Jones can approve of that answer—the significance of numbers is something she's well aware of. By her reckoning the rightmost door is Number Two, although really, looking at the doors, one could think them interchangeable: same wood, same worn brass fixtures, no markings on either.
Of course, she would hardly want to go in blind; unfortunately, she never mastered Life magic, but she can check for trapdoors and other similar dangers easily. It seems safe enough. Funny, though; unless there's something mixing up her magical senses, there must be an impressive collection of fancy silver cutlery in there, for all of that material she can sense. But not being a werewolf, she doesn't really care about silver, so: into the breach it is.
It's only opening the door that she figures out what exactly all the silver is coming from, stopping her in her tracks. Mirrors. The room is covered, on every wall, in mirrors of varying sizes and shapes.
Well, this has now officially crossed the line of weirdness she is comfortable with.
no subject
Of course, she would hardly want to go in blind; unfortunately, she never mastered Life magic, but she can check for trapdoors and other similar dangers easily. It seems safe enough. Funny, though; unless there's something mixing up her magical senses, there must be an impressive collection of fancy silver cutlery in there, for all of that material she can sense. But not being a werewolf, she doesn't really care about silver, so: into the breach it is.
It's only opening the door that she figures out what exactly all the silver is coming from, stopping her in her tracks. Mirrors. The room is covered, on every wall, in mirrors of varying sizes and shapes.
Well, this has now officially crossed the line of weirdness she is comfortable with.