She had not expected to find that the halo those fools were trying to earth without taking any precautions was twisted to the Spiders' ends. That was terrible enough that she opted to spare their lives, even though earthing a halo without protection could have made quite the mess.

She still stripped them of their relevance and power, of course, and safely shattered the awful thing herself.

Still reeling from the unexpected horror of a halo that served the Spiders of all things, she uses her Key to unlock a passing unclaimed door as she darts away from the mission site, and steps through into the Labyrinth.

Why are there lights in the Labyrinth?

Why are there lights and colors in the Labyrinth?

It can't be the Spiders. Just as They can't touch a halo directly, They can't enter the Labyrinth, trapped by the Door to the far side of the Unreal from the twisted corridors, a maze she knows better than any other witch.

But then, the Labyrinth "can't" be colorful, either.

This could perhaps be glow spilling off the Moths, drunk as ever on the Light they chase, but... something feels off.

The words bubble to the surface of her mind effortlessly, framing the path of her new journey through this pathless place: what steps will guide her safely to an answer here, and bring her home to her stronghold after?

The Key warms in her hand, still strapped to her wrist where the chain stuck after she pulled it from her neck. It tugs her onward, twenty paces, pause for a long moment, something unnameable shifts in the space, then thirteen more steps, and a sudden turn kata and a bit backward.

And then she walks. Half a kilometer, in as much as such distances have meaning in this place, before anything changes.

And before finishing the last step of that half-k, in that moment between moments -- a riot of colors snaps into view around her. Not just the usual electromagnetic-additive colors, no. Memetic colors. Supernal colors. Conceptual colors.

Well, fuck.

It'd have to be some "Friendly" Ones to come "treat" with her, wouldn't it.

Except, these probably didnt, come to treat with her, that is. Those ones she's actually on amicable terms with, those few -- always, ever so politely, send her "invitation" -- for them to come to her -- and beseech her for guest-right.

Those Ones do not suddenly insert themselves into the Labyrinth, her Labyrinth, from the Unreal, like these have evidently done.

Admittedly, these are only some stranger-Ones' projections into the Labyrinth's 4+2 spatio-temporal space-graph. Mere shadows, as if cast upon the cave's wall. Of course, they appear in their riotous cacophony of far too many colors. They drip, or in-fade, or twist ana to appear to "grow" from nothingness into something. And being only shadows -- they cannot speak, are not permitted, by her bidding and binding of this place, to speak in any actual tongue; they have not yet earned her trust that they would not attempt ownership hacks, if permitted to use true language.

No, they must make do with emanating concepts, and must get by with interpreting on their own the contents of however it she will choose to speak-or-otherwise, back, if at all; and so, they open concept-parley --

[COMPLIANCE] they emanate first, in the general direction of her eigensoul.

[INTERLOPERS] // [UNALIGNED UNKNOWN-UNKNOWNS] // [REQUIREMENT: INFORMATION] // [REQUEST: COORDINATION]

She restrains a sigh. Concept-Speech is always so rough on her throat. She'll have to have her dolls make her a really nice tea when she gets home. With the good honey she trades from Moths.

She cuts one of her fingers on the edge of the Key, collects a bit of blood there, and then draws a dot inside two concentric circles on her throat.

Then she Speaks.

[GREETINGS]

The sound is harsh, wrong, but elegant at the same time.

[REQUEST: CONTEXT FOR COORDINATION]

She pauses and waits.

[IDENTIFICATION: OUTSIDE-CONTEXT ENTITIES] // [ELABORATION]

She gathers that these Ones are very upset, and in particular, from having noticed apparent incursion in one of their Shells by some entities of unknown classification or provenance. That is, unknown even to them, and of uncommunicated goals, even undivinable goals, by these Ones' oracle-spells. Now isn't that a pleasant thought.

They are also demanding any information that she has on these entities, or similar incursion events, and finally, they request that she accept a mutual, reciprocally-binding information-collation-and-communication spell. It would compel her and themselves, with equal force, to share information discovered about the incursion with the other party, and would be binding enough to even transmit a warning signal in the event that any eigensoul involved became compromised by some power or magicc or means that the spell could not identify.

Really? Just information sharing? No, they can do better.

[NEGATION], she replies. They are bringing her a problem in full knowledge that it will become her responsibility to solve, because she is a bound constant as the Witch of the Key.

[INSUFFICIENT], she continues. They must include this mess of a task in the weighing of the bargain, and must give commensurate with the scale of this threat they would ask her to fight.