There was a certain tickle at the back of Maria’s mind. It had been there since her first glimpses of Nyxaloth. Lovecraft had tried to explain it in his work, of course. But the Realm simply defied description. That was the point, so far as she could tell. Raving cultists and mad alien minds and wet things with tentacles, those were only the edges of Nyxaloth, the failed attempts of other ontologies to impose definition and order on the Realm of Paradox. 
The great beings of the cosmos would be disturbed at Maria’s studies, she knew. The gods and the fey and the calculating processes of the Iron Nexus tended to shy away from Nyxaloth entirely. And not without good reason. Maria could see their point of view. It sat far too close to That Which Is Not for any of the great powers to be comfortable. 
And so, Maria avoided the places where beings who might disapprove would frequent. She did not visit Jack’s often, and certainly didn’t talk while she was there. She did not strike deals with Arcadians, even though they now had a presence in the mortal Realm. She paid no obeisance to any god. Maria simply stayed in Phoenix and kept to herself and her family most of the time. 
Before her husband had died, Maria had once been a geometry teacher for a time. That was so long ago now that it was laughable. But she had taught a concept in those classes that helped her frame how one might approach Nyxaloth - the indirect proof. 
No one could truly know Nyxaloth, not a human anyway. Mortal ontology requires that the laws of the universe be so - indifferent to desire or belief or command. It is how she was. So she would use being human. 
Maria suspected privately that there had been some in the cosmos who had learned something of Nyxaloth. There were far too many scholars and curious beings for there to never have been someone. She had done her research on Sheol’s fall, and come to the conclusion that Nyxaloth in some form must have been imposed there.  It couldn’t be proven of course; Sheol was gone and no one knew exactly how or why. But logic dictated that the easiest way to touch the basal truths would be to use each of the Thirteen in tandem. 
Nyxaloth could only be understood by proxy. She had thought long and hard about it. Obsessively almost. The irony of a mania about not becoming manic while touching Nyxaloth was not lost on her. But she would develop indirect proxies to contain the ideas about imposing Nyxaloth. 
Maria had no desire to use the basal truths. That was folly on a cosmically epic scale so grand as to beggar imagination. But Nyxaloth itself was compelling. A way things are that was ignored by most of the cosmos. It was not even talked about unless Liminality brought in incursions that forced notice as consequences must be dealt with. 
Maria’s indirect approach proved useful. She could, with practice, arrange incompatible structure around her, illogical layouts of tooling that let her mind skirt the edges. She was not sure how deeply she would ever be able to look. But she knew she must continue trying. 
Her staff had gone home for the day and Maria was alone in her office. She nodded to herself and began her nightly ritual. Again, the irony of a ritual for someone avoiding becoming a raving doomsday cultist was not lost on her. 
Maria looked at the mirror in her office and walked backward through her indirect proofs. A is B and not B at the same time was the result she was aiming for. 
There was a sharp crack, not in the mirror but in the air right in front of it. Mortal ontology swirled at the edges of the mirror, twisting into something living but impossible - crawling vines or perhaps tentacles. A powerful smell of mushroom was the nearest analog she could allow herself as a track to keep hold of. Sight was useless in Nyxaloth except as a metaphor; light was useless expect as a metaphor. Maria saw herself looking back at herself, from inside the mirror, or perhaps next to it. 
Maria smiled, her eyes glossy and wide in the reflection of the mirror. The irony of the cliche of a mad arcanist was not lost on her.