Keep an eye on that mirror The God of the Spark had warned, I believe you may have trouble with it in the coming days.

Keep an eye on it. Myrddin mused over the God's choice of words. He had not yet completed the quest that the Goddess of the Moon had sent him on - it was difficult in these lands to find any who possessed the true emotions that she had asked him to find, and understand. Oh, of course many here thought they were joyful, or depressed, but in reality, where they? All the way down in every nook and cranny of their being? Or were they simply fooling themselves? Either way, he remained sightless for the time being, though that did not stop him from monitoring his mirror.

Myrddin could feel the tug of the mirror's energy pulling at the fibres of his being - it was a tantalizing feeling, at times making his bones feel young and youthful again, and at others he fully felt the weight of his age. Normally, to his mind, the mirror was a dull throb; constantly pulsing. He had stayed close to the mirror, heading the warning of the Basin's God, but was not expecting to hear a loud, resounding crack echoing from the cave. Having mentally mapped out most of the Basin Myrddin moved slowly but with diligence towards the mirror, unable to see the crack on the mirror, or the bubbles forming on its surface.

But he could feel it.

It was a feeling of unease - like the moment of discord when a dissonant melody is about to become a major one, but hadn't fully done so yet. It both repelled his mind and captivated it.

Again, the blind stag is unable to see the shadow and the dancing light which corresponds from its depths, for his blindness is a magical one - and his senses aren't even able to perceive the changing frequencies of light. Nevertheless, he can tell that something has happened to the mirror, his mirror, and wonders what implications it will have for the Basin. Feeling the cold grip the air, Myr bristles against it as it immediately works its way into his joints.The arthritic snake who lived in his joints, hissed its outrage, sending flares of icy hot venom through his bones. With great effort, Myrddin dropped to a knee at the edge of the mirrors glassy surface. His body rebelled against these movements, sending out dry cracks and groans echoing off the walls of the cave. Lowering his gnarled and twisted horn to the surface, he let the tip pierce the bubbling surface.

To go on is to go through.
At last, even the seer is cremated.
Each seed loves the dark for the light it promises.