For several hours longer the four women spoke. They sat in their seats, shifting slightly with the passing time, discussing their thoughts on the show and about their lives. The first hour had been a bit tense, each woman learning to allow themselves to be open to each other as though they had all met that moment. The questions and comments lacked depth, with a great swathe of the time rested in wary silence. Daphne could tell her appearance in the private gathering had caused the stuttering momentum, but it soon evaporated and comfort and relaxation took root in all of the women. They allowed themselves to be vulnerable as they realized Daphne had been earlier. And as the time passed, weariness set in. As well as the desire to change from the sweat infested outfits of the evening's performance. Dusk had been the first to leave for the night, bidding everyone a fond goodnight and an additional comment of having played a great show. Luna had darted to her feet, quick on the blonde's heels, hurriedly giving the same messages and leaving Thorn and Daphne alone together.

There was silence for several minutes after Luna's departure. Neither woman spoke, nor felt like she had to speak. Though Daphne still held questions and fears in her mind, a majority of them had been laid to bare in the night's discussion, even if she hadn't sought answers yet. And she felt better for it. It was like having an immense weight lifted off your tired shoulders, granting reprieve and peace from the burden. She began to understand why the band held such talks after every show they played, even if the conversation may not be as dramatic or deep after some performances. Leant back in the plush cloud of the papasan, her eyes started to flutter shut. She let them do so, taking a quiet breath and relishing the chance to relax. But a soft squeeze upon her hand jolted her eyelids open.

Thorn looked over Daphne, watching the redhead struggle between lucidity and the fantasy of dreaming. There weren't any clocks in the room, so they couldn't tell the time, but she was confident it was well past midnight. It made sense that sleep would come now and exhaustion would set in. A draining performance and an even more exhausting discussion afterwards could often steal the wind out of the sails in even the most adept professionals.

"You should rest, Daphne," she said.

Daphne remained in place. Thorn felt the creeping sludge of weariness begin settling into her joints but she knew Daphne could not remain as she was. She needed to get the danger-prone woman to a bed. Even as tired as she felt, Thorn stood and gently tugged on Daphne's arm. Sluggishly, the normally purple-dressed woman rose to her feet.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed," Thorn cooed.

She started to lead Daphne out of the room when she realized that she had no idea where each member of Mystery Incorporated was staying. Well, except for Shaggy and Scooby, both of whom preferred to stay in the Mystery Machine where it was "safe from monsters". A small chuckle slipped from Thorn's lips at the recalled memory.

A weight fell to rest upon her shoulder, drawing the singer from her remembrance of memories. The chaotic tangle of once straight, flowing red hair cascaded down her shoulder and back, weaving and mixing with her own of raven black and crimson. She turned to see Daphne, eyes closed in a quiet serenity, resting against her. She took in how Daphne was still in the borrowed dress from their performance. It hadn't been a lie earlier in the day when Thorn had told her she looked flattering in it. She had wanted to say Daphne looked stunning, but restrained her tongue. She didn't know whether or not Daphne held the same feelings for her as she held for the sleuth, so she had improvised, managing to get her point across, though a bit more subtly and without a declaration of her feelings. For years she had felt strongly for her. Each instance they had met, each case they solved together, proved further and further that the feelings she harbored were no fluke and rather emboldened them like stoking a flame. Now she worried about what to do; did she let Daphne sleep in the dress or did she undress her to make her comfortable? The implications of such an action warmed Thorn's cheeks. She quickly shook the thoughts away. There was enough time to ponder the question before she had to make a choice, though she felt confident she already knew the answer.

Carefully she wrapped her arms around Daphne and guided the half-asleep woman through hall after hall at a plodding pace. Several times she had to reorient the redhead as she would sloop and careen off to the side, threatening to collapse to the floor or crash into the definitely not comfortable hard wood of the walls. It led to a walk that should have only been a few minutes taking almost triple that amount. But the women soon found their way to the small room where Thorn slept after a late show. Other musicians would often have buses or vans for this exact purpose, but Thorn and the others preferred to experience the spirit of each venue, only sleeping in their tour bus when they were forced to. A ritual partly born from Thorn's 1/16th Wiccan bloodline and heritage.

The room, upon having entered, was small and thin, rectangular in shape with not much for style or commodity. To the right of the door, pressed against the wall, was a twin sized bed covered in thin gray sheets as well as a singular pillow flatter than a sheet of paper. Opposite the foot of the bed, occupying the little wall space between the doorframe and the wall the bed pressed against, was a small desk with a mirror. It was simple, like something one could quickly build or purchase from a store. On the left wall was a set of thin doors which opened to a small closet. Enough space to hold a few outfits, but nothing more. The rest of the room was barren of life and personality, not that many used the space to begin with.

Walking over to the bed, Thorn gently laid Daphne upon the mattress. On the walk over to the room, she had opted to have Daphne sleep in the outfit, wanting to avoid any accusatory curses that could have come otherwise. But, though an animalistic aspect of her mind wished the choice had been different, it was hard not to admit she didn't find the dress more attractive on the redhead instead of herself. As Daphne came to rest upon the surprisingly spongy bed she mumbled softly. The words were unintelligible but there was something to them. It almost seemed to be a conversation as the redhead's incoherent babbling would inflect differently at various points, though Thorn couldn't be sure. As she leaned over Daphne, getting her situated in the bed like a mother tucking a child asleep, her ears twitched at a mumble that sounded akin to her name. She pulled her head back, stared at the sleeping woman, and listened. Another word stood out from the jumbled incoherency: feelings. In the silent room Thorn's heart drummed. In truth, the words could mean any number of possibilities, yet in the wake of Thorn's constant attempts at garnering the attention of the redhead, her thoughts construed the tie in only one manner. Just as quickly, however, she shook away the thought, doing her best not to get her hopes up. She knew she had pushed too much. Done too much for a response and if she continued like she had, the result could be disastrous and detrimental to even just the friendship she had with Daphne.

While Thorn pondered aimlessly through the day's events and her own feelings, Daphne's arms clamped around her abdomen like a viper striking from the bushes, pulling her close and down onto the small bed. A faint yelp squeaked out between her lips as she was pulled down suddenly. Daphne held her tightly. Like she were the stuffed animal held at night, arms clasped around her body as the redhead curled into her. Thorn didn't try to fight the tired woman, being quite weary herself. A part of her worried what would happen in the morning, fearing a quiet rejection from Daphne, but she saw no easy way to slip free. And the droop of her eyelids rendered even the thought of escape impossible. So she nestled into Daphne's embrace and let her eyes drift closed.

Void surrounded Daphne like a vacuum. The darkness blurred her vision and swirled in infinite shades of black around her. She floated aimlessly in space. To her own surprise, she wasn't afraid or worried about her presence in the dark. It felt welcoming and familiar, as though this wasn't the first time she had found herself there. Perhaps it wasn't. As she floated, unmoving, she attempted to recall the last time she had been here. Her mind felt distant. Or blocked off from her, leaving a cold emptiness in its place. Thought was impossible. All she could do was to let the swirling dark hold her and caress her like a lover in the night with gentle touches upon her skin. She stayed suspended in place, feeling as though she were resting upon the surface of water. At peace and tranquil as time passed unknowingly.

The darkness faded. And Daphne felt the lurch of gravity suddenly pulling her down.

She fell, slow at first but rapidly picking up pace until she was shooting towards the source that drew her. Fearing the impending impact into something, she screwed her eyes shut. Further and further she flew through the passing dark. A minute passed. Another. The entire time, eyes remained closed in nervous anticipation. Though she never screamed, just felt a resignation that it was coming, even if that resignation did nothing to assuage the nervousness.

As quickly as she had started shooting through the midnight like a star scoring through the night sky, she stopped. Her feet stood upon a still and hard floor. There was no lurch in her stomach or shatter of bones as she crashed to a halt. Because there hadn't been a crash. She had just stopped as if she had been standing stiff and still the entire time. Decidedly confused, she opened her eyes to the change in scenery.

She stood within a square room, as long on each side as four of herself with arms outstretched. The room was lit overhead by a white light she couldn't see. As if it didn't exist and the room simply lit itself. Each wall was lined from end to end with thick curtains. They were a soft velvety fabric, deep and richly wine-red, crinkled and bunched all along their length and cast sharp shadows in the mysterious lighting that faded seamlessly with the red. She couldn't even see the bottoms of the curtains. Faintly, the fabric rustled and billowed in a breeze. Daphne felt no brush of wind in the room, nor even temperature at all, and it gave the curtains a ghostly living appearance. The floor was true hardwood, a deep gray wood that looked old and new all at once. Looking at it, Daphne felt a shiver tingle down her spine. It reminded her of the countless "haunted" houses she had visited. All of which gave her goosebumps and unsettled her. With a glance around the room, she found nothing else beyond a single standing mirror planted in the very center of the floor. It wasn't intricately designed, but with the straight edges and rounded top, it looked almost like a doorway.

She approached it hesitantly. Her eyes darted around the room with each step, expecting something or someone to jump out from the shadows. Nothing did. Upon reaching the mirror, she stared into its pane. There was no reflection. No reflection of either room or herself. The silver, chromelike nature of a regular mirror had been replaced by an opaque silver that looked like staring into the thickest point of a bank of fog. She brought a hand up to the pane of glass and pressed her palm against it. Expectation from having used countless mirrors in her life led her to believe it would be cold. It was not. The mirror was warm and thrummed softly beneath her touch. It seemed alive. Her heart thundered, drumming the ribcage, as she snatched her hand away as quickly as she would if it had burned her. It was unnatural. Nothing was natural here.

She wasn't even sure what this place was.

Her eyes had only closed for a fraction of a second with a blink and yet, as they opened again, the mirror was gone. Standing where it had once stood was herself. Well, not herself, but someone or something that looked exactly like her. A doppleganger. It wore her clothes-her violet mini-dress with lavender accents, her green scarf, her tights, even her headband-and presented with a headstrong attitude. It looked exactly like her, down to the smallest detail. Daphne felt as though it were mocking her.

"Why do you look like me?!" She cried. "What are you?!"

The Not-Daphne looked at her as though the answer were obvious. As though it were written somewhere upon her face for Daphne to read.

"Is this some kind of trick? You know who I am." Not-Daphne said. Its voice was Daphne's, but not.

"I certainly do not! Now who are you?!"

"I am Daphne Blake, the youngest of the Blake family daughters, member of Mystery Incorporated."

Daphne guffawed. "I am Daphne Blake. You aren't me."

"But I am. Though if you think that I am not, I wonder if you know yourself as well as you believe."

"I know myself better than anyone, what makes you believe that I wouldn't? What does it matter how well I know myself, anyway?" Daphne crossed her arms below her breasts. Her jaw tightened and her right foot began to tap upon the floor annoyed.

"It means everything. But you don't. If you did, you would know me just as well. That isn't the case, is it?"

"I don't understand."

"Don't you, though?" Not-Daphne stepped closer to Daphne, a kindly smile cutting across between her ears. "You left me behind when you got lost."

"When I got lost? What are you talking about?" Daphne growled.

"I don't blame you. She is a siren who stole away reason."

"Who are you talking about?"

Not-Daphne's eyes narrowed and she shot the sharp gaze at Daphne.

"You ask so many questions. Too many. You refuse to think for yourself and piece together the puzzle. No wonder being the bait to get captured was your role in Mystery Inc. The least you could do is stumble upon some clues like Shaggy and Scooby," Not-Daphne chided.

"Answer me. Who were you talking about?" Daphne said, ignoring the remarks. Though they did sting. They were thoughts she had contemplated on more than one occasion. On more than one mystery solved.

"She is quite pretty." Not-Daphne raised a hand to cup Daphne's cheek. Her thumb caressed the skin before following behind the other digits to glide and trail beneath the chin. A shiver echoed through Daphne's body, passing from the bottoms of her feet to the top of her head. It was as though she had stepped into the heart of a winter storm, the shake staying for far longer than anticipated.

When the shiver finally ended, Not-Daphne smiled. Her teeth bare between rose-pink lips, the grin was predatory and lovestruck.

"Much better," she hummed. She opened her mouth again, but in each word her voice began to shift until it was no longer Daphne's own. It was like velvet rolling against silk and a voice Daphne knew well. Her words hammered the nails down. "'I'm a good look for you, Daphne.'"

Daphne's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and terror as the hand resting beneath her chin slipped away. Her head dropped and tilted as the unbeknownst aid disappeared. Her body was not her own. It looked so similar but in certain places it was just slightly fuller. In others it was near imperceptibly slimmer. And just slightly taller. Only someone who hadn't known either body as their own would never see the difference. But Daphne knew every inch of her own body, every feature and imperfection, none were of this one. Though there was a familiarity to the new body. She watched, terrified, as the clothes adorning her body shifted suddenly. The violet mini-dress rippled and torrented like angry waves battering against the pale sand of her skin and it changed. Violet turned dark and red, changing shape and size conforming to her body. A new dress. Pink tights gone, alabaster thighs peak through the gap in the ankle-length skirt. A new sash on the hips, fabric on exposed shoulders, all crimson and accenting the dark dress.

"Thorn?" Daphne asked in a silken voice that did not belong to her. She stared at herself another moment, then cast a sharp gaze towards her doppelganger as if hoping they would burst. They did not. Rather, they smiled at Daphne-Thorn. A kind-hearted and loving smile, dreamy eyed and oozing interest. And then, in a flash opposite of lightning, the world went dark.

"Truth, Daphne. Search your feelings for the truth." Not-Daphne's voice spun around Daphne as senses faded. No more touch. No more sight. No more sound. All at once, the nightmare was gone, replaced swiftly by meaningless snippets of an imaginative mind forming a chaotic, forgettable dream.

Warmth woke Daphne the following morning. She laid watching the backs of her eyelids on a soft mattress unfamiliar to her, sheets tousled beneath her and the blanket cover draped loosely over her legs. One leg hung limply off the edge, the tips of her toes ghostly touching the cool wood floor. Her lungs worked harder to get adequate breath as she inhaled rhythmically. A weight bore down upon her. And there was warmth from that weight. Daphne waited a moment, anticipating something but she didn't know what. Then came a shift, slight and adjusting, but a shift. Her thoughts raced in panic and the blacks of her eyelids did nothing to answer the questions festering, so she opened them. The room was dark-not pitch and blinding-and she could make out the small nature of the room. Perhaps no wider than twice her wingspan from wall to wall and the same vertical wooden paneling that she had seen in other rooms before.

I'm still in the venue. I must have fallen asleep before I could make it to my room. I can't see any of my stuff.

While the years and countless adventures had certainly helped Daphne to be less posh and fickle about the minutiae of her rooms, there were still aspects which acted as flashing signals of whose room it was. A violet hairdryer on the counter, a green scarf loosely draped over a chair, or even a small violet makeup purse with DB emblazoned upon it in chrome. None were in this room. The warm weight shifted again. And groaned. The noise was soft and almost a murmur, but clearly heard in the otherwise silent room. It made Daphne's skin chill and prickle with goosebumps. The heat of her body shot to her face, surely giving a heavy blush to her cheeks. Lifting slightly off the pillow her head rested on, she tilted to finally see what laid upon her.

Nestled into Daphne, curled slightly like a content cat, was none other than the Hex Girls' lead singer Thorn. Her head rested upon and between Daphne's breasts, letting her dark, silken hair fan out across the redhead's body. The blush which shone in Daphne's cheeks spread like a wildfire to paint the rest of her face the same flaming red as her hair. Her eyes widened, recalling the dream she had. Or was it a nightmare? She wasn't sure, but the contents of what she had seen, what she had faced rumbled within.

Thorn?! No. No way. There's no way. It would have to be a coincidence.

Her eyes screwed shut, held in place for a moment, then opened. Thorn was still there and…she moved. She was beginning to wake up. Daphne remained frozen, watching the singer awaken from her serenity. Thorn's hands rose above her head as they clasped together while she stretched. Her back arched and curved as she elongated herself as much as possible. The action reminded Daphne again of a cat as it is awoken by the warmth of the midday sun shining in through the curtains. That is, until Thorn turned slightly while stretching and accidentally thwacked Daphne in the nose with her clasped hands.

"Ow!" She exclaimed.

Thorn froze. Her hands dropped to her sides and she turned to meet the redhead's gaze. Daphne was rubbing her nose gently, making sure it wasn't bleeding or worse, as well as hoping to diminish the pain. It wasn't very effective. Neither spoke a word as their eyes met, though Thorn remained atop the mystery sleuth.

Finally, Thorn broke the silence. "Sorry."

She shuffled off of Daphne and sat up on the bed. Her face was just as flustered as the member of Mystery Incorporated's was. Slowly, Daphne followed suit and rose to sit on the bed. Neither woman looked at each other. Their gazes looked all over the room, counting the breaks between wood panels or judging how level various pieces of decor were. Never looking at each other with more than a passing glance. Tension, invisible and thick as jelly, swallowed the space between them, waiting to be cut.

"Is your nose okay?" Thorn asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, it's good. Nothing's broken."

"That's good." Thorn's voice trailed off.

Silence enveloped the room once again. Like the entwined strands of a pattern's weave, they remained in place. Unmoving and stuck. There was Something. It was the invisible grip that clenched onto them both, keeping them as stock still as mannequins of a storefront.

"Thorn, why…why were you in bed with me?" Daphne started and took a breath to calm her nerves.

"Wha-" Thorn scoffed, baffled. "Daphne, you pulled me into bed and wouldn't let me go."

There was no moisture in Daphne's throat. Swallowing felt like daggers.

"I didn't…Why…why would I do that?"

"From my view, I'd say it was one of two reasons: you either thought I was a bear to cuddle with at night…"

"Or?" Daphne interjected.

"Or you have feelings for me." Thorn's words were a stoic facade, hiding her nerves.

There it is again: Feelings. I don't…do I? I pulled her into bed with me. Daphne's eyes met Thorn's. Imperceptibly her breathing hitched and increased. Her heart thumped loud and heavy in her ears like the cracks of a world crumbling. She…jeepers…she is quite pretty. Beautiful, even. But that doesn't mean anything. Does it? Why do I hope it does?

"I'm sorry," Daphne said meekly.

"It's okay," Thorn said. Her voice was tender, trying it's best not to break under the unease and nervousness. Had a gentle hand been placed alongside it, soothing and comforting, perhaps it would have been effective. Though it wasn't.

"I shouldn't have pulled you."

"It was an accident," Thorn seemed calm. Too calm to truly be calm. "Nothing happened. We just slept."

"Together," Daphne added.

"Yes, together. But it was an accident. It didn't mean anything. And you didn't mean anything by it."

I think I did though. I-

Both women startled as a deep sonorous knocking echoed from the door. They glanced at each other. The growing complexity between the pair still palpably jelled the air but now their gazes cast a curious look at the other. Neither had been expecting anyone. They had awoken not fifteen minutes past and spoke only to the other. The knock came again, snapping heads to the oak and paint door. Daphne and Thorn listened and waited for a voice to be heard calling out to one or the other inside the room. But no voice sounded. In the silence, they heard the retreat of footsteps away from the door down the hall. A brisk pace. Someone fleeing from something. Again, the two women glanced at each other and they carefully rose from the small bed, doing their best to make as little noise as possible.

Daphne, who had been closest to the edge of the bed, was the first to stand. The cloth skirt of the dress she still wore dropped from where they bunched near her knee. The wooden floor cold beneath her bare feet, each step echoed with a quiet patter. She neared the door, feeling Thorn's gaze watching her. She cocked her ear to the thin barrier guarding the small room from the road of the hallway, she listened for the footsteps. Several sets of footsteps resounded through the halls, some of soft soled shoes thumping. Others of harder dress shoes or workman's boots clacking. Each pace varied fast or slow and sometimes a pace would change with the chase of a voice right after. There didn't seem to be an abundance of people beyond the door, but Daphne knew her attempt to listen for the knocker had failed. She hadn't focused enough on the sound of the culprit to single them out. And they hadn't run. The steady but quickened pace of the fleeing knocker faded into the bustle of the others. She opened the door with a sigh.

Brilliant fluorescent light radiated into the darkness of the small room. Daphne squinted and let her eyes adjust. When finally she saw, there was no one. A passing body dressed in the inky black dress of stage crew milling through to their assignment, but no one suspicious. No one even bothered to spare a glance to her. A step and she craned her neck into the hall. Left and right her head flicked back and forth, watching, waiting, observing. Again, nothing. Relaxation flooded through her and her shoulders slumped. She pulled back into the room. Something caught her attention in her periphery she had been moving the door closed.

"Who was it?" Thorn asked behind her.

Daphne pulled back the door again. Revealed the secret. Stuck to the door like an ornament was a paper folded rectangularly and ornate. It was yellowed and weathered as though it had come from a time long ago. The surface outward facing was smooth and unblemished, except for the inky scrawl of a name in dark red: Sally McKnight.