December 20th, 1895 -- just after midnight, Professor Crowley's room

It knocked on the door and when it swung open, two women faced each other on the threshold. One wore a nightgown, white, and a candle in her hand that burned bright and illuminated their faces in the dark doorway. "Come in, Professor Lyra," that one said and stalked ahead with the flickering light, which shone around the edges of her bone-blonde hair that fell long down her back. They passed the classroom through a fog and descended to the rooms behind and below, where the marble receded and got taken over by carpets and rugs and fabrics and drapes, where all hard and smooth surfaces vanished under woven layers of saturated and deep colors like bleeding gemstones of the earth, where barely-there silks moved under the ceiling; and between all hung and stood and nestled a myriad of strange things and shapes, bizarrely strung together, like a mythical bird carried them in through the toplight.

Professor Crowley looked around her realm and placed the candle on a tower of books half her person high. She sank down on the rug in front of her bed, which was of confusing opulence and contained on its vast stretch of blankets and pillows many scrolls and books and curios and a few large pieces of a shattered mirror. "Make yourself comfortable," Crowley said absentmindedly to her guest and pulled over a stack of oriental floor cushions.

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Themis Lyra

  

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For the second time today, Themis found herself staring at a door and wondering what carried her to her destination. This time, the surreal feeling carried her from her tower to Professor Crowley's domain, looking as if she'd lost her way. She'd swept through the corridors as silent as a ghost; the black robes she wore to cover her nightgown made her look wraith-like. This was lunacy, all of it. Before she could knock, the door swung open, and Themis was faced again with the woman who looked like her paler reflection. Themis nodded and followed, her tongue held in check by her awareness that she was about to be at the mercy of a witch who was still very much an unknown entity.

Themis cataloged the room around her as they descended, impressed with the amount of spellcraft that went into crafting her junior's living quarters. The space was alive with a confusion of colors, rich gem tones, a myriad of fabrics, and an assortment of books and curiosities at odds with the portrait she was building of her colleague. There must be an order to things. Themis highly doubted that Professor Crowley would be able to tolerate a thing that was out of place, even if her organization made sense to no one else. 'Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.'

Initially unsure of where she was meant to be, Themis took a moment before deciding that Crowley meant for Themis to join her on the floor. Settling into a pile of cushions, Themis brushed her braid over her shoulder. The idea that she had prepared for bed only to end up on the floor with a colleague was never something she would have expected. Then again, Morrigan Crowley was nothing if not unexpected.

Shrugging off her robe, Themis sat before her host in her nightgown, but the fabric had been charmed a deep red before her arrival. Themis had no idea what moving through a dream might entail, but if she encountered this 'Red Grail,' she had no intention of looking like a bloodied lamb again. Resisting the urge to fidget, she looked to her host and jumped to the heart of things. "I've never walked in dreams. What am I doing?"

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Lou made magic!

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Crowley's eyes lingered on the fall of crimson that revealed itself under the black robe of Professor Lyra. "Symbolism matters in ancient magic. As does attire," she commented as she draped herself languidly over the cushions while procuring items from around her, presumably to aid them on their journey. She took seven mirror shards from her bed and arranged them in a pattern on the rug between them. Next, her bony hands reached under her bed and pulled out an ornamental box containing a great number and variety of keys. She offered the box to Professor Lyra. "Take it. Select one. Take your time. It's best if you find one that speaks to you," she instructed her. She herself directed her gaze towards a shelf that held hundreds of candles. She contemplated them at length. "We will dream, together. Ordinary dreams are limited. Most of us don't stray far from the confines of our own memories and bodies. If we want to travel the invisible realm freely, we need to cross a threshold — it is not easy to accomplish for the uninitiated. But I have done it many times. I can take you along."
She found between a statuette of obsidian and an Amharic mask a clay bowl containing candy in colorful paper wrappers. Professor Crowley took one and offered the others to her colleague.
"In the bounds of the invisible realm, truths become apparent that are veiled to our eyes here."
In anticipation of leaving the physical behind, Morrigan Crowley seemed to ease from her rigidness and she seemed to brighten. Her eyes shone when she arranged the strange objects that would facilitate their ritual. Lyra was tense. "It is easy to get lost over there, Professor. You will need to trust me, or our journey will be perilous and difficult."
With a pair of sharp scissors, she cut off a strand of her hair and looked appraisingly at Lyra's long and golden waves, secured away in a braid. Those would do nicely, she determined, to enforce the tether that would prevent their separation. "If you don't mind," she said stiffly, suddenly aware she was requesting something intimate. She handed over the scissors, whose handles were engraved with a swarm of moths.

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   Themis Lyra

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Themis stiffened slightly at the very obvious detail she ignored. She had loved Ancient Studies in school and excelled, but now she was ready to dabble in something else unknown without her fundamentals prepared. She knew better, but she slipped. She needed her wits about her and all she could offer in her defense was, “It seemed best to prepare for battle.” Wishing to regain her balance, and rein in her defensive sarcasm, she offered, “Do you advise me to change the color back? This seemed a practical choice. I’m not squeamish, but I did not enjoy the evidence of the ritual.” Themis had the sense that Crowley was too squeamish to handle more detail than that. Squeamish, but not fragile.

She took the box but looked to her host for better instruction. She should have known better than to expect a straight answer. Still, in the hours she had to consider this strange encounter, Themis had decided she would respect the direction she was led tonight. She would be wrong to assume any sort of leadership in this endeavor. Here, Themis was out of her depth and without any sort of reference. It was maddening, but she would do what she must.

She turned her attention to the box of keys she was given and was bothered by several questions about her colleague’s hobbies. Still, as she had decided, she would listen. Themis probed the box, sorting through keys. She felt her key before she saw it. She felt the metal filigree and etched detail and drew the key without further inspection. Seeing it made her confirm her decision, something uncomfortable itching at the back of her neck at how accurate this key felt. “This one looks like something from my dreams.” She tried not to voice just how much that unsettled her. She hadn’t told Professor Crowley what she dreamed of or anything about her elemental experiments. Why then was she holding an ornate key of copper and silver accented with gold? Those were her elements, or at least they felt something like ‘hers’ when Samuel had shown her how to pick at the fabric of reality. Copper and silver were essential parts of her first transmutations, she was drawn to them. Gold, she wasn’t sure why, but it was meant to accent the silver. There was no reason she knew; only that it belonged. “This is my key.” She confirmed, the object warming in her hand.

Dreaming meant sleeping and the idea of falling asleep with Morrigan Crowley and attempting to cross an unseen barrier into a shared dream world. It was one of the most ridiculous sentences Themis had constructed in her brain. This felt more dangerous than alchemy somehow. “And in this dream world are we capable of magic? Will there be a need for defense?” She wasn’t sure she would receive an answer, but she took the offered candy with a quirk of her eyebrow. She didn’t expect sweets from the woman, but she held the piece in her hand, not entirely sure she wanted to eat mystery sugar.

Themis watched the younger witch change, her sharp, angular body seeming to melt slightly, a softer quality appearing. She was relaxing somewhat just as Themis felt her body reacting in anticipation. She was tensing up and Crowley was looking more and more as if she was poured out over the cushions, all languid limbs and lively eyes. “I will follow you and I will trust you, but I want your assurance, we come back together.” There was no room for games. Themis understood she was taking a risk, but she wouldn’t jump in willingly if hints of a more elaborate trap were at play.

Ritual requires sacrifice. Her inner voice mocked as Themis felt her whole body rebel at the idea of granting this woman a hair on her head. It was ironic that she could take a blade to her skin, but the idea of cutting her hair had her balking. Reluctantly, she took the pair of scissors, gently separated out a few strands that were escaping her braid and cut them free. She handed them over with the scissors quickly, not wanting to dwell on how invasive her action felt.“Alright, show me what to do.”

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Themis' Key

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   Morrigan Crowley

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Lou made magic!

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"Not at all. Your intuition is correct, for your endeavour it is the right color." Morrigan glanced over while Professor Lyra sorted through the box of keys. She took the key she chose from her hands and carefully placed it between them. It lay among the shards. It shone mutedly in comparison to the mirror glass, that reflected back the candlelight in a dizzying array. "You take your magic with you, but not your wand. You will find yourself bare of anything, but simple comforts like a nightgown can be willed into existence. There is no sustenance and no need for it."

She watched her colleague hold on to the piece of candy like she was unsure if it was part of the ritual. "You don't have to eat that," Morrigan said to her and she almost laughed. It was endearing to her, the frustration of not understanding, for it was the basis of a strong need for knowing and ordering. They had that in common.

She took the strand of hair and twisted it together with her own. "I'm bringing you back, Professor. I promise."

Morrigan got up and selected a candle from the shelf. It took its place in the middle of the arrangement between them. As such, it was of mirror pieces seven, one key, placed beside a lit candle, two women, opposite of each other. Morrigan took one end of the cord of hair and gave the other to Lyra. "Hold on to this," she said and looked into her eyes. "The way into our dreams is marked by yearning. Picture what it is that you seek. Don't look away from me. If you feel drowsy, don't fight. Give in."

Morrigan drew in a breath and her eyes that often appeared far away and foggy suddenly cut bright and clear through the air between them. Her voice reduced to a whisper, that seemed to drain the light and sharpness out of the room with every word.

"I call on the light of the glory; I recall the threshhold — The white door is bright as a mirror, bright as fresh snow, bright as bone— I apply pressure to the skin of the world and it will part like—"

Morrigan felt the gate in herself open and magic pressed up into her throat, into her nostrils, pressing behind her eyes and into her head, that split in migraine-like pain. All candles extinguished and darkness fell upon them.

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   Themis Lyra

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Themis wasn’t certain if her intuition was what she wanted to trust this evening. She wanted facts and case studies and maybe a few annotated notes. This was terrifying. Her hands smoothed the fabric of her nightgown reflexively, her hands locking at her side as soon as she recognized the gesture.

Themis relaxed slightly when it was confirmed that the sweets weren’t part of the ritual. She didn’t know why, but not being forced into an action felt almost like agency. She could at least pretend, and she did as she popped the candy into her mouth. At least it had been her choice.

She reached for their hair now twisted together and held tight, her eyes so sharply focused on the other witch, the gaze may burn. She looked for a lie, some indication that the woman lied, but found none. She would take that comfort and wager her safety on it; she had no other choice she could see. Morrigan Crowley, whatever the rumors might say, was her only link to the puzzle of Samuel now. She would not forsake that link, no matter the cost. Perhaps one day, she may slow down long enough to consider that. All that was left to say was, “Thank you. I am trusting your guidance.”

She watched closely, looking for the patterns as she did in Alchemy, doing her best to memorize the ritual but finding little reason to the movement. Professor Crowley seemed to move at a pace that was her own, the ritual complete and comprehensible to her alone. Themis tried not to resent that.

Yearning, she smirked, the gesture almost remorseful. If only that word didn’t make her ache, didn’t send her heart and head scattering in all directions. She sought answers; knowledge. So what if Samuel stood behind each of those answers? She could picture him, his lopsided grin making him appear younger, mischievous at best. She wanted that grin back, wanted the man that wore it safe and sound in her arms again. All things she could never voice to Crowley. It didn’t matter, she decided as she took a deep breath. She could do this. It was as simple as sleeping.

Keeping her eyes forward, she nearly cursed when she felt the change in the room, magic and gravity seeming to shift and her head feeling like it may split at her forehead. Before she could question, her eyes went dark.

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She woke to nothing but fog, the air thicker than a London dock in the evening. She was nude, but the discovery didn’t alarm her as it should. Her braid was gone, her hair falling around her unbound, another oddity outside of her own chambers. As soon as she remembered her nightgown, she was wearing the red garment again, the ease of change startling. There was nothing else on her person, her wand back with her body. What a thought. She was here, feeling fully formed yet somehow lacking. It was eerie, but intriguing. It wasn’t ten seconds before she was assembling a list of questions for her host. In all directions, fog pressed in on her, Crowley nowhere to be seen. Somehow, this didn’t lead to panic; she could feel the other woman somewhere close. It was a feeling, a thought, but Themis followed it, her bare feet carrying her forward.

She didn’t know how long she walked, time seeming to dance in and out around her. Themis stopped. Her surroundings hadn’t changed, but she had traveled, she knew this somehow. She stood waiting, for what she didn’t know, but after a time she tested her voice. “Morrigan?” Her waking self would have been shocked to use the other woman’s given name, but it came easily in this world. Perhaps this was what she had meant about truth being apparent. Here, they were simply themselves.

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   Morrigan Crowley

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Lou made magic!

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When Morrigan opened her eyes to stare into the white fog of the outer bounds, she felt relief. She looked down at her body and found it as ever, but also less real, and changed. Her hair moved around her like a silvery cloud, like suspended underwater. She blinked and became aware of the additional eye that must be somewhere on her head, but she was not quite sure where and she had no mirror. A gift from the watchman, it seemed. She was unsure if it actually assisted her in seeing. Morrigan had gone far and acquired some scars in the name of illumination. To appear changed in this realm accordingly to the principle she was most dedicated to was part and parcel of the deal.

She heard a voice and felt a tug at the cord she held in her hand. It appeared to be of silver and gold and it was finely woven, much finer than the haphazard braid she made over in the waking world. Morrigan clothed herself in a gown that shared the color of the fog and she made a step and lightly pulled on the tether. Suddenly, Professor Lyra appeared next to her — or to be more precise, Morrigan appeared next to Professor Lyra.

"Hello," she said. "We're in the bounds. That is the outermost part of this realm."

She looked at Themis Lyra, trying to ascertain if she was different than before. Perhaps, where Morrigan's own form became less tangible, the other woman looked more vital.

"We could take another look at your scar," suggested Morrigan. "See if something reveals itself over here."

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   Themis Lyra

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The cord in her hand tensed, tugged, and then she was no longer alone. Themis registered her sudden company with a smirk. Of course the other woman moved through this world like a specter. Funnily, the changed appearance of her colleague was readily accepted by her mind. There was no shock; no fear at the other woman’s appearance. All Themis felt was curiosity and wonder at this newest revelation. Morrigan’s magic was different here; more fluid in ways Themis couldn’t understand or give words. Her magic also felt different. This was not the sensation of Themis’ magic, the heat of Samuel, or the heavy pull and pulse of blood magic. This buzzed; if there was a better word for it, Themis was at a loss. This felt different, more cerebral somehow. She would ask her host about this if she remembered in her waking state.

Themis considered the third eye and the hair that seemed suspended in water she was free of. It only solidified that Morrigan Crowley operated on her own frequency. Themis considered briefly that it was unfair that she lacked some etherial dream modification, but the thought was gone before it was fully formed. "There are layers to this, then. Some levels to this dream world." Themis pondered, seeking logic in her dreams.

As she watched Morrigan, she felt a strange sense of dichotomy between them. The magic that danced around Professor Crowley teased and suggested that there was something playful, almost mischievous, to the energy. It felt infinitely lighter than the magic she had waded into, but 'light' was still incorrect. This wasn't lightness so much as weightlessness. In the waking world, drawing the line between those bound to the heavens and those to the earth was simple enough, or so Themis believed. Though grounded in her way, she had always counted herself among the stars. She existed between, but near, close enough to her beloved stars that she belonged. This was her reality, but reality had a way of shifting. She had never felt more certain of gravity and less of its power than when she experienced Alchemy. When experimenting with the elements, Themis climbed higher and dared bravely. Blood magic had nearly killed her, as much as she savored the sensation. While both were dangerous, one had felt natural to her. While far more intoxicating, blood magic was foreign to her and pickled every good sense to stay away. She hadn't listened then and had no intention of walking away now, but she walked cautiously.

Almost forgetting the purpose of this venture, Themis took a moment too long to remember her scar. Who could think of scars when conversing with the third eye of a woman that already seemed to see too much? There were no buttons to navigate in this world as the soft fabric of her nightgown disappeared from her forearms. Fabric and clothing were artifice, and disintegrated with a thought. If only the waking world was so malleable.

Themis' eyes narrowed, trying to assign meaning to what she saw. Curiosity erasing concern, Themis offered her left arm and scar for evaluation. "I don't know what this means."

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   Morrigan Crowley

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Lou made magic!

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