Kaito runs.
The woman hasn't moved.
"Open your eyes."
He looks into the mirror.
The Cartographer, Kaito (30s, worn coat, ink-stained fingers), crouches behind the stone well. His lantern is off. He learned that lesson two corridors ago.
The reflection raises a hand. Points past Kaito's shoulder. Back toward the door.
But the mud beside his boot has a fresh footprint. Too long. Too many toes. The toes are smiling —little curved indents where they should be straight. -NIGHTMARE- The Mimic Script
of a single water droplet. PAUSE . Another. Rhythmic. Too rhythmic.
The woman's head twitches. Not turning. Unspooling . Her neck rotates 180 degrees without a sound. She is now looking directly at the well.
No footsteps. No breathing. No chase music. The Mimic doesn't chase. It arrives . Kaito runs
Behind him: .
The farmer is still facing the shrine. The child still holds the umbrella. But the footsteps circle the well. Squelch. Squelch. Squelch.
You did.