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@beth20 @arindown @rusted-knight @kimlikesart @anne_the_noob14

Tagging everyone (I think) who is involved in this currently!

I decided to write Marlowe looking at the mirror, but I’m having a lot of trouble figuring out her character. I’m thinking about making a topic, but if any of you have advice or comments, I would appreciate it.

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“Did you see where Dharin and the other man went?” Jaylin asked.

Marlowe shrugged slightly. “I saw them leave, but I don’t know where they went.” Closing the book, she placed it in a space on a nearby bookshelf. A muffled thud sounded from the wall. Had she knocked a hidden book onto the floor? She squinted at the bookshelf.

The unnamed stranger returned to the library, marching purposefully along the perimeter of the room. Marlowe backed away into the shadows to witness his strange performance. He worked quietly and quickly, as if he’d done this many times. Jaylin stood just behind him, asking questions.

Since both were distracted, Marlowe took the opportunity to approach the mirror. Ignoring the voices that rose in volume behind her, she peered into the depths of the looking glass. At first, she saw nothing but two silver glints that shone out of the shadows like points of steel. She squinted, and the glints flickered. Eyes.

Gradually, a shape formed out of the mist; a brief, ghostlike reflection of herself that faded out of existence—or perhaps melded with the creature lurking behind it. Its glowing eyes blinked, and a forked tongue flitted out. Marlowe’s brow creased at a realization. The reflection was a changeling lizard, not a native species of the Homeworld. Its scales could change color depending on the creature’s situation. Some colors attracted prey; others warned predators away. Pale colors were soothing to all who saw it. Threatening colors filled hearts with terror.

No one had ever discovered what color a changeling lizard’s scales truly were, yet when Marlowe looked into the mirror, all she saw was a changeling with faded, colorless scales. Was it saying that deep inside, she had no true form? Without her changing personalities, who was she? Was she a rebellious daughter? A crafty manipulator? A tenderhearted sister? A dutiful conformist? A bitter seeker of vengeance? Or were all these personas carefully crafted as tools to help her become master of the events around her?

Who was Marlowe Reynolds? As she gazed at the image in the mirror, she could honestly tell herself that she did not know.