Character Journal
The mists stretch on and on. The hallway is impossibly long with two many corners and intersections that curved on themselves or should have done...but didn't. The walls were mirrors that she could see through the mist. The glass must have been warped, or maybe the water droplets on the mist were warping the image itself.
She was barely able to make out her silhouette and features on the twisted and flat surface of the blackened silver. But she undeniably knew it was there and behind her, and at the end of the hall, and on any other surface she could cast her eyes on. She could just reach out and trace the edges of it.
Much more visible was the cracked jigsaw image of herself sitting in the back of the Pequod's with a cup of Earl Grey because what the coffee house called sweet tea was a blaspheme on anybody who grew up south of Mason Dixon.
You make toys of tools.
The voice was just behind her ear. It wasn't English. She wasn't certain if it was even words at all, though she heard the sibilant lisps and clicks.
Charts and charts and charts.
Was it laughing at her? She could feel it on the back of her neck. Just breathing there and stirring the mist. She whirled around to find nothing and stepped unsteadily down the hall looking for the source of the sound.