CONTENT WARNING: this solo contains depictions of domestic abuse.

Quote:
Room 4: The Reflection Pool - This gallery feels strangely intimate compared to the others. Rather than towering skeletons or impossible machines, its displays are filled with ordinary things, each carefully preserved beneath crystal glass. A well-worn sword with a cracked leather grip rests beside a child's wooden toy. Nearby, a faded wedding dress stands upon a mannequin, opposite a pair of spectacles folded atop a handwritten journal whose pages have yellowed with age. A chipped teacup, a musician's instrument, an embroidered blanket, a half-finished carving, pressed flowers, letters tied neatly with ribbon--none appear remarkable on their own, yet each has been displayed with the same care as the museum's grandest treasures. Their placards are sparse, often recording only a name, a place, or a single date. These things would have been unremarkable in the hands of their owners, yet time has rendered them extraordinary. Somehow, each survived when countless others did not, preserved long after those who treasured them have been lost to time.

There is a quietness to the room unlike anywhere else in the museum. Those who linger near an object may find themselves overcome with the faintest impression of its history--not visions so much as feelings, fleeting glimpses of laughter, grief, triumph, routine, or love, as though the memories that shaped these ordinary possessions had never quite faded. Whether these impressions are the work of ancient magic or simply the imagination is impossible to say, but visitors often find themselves lingering far longer than they intended. In the center of the room is a strange fountain, with silver liquid that runs like water, but looks like mercury. Despite the miniature waterfall, the water is still, creating an almost perfect mirror.

    A placard says 'Reflection Pool', but there's more to it than that--and anyone who looks within it will find out why. The pool has a hypnotizing effect, drawing the viewer into an old memory. Guests may accompany them into this memory, but it is a deeply personal experience. The magic will pull them into a defining moment of their life where they experienced a critical failure or other impactful moment that lingers in their memory. Through this magic, they have the opportunity to confront this experience again, as they are now instead of as they were then. Though this is a hallucination, it is incredibly realistic and can last for a few minutes. Though it forces conflict, it can result in a great catharsis. The reflection pool can only give access to a memory you have from your present life, so no past life memories, forgotten side swapped memories, or memories you haven't unlocked. This can be used as a battle requirement, regardless of the memory; the character simply needs to confront a difficult moment in the past. Your character does not need to be powered in this memory and does not need to engage in real physical combat. This memory is an illusion and can distort wildly. While the past cannot change, the illusion can reveal an alternate future if the path had been different. The illusion will only last for a few minutes; if visiting as a group, each may experience their own individual illusions, or they may be sucked into one person's illusion together, or they may arrive in a combined illusion formed from each of them. A person cannot be harmed in this illusion. There isa warning posted by the pool that cautions against looking too deeply, but below that is a note: We are all defined by the small moments in our lives.


Madriu was surprised to find a room of the museum that was so still and quiet. He had not expected to find himself here alone; there were so many visitors that a solitary moment seemed nigh impossible, but perhaps they were simply all so scattered that it was, instead, more likely to find quiet. The hall he wandered through was fascinating, and perhaps a little bit heartache-inducing; none of these items seemed as wondrous as a museum in the stars seemed to promise, and yet they also seemed to be, perhaps, the most precious things of all.

It was the small things that made a life, and Madriu knew that very well. It was the small things that made his and Arcalis's salvaged, abandoned house feel like a home; the curtains they'd installed around their bed and the pile of pillows he insisted on collecting to make it a proper, comfortable nest. The progress they'd made on repairs. The little things they'd found to bring home and decorate it with. To Madriu, those things were as precious as any ancient relic or king's crown. No jewels or gemstones could match a stuffed rabbit tossed among their things, or a little howling wolf magnet recovered from where someone had lost it in the dirt next to the sidewalk. Any of those things, he supposed, might be put on display in a place like this.

But the room's centerpiece certainly drew his eye, even as he wanted to linger by those little items that commemorated a moment in time.

This was a place of memory, he could tell, and something about the perfectly still silvery liquid in the fountain before him felt like memory running like water.

Madriu found himself, all too easily, drawn in by its shimmering surface and the promise of what lay within.

And he found himself somewhere he did not, exactly, long to revisit.

Eithian's home was beautiful, Lex had to admit; full of the gaudy ostentation and luxury that was all too common among the Arcalian upper class, and to a level that he personally found a bit over the top and distasteful, but still lovely. He sat in the back garden, bare legs dipped into a swimming-pool that reflected the starry sky above.

It was peaceful, though time with Eithian rarely stayed peaceful for long. Something would shatter this moment, he knew.

The door to the house opened, and Lex realized exactly where--or perhaps when--he was, and he felt his stomach drop. It was something about the way Eithian moved, the particular robe he'd casually thrown on, the way the light hit in his mind's eye.

This night had been burned into his memory.

"Come on in, dinner's ready," Eithian said, and unlike many times later, he didn't slur; he wasn't drunk. He had been perfectly sober, at this particular moment. "My parents are here, they want to meet you."

"In a moment," Lex said, waving a hand. He hadn't been eager to go inside and meet people who undoubtedly thought he wasn't good enough for their son.

Eithian made an annoyed sound, and heavy footsteps came across the tiled patio.

"It wasn't a ******** request, Lex." Eithian's hand lashed out, grabbing his arm and hauling him out of the water and to his feet. When Lex looked up, Eithian's rabbit ears were tense and back, and he was wearing a thunderous expression. "We're not making them ******** wait so you can daydream. Put your shoes on and come inside."

"Let go of me," Lex said, as he had when this had happened in reality. "I'll come in when I'm ready, they can be patient."

The hit, when it came, was sharp and fast, the bakc of Eithian's hand against his cheek.

It had been the first time, that night.

"You're coming inside, now, and you're going to put away the attitude in front of my parents." There was a threat, in Eithian's tone.

In reality, Lex had been too stunned to react. When Eithian let go of his arm, that night, he'd demurely gone inside, sat through that awful dinner with his paramour's awful parents, and felt entirely insane, because Eithian had spent the entire dinner being affectionate with him and talking him up--acting as if what he'd done outside had never happened.

It had been the first time, and Lex, then, had accepted it. Had hidden it, even, made excuses for Eithian's temper--he was stressed, his parents were nightmarish to deal with, he'd just lost his temper for a moment.

Perhaps if he had ended things sooner, things might have gone very differently for his world.

Part of Lex knew he could not alter the past, not truly.

But perhaps it still felt like a victory to twist out of Eithian's grip.

"No," he said, taking a step to put more space between them, even as Eithian approached. "No, I actually think I'm going to go home. If you're going to put your hands on me, I don't think I'm interested in seeing this continue."

"Jumped-up dog--" Eithian growled, but Lex slipped his feet back into his sandals and turned for the door.

"Do not touch me again," he said. He could tell Anthy--Anthy already didn't like Eithian, he would be sure to help--


And then he came out of the memory, all in an instant.

There was a profound ache in his chest as he did.

What would have happened, if he really had done that, all those centuries ago? Certainly, it would have saved him from years of misery. He had been afraid, then, certain that if he tried to escape, the consequences would have been dire--not just for him, but for his family, and that even if he had somehow seen Eithian punished, it would have been too little too late.

It was difficult to linger on what-ifs. But he knew, now, that he had a home to return to, with someone who loved him. And it felt good, to look back and know that he had another choice. He hadn't walked away, then. But he could do it now. And he could promise himself to never let fear rule him again.