Mirror in Blue (A Day of Life Under the Invisible Sun #3)

The mist is thick enough to rob all sight save for shades of blue-tinted white and grey, yet the moment she steps into it she slumps with relief.

Warm. Thank Visla. It's steam.

She doesn't spare a backward glance for the winding hall-tunnels of ice she's leaving behind, just as she doesn't spare more than a moment's thought on the ambient pale cyan light that keeps the Dark at bay. Seemingly carved into a frozen ocean by long claws of hot metal, after weeks spent in those mazes - mazes that were almost the site of her Second Death - she knows she'll see them in slumber for months to come.

She pities the poor soul that must walk through the corridors Marra will craft from her future dreams even as she wonders if that very recursion - dreaming of dream-crafted corridors - is what sustains the dwelling of the Guardian of Blue.

Through exhaustion, through the fear of being blinded by the serendipitous fog, she feels the excitement that defines her as Vislae - that thrill of uncovering yet another secret.

She continues to stumble forward - thankful that the hard surface she treads on isn't ice - even as the winds she calls do little to part the mist. Thus she crawls ever so carefully on hands and knees while invoking the magic of her patron to keep her safe.

Her bones ache in dread expectation, knowing the marrow that must be dug out in payment. (Meanwhile the dagger on her belt quivers in anticipation - all it knows of love is only the shadow of sadism.)

There are slinking footfalls and sometimes even the strong stink of wet furred predators, whether great cats or wolves is unclear, but none of them trouble her. They know she is Marked. Eventually the mist clears, fading to wisps even as she comes to an end of the white limestone ground. 

Finally. Familiar territory.

The sapphire body of water before her could be a lake. It could be a fresh-water ocean, or perhaps even whole galaxies could be drowned in its depths. Its surface is choppy, shimmering with the reflected light of the cyan Blue Sun. Floating atop the waters are pink lotuses, each one large enough for an adult such as her to easily sit upon their centers. Instead, a small ball of golden flame floats above those central seed pods, their heat providing that gentle warmth to the veil of mists she has just crawled through. By their light you can make out naked figures (corpses?) resting below.

Quickly shedding the furs clothing her body, she dives into the water. There is no air, but each breath carries the taste of salty milk, coins, and copper.  It's her Pact that will fill her lungs, that will keep her from drowning this time around. As she descends she can once again see lake's (ocean's?) bottom is tiled with pieces varied in the way they carry their white & blue. There are no mosaics, not exactly, but there does seem to be the suggestion of places, peoples, things. She once again sees the sleeping (dead?) figures atop upraised yet still tiled blocks, the root-stems of the lotuses above rising out of their navels.

Though they seem close enough she can make out their features it seems from the negligible distance she closes with every kick & stroke that they must miles away. If she merely held her breath she'd drown...and in fact all her own magic had been peeled away in the hours (days? weeks?) of her last descent when she'd blacked out and awoken in Pale. But this time it is her patron's power that sustains her.

This time she will know why one of those sleeping figures (corpses?) bears her face.