The vision in the mirror changed, darkened. It was like peering into the blackness of night, her reflection gone. Then slowly, her eyes adjusted as if she really were in the thick of night, and she began to perceive subtle changes – shapes and shading. The texture of bark stained by rot. A burl protruding from a tree like a fist and her vision narrowed on it. The burl resembled a face, a face seeping red ocher. What was this? Where was it? The scene expanded revealing an entire grove of like trees, some with burls knotting their girths, some not, all afflicted with rot, gloom held captive beneath immense, spreading limbs, a mist ghosting among the trunks. It could only be Blackveil, haunting her before she even set foot within its treacherous bounds.