The Mirror Weeps

Sun, 03/30/2014 - 03:44 -- MaKin11

The negative attributes of Life hit you in waves.

First, you lose control of all family affairs.

This is more often than not coupled with your financial well-being. The combination of the two should give you an image of an antique mirror shrouded in the lightless black of a room. It doesn’t matter if you can’t see it, the sound of the cracking glass is enough to startle you to attention.

Next, you lose sight of the things you found yourself most proud of.

This is usually a skill of some kind, and of course losing a skill to the likes of another triggers the possibility of catching Envy: a terrible disease of the heart that draws webs of slime within the caves of the beating organ and your throat, pulling, constricting, and suffocating until the poisonous sick-to-your-stomach rush of adrenaline dulls your logic and feeds the animal Man thought they tamed long ago.

Once you’re on the verge of losing your name, you will be shredded and bathed in the waters of the Dead Sea by someone you love. This attack will be survivable, there is no real danger to fear at first, but you see, by now the cracked mirror you forgot in the dark room is emitting a few jagged rays of a terrifying light, though it looks much like the light of day. Why do you fear it then?

There now, is that mirror bleeding?

There’s water, muddy and black up to your knees.

Before the final surge, you will be betrayed.

 Now, being attacked by the one you love is not the same as being betrayed. An attack is planned, betrayal is not always planned. The culprit may not even know they’ve committed such an act. As a consequence, those glowing shards of Hell with crumble and fall, burrowing through flesh and bone until it reaches your blue heart.

What’s going on with the mirror?

There is a full flood of light now. You can see everything. Past and present, but the future is just a black, burning shadow, much like the cooling crust of flowing lava.

A thick peppered smoke fills the room. It scorches your throat and blinds your crying eyes from what the future reveals.

Here is where my general description stops.

Beneath my feet I can feel the rumble of the final serge.

I can’t see, I can’t hear, and my sense of touch is dominated by the sting of broken glass.  

This, dear soul, is the last wave, but this wave is one to fear.

This wave demolishes, it destroys, it draws the very blood from your veins and kills.

It cares not for family or friends. It cares not for your begging and crying.

All it wants is to drown you in the sorrows it has wrongly collected since the dawn of time.

And in the stillness of your breath before the current,

The Mirror weeps.



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