Not long after, Sunny and Ananke were in a spacious chamber, seated at a table. A beam of brilliant sunlight fell through a tall window, illuminating its weathered surface.
There were several items laid out on the table, glistening in the light: a silver bell, an ordinary-looking rock, a beautiful glass bottle, a needle emanating a faint golden glow, a folded mantle woven out of sublime black silk, and a small lantern carved out of stone.
They were, of course, Sunny's Memories.
"Are you ready?"
Ananke nodded, inhaled deeply, and then summoned a Memory of her own.
A black wooden mask obscured her enchanting face, replacing it with a ferocious visage of a snarling demon. It was Weaver's Mask — a lesser replica of it that priests and priestesses of the Nightmare Spell had worn once, thousands of years ago.
Ananke had inherited it from her mother, and now, Sunny had used his own skill as a sorcerer to modify its elegant weave.
