Silvertip Mountain to look into the mirror is to see the future, in blood and rubies

what do they say, snakeling?

lips curled, peeled back in a flash of mismatched canines. what do they say? and she might never have answered, but the unchild needed to know it too. eyelids fluttered, slowly, down down down until the world was black —
and asperas listened. she drank in the quiet, picked apart the threads of deepening silence til they split and frayed into a million thin keening voices. lips parted, and she reached for a thread, willing it to materialize in the depths of her throat.
it started low and guttural, the creak of a hundred year old door — and it deepened, groaned, growing fast in her throat like a dark nimbus unfurling into cloudburst. and then, abruptly, up — sharp and shrill, stone on metal, screaming as eyes flew open with pupils blown and reflecting the other god, the bear, that damnable skull —
and then it stopped. and then asperas blinked away the dark of dilated eyes, and saw her father once again.
die, the snakeling licked her lips. spirits. die.

ju-on: the curse of the furries