Lord Thimbleby Stitchcroft, Viscount of Velvet Vale, had always prided himself on his cutting-edge magical conveniences—from his self-warming teacup to his enchanted wardrobe that whispered compliments as he dressed. But none of these luxuries compared to his prized possession: the Scry-Vision Looking Gss, an enchanted mirror capable of dispying distant pces, live events, and—if properly tuned—historical recordings woven into the very fabric of its gss.
It was, for all intents and purposes, the closest thing Cleavendale had to a luxury home theater system.
And it was utterly and completely broken.
The Stuck Input ProblemIt had begun three days ago, when the mirror refused to dispy anything other than a single sheep standing motionless in a distant field.
A fat, judgmental-looking sheep.
Chewing.
Endlessly.
Lord Stitchcroft scowled and flicked his scry-wand with increasing irritation.
"Show me the Grand Tournament!" he demanded.
The sheep continued chewing.
"The Royal Court?"
The sheep blinked.
"The secret vault of the Underwire Archives?"
The sheep scratched its ear.
Fuming, Thimbleby jabbed the wand aggressively at the mirror, causing a faint blue spark to flicker from the tip—only for the mirror to dispy a new vision.
A second sheep.
Great. Now it was two sheep.
The "Out of Service" MessageDetermined to salvage his investment, Thimbleby attempted to scry into more interesting locations.
"Show me Lady Morganda's Forbidden Tower!" he commanded, eager for a glimpse of the reclusive sorceress.
The mirror shuddered, flickered ominously, then dispyed the following message in fming gold script:
"This vision is unavaible in your region. Please consult the Grand Scrying Guild for permissions."
Thimbleby gaped. "What do you mean, unavaible? It worked st week!"
"Magical broadcasting rights have been restricted by the Enchanter's Guild," the mirror replied smugly.
Thimbleby ground his teeth. "Fine. Show me the King’s private war council!"
The mirror paused, then dispyed:
"ERROR 403: You ck sufficient nobility to access this vision."
"Sufficient what? I'm a Viscount!"
The mirror did not eborate.
Thimbleby took a deep, slow breath.
"Fine. Show me the pace gardens."
The mirror shuddered, then:
"This scrying request has timed out. Try again ter."
Thimbleby, feeling personally insulted, hurled a cushion at the gss.
The mirror did not react. The sheep, however, remained disappointingly unfazed.
The Remote (Scry-Wand) MalfunctionAfter hours of futile commands, Thimbleby decided to reset the mirror. He waved the scry-wand in a complicated figure-eight motion, muttered the reboot incantation, and waited.
Nothing happened.
He shook the wand. Still nothing.
He banged it against the table, a time-honored fix for all malfunctioning artifacts.
The wand promptly zapped his fingers, flew across the room, and lodged itself in a fruit bowl.
By the time he retrieved it, the mirror had spontaneously switched to a vision of a chicken standing on a fence post.
No sound. No action. Just the chicken.
Watching.
The Sudden Channel Swap ProblemThimbleby eventually coaxed the mirror into dispying something of actual interest—a thrilling joust between two famed knights, Sir Brando the Unbreakable and Dame Felmara the Swift.
Just as their nces met in midair, the mirror suddenly flickered and switched to…
A merchant counting coins.
Thimbleby screamed into a pillow.
The "Nothing Good On" SyndromeEven when the mirror functioned properly, there was nothing remotely interesting to watch. Every vision it dispyed was insufferably dull:
A man sweeping a floor.
A pot of stew simmering.
A woman knitting.
That same chicken, still standing on the fence post.
At one point, he found himself watching a random hallway, utterly empty except for the occasional flicker of torchlight.
For an hour.
The highlight? A mouse scurrying past.
The "Are You Still Watching?" CurseAfter one particurly dull session, Thimbleby left the room to have a stiff drink.
When he returned, the mirror had dimmed itself and dispyed an infuriatingly smug message:
"Are you still gazing? Tap your scry-wand to continue."
His left eye twitched.
The Grand Solution: The Cloth of DefeatBy day four, Thimbleby had given up.
Nothing worked.
Nothing made sense.
He had yelled, pleaded, threatened, and even offered the mirror a small dish of milk (a st-ditch tactic that sometimes pacified enchanted objects).
The mirror remained unmoved.
And so, with the dignity of a broken man, Thimbleby grabbed the nearest velvet tablecloth, threw it over the gss, and decred, "This household no longer requires scrying!"
Alphonse, his ever-patient butler, simply nodded.
Epilogue: The Grand Tuning Wizard’s Guild ResponseOn the fifth day, Thimbleby finally sent a formal compint to the Grand Tuning Wizard’s Guild, the esteemed order responsible for maintaining enchanted mirrors.
A week ter, he received a response:
"Dear Lord Stitchcroft,""Thank you for your inquiry regarding your Scry-Vision Looking Gss. Our finest tuning wizards will be dispatched within an estimated timeframe of 3 to 8 months to assess the issue. Please ensure you are avaible for the entire service window, as rescheduling may result in an additional dey of 6-12 weeks."
"Sincerely,""The Grand Tuning Wizard’s Guild, Dept. of Spectral Maintenance"
Thimbleby stared at the absurdly long waiting period, tore the letter in half, and promptly decided to invest in a good book instead.
At least those didn’t require a tuning wizard.
Some Cleavendalers now tell exaggerated versions of the story, ciming:
The mirror eventually turned on Thimbleby, dispying embarrassing moments from his life at inopportune times.
The sheep in the vision was actually a cursed nobleman trying to signal for help.
The Tuning Wizard’s Guild never actually sent anyone, and Thimbleby’s household is still waiting.
Despite abandoning the mirror, Thimbleby is rumored to have commissioned a self-reading book, which now refuses to stop narrating, even when closed.
