As you pound a fist frustratedly on the floor, a marvelously cystalline sphere bounds across the floor, coming to a halt before your fist. As a first reaction, you gaze at the ball in wonder, before realizing that beside the sphere rests a black, leather booted foot. Hastily you clamber to your knees and look up. Nothing. Blackness sits smiling before you. This is a bit startling. Perhaps for that reason you slink back till your back hits a wall. This means there was or IS someone here with you. An unsettling thought. Do they have ghosts here? They've got talking mushrooms, ghosts isn't much of a stretch.
For the strangest reason, you feel almost like someone is watching you intently. Eyes search the darkness frantically finding nothing. In a rush of false boldness you yell out,
I'm not afraid of you!" Maybe this was a wise move. Maybe not. A figure seems to play with shadows as if they were tangible black snowflakes, long fingers gloved in midnight leather moving to accomidate their shift. Little of his face is visible, a hint of pale skin amongst shadows here and there... but not enough to peice a picture together. The voice thought...is enough to conjure fantastic images, for which you berate yourself only after it's gone. Aren't you? I hope for your sake that was courage and not the tenaciousness it sounded like. With that, the voice and it's source are gone, and the hair prickling feeling of being scruntinized like some peice of meat with them. Much to your surprise however, there appears to be an opening in the wall behind you now. Yes, there is! You confirm this with outstretched fingers that meet only a black cloth.