking, confused.

“None of that, thing! I know you took Renee’s silver seed holder, you greedy b*****d, now where is it? Your work for your house and home here, and I trusted you not to give into temptation like an awful sin demon.”

“W-We have never touched it,” Vero replied, rooted in place. “But if Master Kallis wishes for us to look –“

A voice from downstairs, faint. “Kalliiiiiis, we’re going to be late to the gala!”

“Shaddup, y’dumb broad! I’m trying to find your wallet!” Kallis was a known short-fused grim reaper. He was often called a tyrant back on the human world, where he helped produce horror films with a no-nonsense attitude for detail.

“Tch. Look, it’s not like we can afford those auction items anyway.” It was hard to make out what Renee said after that, as Kallis had begun to overturn what little furniture Vero had in his attempts to find the wallet. Vero winced every time.

“Master Kallis – “

“If I find you’ve taken so much as one seed out of their, I’ll send you packing, thing.” The bookshelf was emptied forcibly.

“B-But Master Kallis, the wallet –“

“Stop trying to distract me, thing!” The chest engorged its contents on the floor.

“Kalis! KALIS, YOU BALDING BATLING,” shouted Renee from below. “I found the wallet, now leave the poor thing alone and let’s go already. You know how Lillith is about late guests.”

The reaper huffed and readjusted his evening attire, jabbing a finger at the spirit. “You . . . Speak up more next time. Making me look bad in front of the girl,” he grumbled, and re-jabbed his finger right into Vero’s face. “This one’s a catch. If I don’t see this house cleaned before I get back, you’ll be pruning the garden until next October! You hear that?”

Timidly, Vero nodded.

“I said, did you hear that?”

”We hear and obey, sir.”

“Good. Everything back in place, or Belle will have to lecture again as well,” Kallis said and, tipping his hat, squeezed through the doorway once more. The door shut with surprising mildness, the Dionae knowing better than to snap at the man of the house.

Vero gulped. Decibelle was Kallis’s megaphone-esque weapon; and she knew how loud sounds affected it. Even now, it could hear phantom screeches as she cackled . . .

((Hallway))

And then, abruptly, the vision was over. Vero found itself hunched over like it did back at home, extremities huddled close to its body, antennae flattened to avoid being plucked by the memory of its reaper master. Elemental spirits were often called by reapers to do their bidding, but Kallis had arranged with Vero’s hive to allow it an education – so long as it provided for Kallis’s house needs.

Shuddering as if cold, the little nature spirit passed through the mirror and saw that both the red-haired ghoul and Edel were there.

For now, Vero said nothing to them, and did nothing more than hug itself as it approached, large eyes fixated on the floor.

[Hallway]

Faint slipped out of Demi’s grip easily as the voice rang in his sensitive ear and set an empty feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. The terror that that voice promised… His face paled and he stared at the fast approaching mirror. Wanting to look anywhere but the reflective depths it offered. He couldn’t do this. What would it show him? His father’s death? He’d already experienced it, so there was nothing left to fear. His own demise? His failures and short-comings? Faint was afraid of both.

He had to face the mirror and get past it. So far three others of his group had. If he turned back now, well, that would be another failure wouldn’t it?

He approached the mirror slowly, cautiously. His ears tried to pin themselves back as best they could in this limited form, and his stomach churned dangerously. He could feel the tiger pacing in the back of his mind. It felt cornered; unhappy to be forced to face whatever it would be shown. His golden eyes finally met the reflective surface and it fogged, then cleared to show a room in his house. Not his dorm, but the home he would return to when breaks came up. The one he'd grown up in since he was just a cub, eager to explore everything. He knew this room immediately to be Shade’s. The décor was bold and extravagant in black and gold, much like Faint’s though he preferred red and gold. The eldest brother was sitting at a desk, seemingly working on something important on the computer. Suddenly Kitty zoomed into the narrow picture and turned to the bed, where Forest lay with his nose to a book. This scene wasn’t unusual to Faint. It was a normal day at home. He breathed a sigh of relief, gripping his shirt in his hands. What was to be feared here?

Answering his question, the mood of the image changed. A dark cloud passed outside, and he saw little Kitty, her sweet, blonde self, grab her throat with a concerned look at Shade. He couldn’t hear what she said, but her face told a story of pain and confusion. Suddenly, Forest turned in the bed, his muscles contorting in agony. His mouth opened in a wide O as his eyelids screwed shut hard, trying to block out the pain. Kitty and Shade were now on the floor, curled up around one another. Faint could see the way Shade shook with every searing burst of pain. The blood was draining from their features as they dealt with the horrific hurt, leaving them near ghost white. Kitty’s head turned up and her body quivered with the force of her screams. The mirror provided no sound, but Faint’s imagination filled in with detail. Screams that shook and varied with the amount of agony his poor little tigress was in.

This was the way their father had died. Sudden, horrifying pain. A death that claimed a few weretiger lives each year. Rare, but terrifying. This was Faint’s true fear. Losing his siblings, his loves, the tigers that kept him going, in the same way he’d lost his father. Quick, painful, never to be heard from again. Unable to take anymore, Faint looked down and stumbled. He fell through the quickly disappearing mirror and on to the other side, collapsing on the floor. His body shook uncontrollably and his skin was as pale as the figures he’s just seen. Ducking his head between his knees he heaved, but nothing left his stomach. Had he eaten today? He couldn’t remember. All he could think about was his family. So much hurt. The tiger roared desperately in the back of his mind. Where was Shade? Forest? Kitty? He hoped Kitty had turned back. He didn’t want her to face a fear like that.

((Hallway))

A very small frown touched the chimera's lips at the sad tone in the pups voice as he mentioned his dad, and she tightened her grip on the smaller monster, hugging him back against her chest even as his mood bounced back with the thumping accompaniment of his tail hitting the floor with every eager wag. A pendulum of emotions, this one. "Perhaps not," she agreed, sitting up slow beside him. "I don't blame them for my mysterious nap, so it's ok."

As his attention returned once again to her wings she chuckled, fanning one of the vivid limbs so the feathers spread in a multicolored rainbow. "A assure you my little friend, I there isn't an ounce of magic within this constructed body." She wished, having always been a little envious of those with that sort of power. Ah well, no use wishing for naught.

She may have said more dark voice filled the darkness around them and the pale fur along the back of the ghoul's neck stood at attention, ears falling back as an unhappy growl bubbled up from deep in her throat. Fears, it was talking about fears. Specifically theirs, her's. "No," she hissed. "The floor is no longer safe." Placing a hand on the wall the ghoul got to her hooves, wings flaring for balance as her tail swept along the floor. Free hand coming to rest lightly on her forehead as the room tilted beneath her briefly before settling.

She didn't notice the mirror right away, not until Than started to scream and cry. Tearing her attention violently down onto him as folded over himself in terror and sadness. "Than!" What the jack? Only then did she notice the reflective glass hovering in the hall before them, blocking their path. She dropped a wing to drape around the poor boil's shoulders as she stared at herself with wide, startled eyes. "It's just a..."

Her reflection was changing, pale fur run dark with pus and sores that opened like grinning mouths along her body. "No." No nononono that wasn't possible, Father had assured her, he'd said it wasn't going to happen! Yet she stood rigid in growing horror as she watched herself literally melting away. Skin peeling from muscle, flesh degrading, coming apart. Her body rejecting the Foreign DNA and collapsing. "You Promised!" She shrieked at the glass, raising her arms like a shield to block the image as long, scarlet hair began to fall from her scalp in slimy chunks.

She too dropped to her knees, and in so doing brushed the pup beside her. Reaching out automatically to draw him in against her to pull whatever comfort she could from his trembling frame. She didn't want to break down, she didn't want to fall apart, she wanted to continue being.

(Staircase)

With the booming announcement, Pickles whirled around defensively, fists up for a fight. He cycled them like an exaggerated boxer, changing up his stance and turning to face every crackle or pink, threatening object, until he realized he had backed right up against the mirror.

He spun around, fists still up, huffing through his nose and ready to knock its block off.

The person staring back at him was a normal, plain looking boy in a nice suit and clean clothes. Brown hair, brown eyes. Behaving, orderly, clean, neat, serious. The boy lowered his fists to adjust his cuffs, and straightened his tie. His expression was impassive.

A large, adult hand gripped the boy's shoulder and steered him to a classroom. The teacher was stacking papers before class. The boy sat down obediently to help her. After the papers were stacked, he chose a seat near the front, folded his hands, and listened quietly to the lesson. Worksheets are handed out. Very carefully, the boy reads the instructions and begins to fill the paper out, starting at the top.

Another student in the background tells a joke and the boy doesn't laugh, just focuses on his work.

Pickles gripped the frame of the mirror desperately, then began to sob. "I'm- I'm, a curmudgeon!"

He buried his face in a swirly handkerchief, blowing his nose with a loud honk, and is thoroughly relieved to hear the sound, as if he was afraid all his color and noise had been shriveled up by the mirror, stifled by the oppressive waves of the boring and mundane. He sniffed. The boy in the mirror was still working diligently, ignoring a bear on a bicycle in a funny hat that had just rolled past the window.

Pickles gave the mirror a raspberry and hurried very quickly past it.

[Staircase x2; I ask that only Rosc's response to the mirror counts for any prizes, even though both boys will approach it.]

In an effort to comfort himself against everything that was going on, Julian had wrapped his wings around himself, like his mum used to do for them when they were little. It was a weak comparison to the comforting feeling on his mother's large wings wrapped around him, but it was better than nothing, really. He had walked with Sin and Rosciel in relative silence up until they came to the mirror.

What do you fear? Well, he feared a lot of things, which was odd for someone who was supposed to frighten humans with his piercing screech in the dark of night. Getting a bad grade, losing his favorite books, losing his family (Jack, he wouldn't know what he would do without them), being in front of a crowd and having to do something. Those were all the first things that came to mind.

And, honestly, they weren't that scary. Besides, it was just a mirror, all it could do was show them this thing, right? It didn't make it real. He could do this... couldn't he?

"Yeah... B-but if you want to go on... I'm w-with you," he replied, doing his best to be brave, even though he probably didn't have a brave bone in his body. Hence why this whole haunted house idea was just crazy to him!

-----
Rosc remained quiet. His vision was not enough to be able to tell if Sin's skin bruised from where he had grabbed her earlier. Had he hurt her? If he had, she hadn't said anything about it. But that could be because she didn't want to show it in front of her little friend. Either way, he was still silently beating himself up over it. It wasn't something he could help. He was used to waking alone, but for his pets. And something in him could tell the difference between fur and skin even in his subconsciousness.
Someone touching him awake... His adoptive "family" had learned very quickly to never touch him when he slept.

He hated mirrors. It was one of the few things he absolutely refused to have around him if he could help it. The last time he had visited his mother's house, he had ordered the housekeeper to remove all of the mirrors except for the ones in Nic's borrowed chambers. And if he couldn't remove one, to have it covered with a cloth. It wasn't that he disliked his appearance, it was simply a matter that they messed with his vision more often than not.
But this one... It was odd. He wasn't having any problems seeing it.
Which made him worry even more.

There were few things he was afraid of, but those things he feared, he was terrified of. Would it really know, or was it just something to freak them out?
He didn't speak to answer Sin's question, merely nodded in agreement to the little bird demon's response.

[ The Staircase ]

Where had the zombie gone? And the demon, and the monster? Van was feeling very alone, just then; he wanted to keep climbing, but he was meant to have a pack. And the pain of being on his own at that moment seemed like it would overwhelm him if something didn't change soon.

Because he was a little busy moping, Cervantes approached the mirror behind most of the others. What was it that he would see? Van was nearly self-obsessed enough to think that there was nothing, but.. he knew. Somewhere inside him, of course there was fear. Had he not just felt it, in some way? The anxiety of being without a pack.

Still, the challenge that lay in front of him now was the mirror. It was just a mirror. He told himself that as he approached, the voice dictating his actions. Could he face his fear? Van's tail lashed back and forth in the air and he scratched idly at the back of his neck with his claws, raking red marks across the skin. The bones braided into his hair rattled.

He took a deep breath, and gripped the sides of the mirror, looking in. At first, it was just him. Just Van. He felt a swell of hope, as if he wouldn't have a fear. As if he really didn't have one. But as he watched, smoky figures emerged from behind him. They were shadowy, and indiscernible except for their red eyes, glowing like embers from the darkness. That was the signifier: The Devil's Dandy Dogs. He felt a swell of joy, and reached one hand out to press it against the glass. He waved to the mirror-Van, but his image did not wave back. It stared at him as the figures approached, led by one figure. It was his father. He knew it was. If only he could call out--

His father shook his head at mirror Van's back, at the real Van. Cervantes sucked in a deep breath. His lungs hurt, like they had been pierced by a series of rather small knives. He felt his knees about to give out, so he grabbed the frame of the mirror more securely. Mirror-Van turned, as if he was going to try and stop them, but no matter how fast or hard he ran, he couldn't catch up. They were leaving him behind.

"No! I can be faster, I can be stronger, I swear to Jack, I can-- I can catch up-- just--" Van couldn't form sentences by the end, he spoke incoherently. He was trying to get into this school so he could prove he was good enough to run with them, wasn't he? But if this mirror was true... What if it was true, what if even the seemingly strong mirrored version of himself was still too slow and too weak? And his own father... He hadn't been allowed to run with the pack, not even a little. His parents at ditched him in this place, and he had made do with what he had. But what good was a pack-dog without his pack? The Devil's Dandy Dogs didn't accept him, and he wasn't sure where he fit in here yet, either.

Cervantes nearly surrendered. Cuteness was scary, but... he could deal with that. It was a fear that was in his mind. This one was visceral; it reached into him and tore at what he tried his hardest to keep together, even on his worst days. Nobody would want to be part of a team with someone who crumbled under pressure, who was this anxious. Van's tail whipped back and forth frantically. The wings at his spine stretched out and folded against his back. There was no way.. No. There had to be a way.

He pounded his fist against the mirror frame and gritted his teeth, incisors slicing his lip. "I'm not giving in. Even in my worst fears, I don't give up. I keep running. So that's what my fear was, haunted house! Jack be saved if I give up just because of that." And quieter, once he had calmed down: "You're just a mirror. You can't see all of me. Only the worst."

So he pushed past the mirror, and kept on walking, even though each step made his knees shake. He would find his father, and he would run with the pack one day. He just needed to be stronger, faster-- he would never give in to weakness. Not so long as he still had his mind. And Van was very obstinate.