Mirror, mirror

Our story begins in the Antique Bazaar, a place where dust motes held more social gatherings than actual customers. The lighting was so dim, it was a miracle anyone could find anything, let alone their way out. Sarah, with her uncanny ability to unearth obscure historical facts and equally obscure antique shops, had dragged her friends into this monument to hoarding. There, lurking beneath a dust sheet thicker than a medieval tapestry, was the mirror. Frankie, clearly suffering from a temporary bout of sanity loss, declared it "the one" and promptly purchased it, ignoring the increasingly frantic pleas of her friends. Clara, whose spiritual antennae were constantly picking up bad vibes, felt a distinct chill, like a spectral ice cube had lodged itself in her intestines. It was a clear sign: this mirror was trouble (or possibly just really old and cold). In the ensuing weeks, Frankie’s presence dwindled like a cheap candle in a hurricane. First, she missed a few happy hour cocktails, then a movie night, then her own birthday party (a truly cardinal sin). Finally, she vanished completely, leaving only unanswered calls and the unsettling feeling that she’d been abducted by particularly stylish dust bunnies. The only logical course of action? A house call, of course – because nothing says "friendly intervention" like barging into someone's home unannounced. 

Act 1: The Unsettling Change

The insistent rapping on the door finally elicited a response. The door creaked open a sliver, revealing Frankie. She looked… different. Gone were the usual ripped jeans, band tees, and backwards cap. In their place was a prim, almost Victorian-era dress, her hair styled in an elaborate updo, and a touch of what appeared to be makeup on her face. 

"Good afternoon, ladies," she said, her voice a refined drawl that was utterly foreign to them. "Do come in. I was just about to have tea."

Trish, ever the social butterfly, practically bounced into the apartment, chattering incessantly. "Frankie! My dear girl! You look… marvelous! Absolutely stunning! Who did your hair? Did you get a makeover? You look like a movie star!" 

Clara, ever the mystic, held her hands out towards Frankie, a gentle smile on her face. "My dear, you seem… off-kilter. Perhaps a bit… unbalanced. Allow me to perform a small cleansing ritual to restore your chi."

Frankie, however, seemed startled by Clara's gesture. "Oh, no, thank you, Clara. I assure you, I'm perfectly fine. I've simply decided to embrace a more… refined lifestyle."

Sarah, meanwhile, was fixated on the ornate mirror that stood precariously on the antique dresser. It was breathtakingly beautiful, but something about it sent a shiver down her spine. "That's… quite the piece," she murmured, her gaze lingering on the intricate carvings. "It looks very old. Do you know anything about its history?"

Frankie's smile tightened. "It's an heirloom," she said, her voice a bit too sharp. "A family treasure." 

Trish, oblivious to the tension, was already exploring the apartment, exclaiming over the new throw pillows and the delicate china tea set. "Frankie, you've completely transformed this place! It's so… elegant! You know, I always knew you had a touch of the sophisticate hidden beneath that tomboy exterior."

Clara, undeterred by Frankie's reluctance, began to chant softly, her hands moving in slow, deliberate motions around Frankie. "May the cosmic energy flow freely… cleanse away the negativity… restore balance and harmony…"

Frankie recoiled, her eyes widening. "Clara, please stop! I don't need any… 'cleansing.' I'm perfectly healthy."

The tension in the room was palpable. Sarah, noticing the unease in Frankie's expression, subtly tried to steer the conversation away from Clara's "healing." "Frankie," she said, "perhaps we could have some tea? I'd love to hear about this… 'refined lifestyle' you've embraced."

Frankie, however, seemed to be fixated on Clara. "She doesn't understand," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "She doesn't know what it's like to… to feel… incomplete."

Clara, sensing the shift in Frankie's mood, frowned. "Incomplete? Frankie, you're a wonderful person. You don't need to change a thing."

"But I do," Frankie insisted, her voice rising. "I need to… to be better. More… refined. More… beautiful." 

Trish, sensing the brewing argument, quickly jumped in. "Frankie, you're beautiful just the way you are! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise!"

Frankie turned to Trish, a cold, calculating look in her eyes. "You wouldn't understand," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're just… frivolous. Shallow."

Trish, taken aback by Frankie's sudden hostility, gasped. "Frankie! What are you talking about?"

Frankie turned away from Trish, her gaze fixed on the mirror. "You're all so…judgmental," she muttered, her voice barely audible. "You don't see the real me. You don't understand."

Sarah, watching Frankie closely, noticed a subtle shift in her features. Her eyes seemed to darken, and a strange, almost predatory glint appeared in them. It was as if… as if something else was lurking beneath the surface. 

Florence Witherdale, it seemed, was starting to play her games. 

Act 2: The Desperate Search

The air crackled with tension. Frankie's outburst had left a chilling silence in its wake. Clara, her brow furrowed, resumed her chanting, her voice gaining intensity. "Spirits of light, heed my call! Banish the darkness that clings to this soul! Restore balance, restore harmony!"

As Clara's chanting reached a crescendo, a visible ripple distorted the air around the mirror. Frankie recoiled, clutching her head, a guttural growl escaping her lips. The ornate frame of the mirror began to vibrate, and the reflection within shimmered, no longer showing Frankie's face but a fleeting glimpse of a gaunt, aged woman with wild, unkempt hair.

"Stop it!" Frankie shrieked, her voice now laced with a chillingly malevolent undertone. "Stop interfering!"

The room plunged into an eerie silence, broken only by Clara's ragged breaths. It was clear: the mirror was the source of the trouble.

"It's the mirror," Sarah whispered, her eyes wide with realization. "It's the cause of all this."

Trish, her usual bubbly demeanor replaced by a steely resolve, marched towards the mirror. "Then we smash it!" she declared, raising her fist.

Before Trish could strike, Frankie lunged forward with inhuman speed, grabbing Trish's arm with surprising strength. "Don't you dare touch it!" she snarled, her eyes blazing with an unnatural light.

Suddenly, the room began to spin. The modern furniture dissolved, replaced by plush velvet drapes, ornate furniture, and gas lamps flickering with an eerie glow. The scent of dust and old perfume filled the air. They were no longer in Frankie's modern apartment; they were in a lavishly decorated room from the 19th century.

Sarah gasped, her historical knowledge kicking in. "This… this is incredible! It's like a temporal displacement! The mirror… it's projecting us into the past!"

"Indeed," Frankie said, her voice now a smooth, almost seductive purr. "Welcome to my world." Her features shifted again, becoming more refined, more… like the image of the gaunt woman they had briefly seen in the mirror.

Sarah, her mind racing, began to piece together the fragments of information. "The mirror… it belonged to Florence Witherdale," she murmured. "A woman obsessed with beauty, cursed by her own reflection. But there was someone else… a man who sold her the mirror. He was the one who imbued it with this… this power."

"Very good, my dear," Frankie/Florence purred, a cruel smile spreading across her face. "You understand. He offered her beauty, but at a terrible price. The mirror doesn't just reflect; it absorbs. It absorbs the life force, the very essence of those who gaze into it for too long, trapping their souls within its glass prison, feeding my own vanity. It gives me their youth, their beauty, their vitality."

Florence/Frankie gestured towards the mirror, its surface now swirling with iridescent colors. "And now," she said, her voice dripping with malice, "I offer you the same opportunity. Look into the mirror. Become beautiful. Become eternal."

She turned her gaze directly at Trish, who had frozen in fear. "You, the frivolous one, so concerned with appearances. Don't you crave true beauty? The kind that never fades?"

Then she turned to Clara, who was shaking with fear and confusion, unsure of what to do. "And you, the spiritual one, searching for balance and harmony. What greater harmony than to merge with the eternal? What greater balance than to become one with the mirror's power?"

Finally, her gaze settled on Sarah. "And you, the studious one, so eager for knowledge. What greater knowledge than to experience the past firsthand? To become a part of history?"

The mirror shimmered, its surface reflecting not their own faces, but visions of themselves as idealized, beautiful versions, bathed in the soft glow of the 19th-century setting. The temptation was palpable, a siren call promising beauty, eternity, and knowledge. The trap was set.

Act 3: The Final Confrontation

The seductive visions shimmered in the mirror, each tailored to the deepest desires of Frankie's friends. Trish saw herself as a glamorous socialite, the center of attention at every party. Clara envisioned herself bathed in celestial light, radiating peace and serenity. Sarah saw herself surrounded by ancient texts and artifacts, unlocking the secrets of history. For a horrifying moment, they were lost in the allure, teetering on the brink of surrender.

Then, a flicker of awareness sparked in Trish’s eyes. She glanced at Frankie, truly saw her for the first time since the transformation. Frankie’s skin was drawn and pale, her eyes hollow, a stark contrast to the vibrant image reflected in the mirror. The sight jolted Trish back to reality. The illusion shattered for the others as well, the seductive visions replaced by the cold reality of their situation.

Clara, her face pale but resolute, began to chant again, her voice stronger this time, a defiant melody of spiritual resistance. The air around Florence shimmered and distorted, her perfect facade beginning to crack. "No! Stop it!" Florence shrieked, her voice losing its seductive smoothness, becoming harsh and desperate. "You can't do this! This power is mine!"

Florence's composure completely crumbled. She began to pace frantically, her movements jerky and unpredictable. "I won't let you take it from me!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the transformed room. In a desperate act, she extended her hands towards the mirror, muttering an incantation in a guttural tongue. The mirror's surface rippled, and from its depths emerged shadowy figures, their forms indistinct and terrifying, their eyes glowing with malevolent intent. They stalked towards the girls, their presence radiating a chilling cold.

"Those are… dark entities," Sarah gasped, her eyes wide with terror. "The mirror… it's drawing power from them. It's a conduit!" She looked at the mirror, fear holding her back. She knew it was the source, but the dark entities were too close, too threatening.

Trish, however, had reached her limit. Seeing the dark entities closing in, and the desperate look on her friends' faces, she made a decision. Ignoring Sarah’s hesitant words, she steeled her resolve. “Enough!” she yelled, lunging towards the mirror.

"No!" Florence shrieked, her voice filled with panic. "Don't! If you break it, you'll destroy us all!"

Trish didn’t hesitate. With a primal yell, she grabbed a heavy candlestick from a nearby table and brought it down on the mirror with all her force. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, the room erupting in a deafening crash.

A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the air, a sound of pure agony and despair. It was Florence, her form flickering and dissolving like smoke as the dark entities vanished with her. The opulent 19th-century setting dissolved as well, returning them to Frankie's now-normal apartment. The three friends collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

When they awoke, the room was quiet, the air clear. They were lying on the floor surrounded by shards of glass. Frankie was there too, sitting up slowly. She looked… different. There were streaks of gray in her hair, and her skin had a slightly aged quality, as if she had aged several years in a short time. Despite this, she was back to her old self, wearing her usual casual clothes. She picked up a small, hand-held mirror from a nearby table and looked at herself, a small smile playing on her lips. "Well," she said with a shrug, "I've had worse hair days."

Her friends rushed to her side, relief washing over them. "Frankie! You're okay!" Trish exclaimed, hugging her tightly.

Clara examined Frankie with concern. "Are you sure you're alright? You look…"

"A little worse for wear?" Frankie finished with a chuckle. "Yeah, maybe. But I feel… normal. Like myself again. And honestly… I kind of like the gray streaks. They give me character."

As the three friends comforted Frankie, a scene unfolded elsewhere. In a dimly lit back room of an antique shop, the same man who had sold the mirror to Florence, and later to Frankie, carefully placed a newly restored, pristine version of the ornate mirror on a display stand. The glass shimmered, and within its depths, a reflection appeared. It was Florence, young and beautiful once more, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she let out a soft, chilling laugh. The cycle was ready to begin again.

This is a Rol playing game collection of sessions from Stories from the Grave and taken from Seeds of Horror. I've left out the dice rolling and planning so that it's just the story as a tale.