You find yourself in a void of fog with no clear architecture, though you seem to be standing and walking on some kind of floor just fine. While it definitely seems to be fog drifting around, it tastes more like the smoke you’ve experienced recently. On one wall(?) hangs a childish kirigami paper doll chain with four roughly identical smiling figures, no other features filled in. Below you see four full-length standing mirrors with different frames—an ornate black one, a clear-cut red one, a bulky blue one, and a faded green one. Approaching any mirror doesn’t show you a reflection, oddly enough. Placing a hand on the glass, you feel a cool surface with enough give you suspect pushing further would achieve something.
You step straight through the black mirror, the sensation like walking through a thin film of cool gel, and find yourself in a large, shadowy room made of stone. Bats flit about the rafters, and plentiful dust motes swirl in the pockets of light. In the center of the room are four identical Emily Lewenhocks, aged maybe eleven or so, chattering among themselves excitedly. They don’t all carry themselves quite the same way, but it’s hard to clearly distinguish them, especially since they don’t respond to your presence or any attempts to contact them (verbally or physically).
In the midst of the friendly chat, there’s a flash of sickly green, gone as soon as it came on. The Emilys don’t seem to notice it, all of them still just going about laughing and scouting out the space. All… three of them? Several more moments pass before they seem to register that something’s wrong. Their little exploration of the room slowly shifts into a frantic search, all three of them calling for Emily.
The experience repeats if you stay here, but nothing changes. Best to step back through the mirror once you’re done observing.
You return to the foggy void. It seems about the same as it was before, but the mirror you just went through is duller and only shows your reflection as you’d expect it to. That, and the rightmost figure in the paper doll chain has vanished.
Next you step through the red mirror and find yourself in a narrow but mostly pleasant sunshiney alley. Three identical Emilys, in their early teens, are present. Only two are standing. The third is on the ground with a sickly green liquid spreading onto the pavement from her head. The Emilys that look a bit more responsive still don’t respond to your presence or any attempts to contact them.
They argue, a furious one cracking her knuckles until the other finally pulls her back. The calmer—if you could call it that when she’s clearly panicking—Emily kneels by the fallen one, trying to stanch the green liquid without moving her head too much. It doesn’t seem to be making any difference, so she just shakily murmurs “stay with us, Emily” as the angry Emily tries to wave down help. You lot don’t count, of course.
Back through the mirror, you return to the foggy void. It seems about the same as it was before, but the mirror you just went through is duller and only shows your reflection. That, and the paper doll chain is now down to two figures.
As you reach for the blue mirror, some force bounces you back. Though she’s nowhere to be seen here, Emily’s voice crackles, “YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM.” Doesn’t look like you’ll be able to do anything here but inspect the frame itself.
Along the side of the frame you find a few buttons difficult to see, but from the feel of triangles and such they seem to be rewind, play, and pause buttons.
You can hit play without any rebound. A few moments of a rushed masculine voice play with medium-poor quality, but the words are painfully clear nonetheless. “Okay, I don’t know where I am but I’m all right—don’t worry, Emily, you know I can take on a couple little no-good—” It cuts off with a muffled grunt.
Unlike the more immersive experiences, the recording isn’t on loop, but you’re free to rewind and replay it manually.
That leaves the green mirror. As before you step straight through, the sensation like walking through a thin film of cool gel, and find yourself in the living room of a cheap flat. The organization scheme is questionable, but it seems normal enough otherwise. A solitary Emily, missing her straitjacket but otherwise identical to the one you know, stands at the bar-slash-dinner table sipping from a mug. She alternates between checking whatever’s on the television behind her and copying something down from one page of a notebook onto the next, more neatly than it appears on the original page. She still doesn’t respond to your presence or any attempts to contact her.
She stares at the television longer this time, turning the volume up. There’s some odd sort of filter effect that prevents you from seeing or hearing what’s actually on, but it doesn’t seem to apply to her. Emily watches a moment longer before sitting at the bar, scuffing at one of the stool legs with the toe of her houseshoe. She stares at the next set of pages in the notebook for a while before rubbing her face with both hands, taking a big swig of the liquid, and resuming her work. Another page in, there’s a flash of sickly green, and she’s gone. The television broadcasts to no one, the written notes left unfinished, the pen falling to the bar and rolling to the floor. Despite the warbled TV noise, the place feels stiflingly silent.
You return to the foggy void, only to find a burgeoning pressure coming from all sides and no trace of the mirrors. All that’s left is Emily as you know her, kneeling and clutching the last paper doll to her chest. “You can’t have him,” she mumbles over and over.
