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She is slower than the mirror-faced snake, and for some reason it is choosing to chase her, and she is not in dense enough forest to lose it by going up a tree or between a couple too narrowly spaced for it. So it catches her before emergency services can turn up.
And then she is somewhere else, in a not particularly attractive room next to a person who looks sort of off somehow.
"Excuse me," she says, taking a step out of his personal space.
"Your gods don't sound very frightening, your kings even less so, no one here is my equal, the magic's kind of neat and it'd take a thousand times as much of it to make me bow to you in any meaningful sense, not that this is one."
"I feel like my visitors are getting steadily less agreeable and that gives me some concerns about whoever's next."
"Some light refreshments," he says to an attendant. "And invite the other guests back, too, so we can all unravel this mystery together."
The other guests reappear together when requested. "Different Ardas," Mirelótë says.
"This is Anaander Maitimo, one of the many millions of bodies of the hive-mind consciousness space empress who rules over an empire of thousands of worlds called the Radch. Or so she tells us."
"Not disagreeable, moderately disagreeable," he says, pointing at Mirelótë and then at Cor. "I'm - disinclined to be attributing anything to coincidence at this point," he adds to Cor.
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