Adult dumpster fire

Maybe a more appropriate analogy would be a glass that started at the bottom as a normal glass cup before it ballooned into a wooden plate with a hole at the centre of it. Whoever made this hideous creation also decided to attach just the bottom half of a metal spoon onto the bottom of the wooden plate where it jutted out uncomfortably.

Forget arguing if it was half full or half empty, everyone would be too preoccupied arguing about what the hell this thing even was.

The sarcastic thought exercise did very little to bring any comfort to the girl scowling in front of the mirror.

She hadn't meant to glance over to it after she’d stripped off her clothes that were ready to be dumped into her laundry hamper. She hadn't meant to stop and stare into it, poking and prodding at her body and watching it deform under her touch. She hadn't meant to spend nearly 15 minutes just frowning into the mirror as she examined every little flaw that she usually pushed to the back of her mind.

This was why she’d specifically avoided putting any kind of mirror in her room. Nothing would get done if it were there as she'd either end up staring into the dreaded reflective surface or spend all her time trying to avoid or ignore it. It was like her personal siren, drawing her in against her will before drowning her in her own self loathing.

The cold tiles under her feet and the bathtub that seemed to have been calling for her just a few minutes ago seemed so far away now.

The mirror mounted above the sink was relatively small but it was still easily big enough for her to catch every curve she hated about herself if she stepped back far enough.

It was just- so unnatural. She was so unnatural.

Parts of her body abruptly starting and stopping like someone had taken apart two dolls and haphazardly glued them back together without any thought given to matching the correct limbs with their original owner.

It was much less noticeable when she could cover it up, especially her torso which was the most egregious offender.

Skeletal hands trailed up from the uncomfortably hard hip bones before they very suddenly were met with smooth, soft skin that was cut off once again by her ribcage that decided it had wanted to grow on the outside rather than in like it was supposed to.

Her eye sockets narrowed as her hands crossed over where her breasts should have formed but were met with only smooth, flat bone.

As much as she hated looking at herself from the front she refused to turn her back to the mirror and risk glimpsing where her wings connected to her back.

Large, healed over cracks ran across her backside from the two holes her wings had carved out when they burst from her body. Some days she couldn't stand the sight of her wings, the constant reminder of her failure to be something whole instead of something stuck halfway between two separate points that should have been completely incompatible. And as such she was neither but both of those things at the same time.

Had she been entirely human or entirely monster, she never would have had such trouble figuring out how to manifest her magic.

Had she been entirely human or entirely monster, her SOUL and body would be working together harmoniously instead of against each other; the monster half of her soul endlessly creating magic to form a body that didn't need so much of it to function and her body too solid to allow that magic to naturally seep out or take form without conscious thought and intent.

Had she been entirely human or entirely monster, her skeleton would have either formed completely inside of her, covered up by flesh and the holes filled with squishy organs and fat that made it more comfortable to hold or she’d be just a skeleton, able to summon pseudo flesh through her magic to achieve the same result.

But she wasn't entirely human or entirely monster. Forever stuck in that limbo between the two species, just barely functional but forever missing some crucial part of both species that prevented her from fully connecting with either.

She looked too monster to be accepted by any human group, despite the fact she had working organs like the rest of them tucked beneath that porcelain white bone.

But she was too human to be a monster, lacking their innate ability to fully connect with their souls and allowing themselves to shine through their magic because she was too solid. Made up of too much flesh to allow such an open connection.

Hybrid didn't feel like the right word to describe her. Hybrid would imply some semblance of mutual integration of two different things that not only brought out the best in each other, but worked together to be something more, something better than either of them could ever be on their own.

No, hybrid wasn't the right word.

Something like a chimera suited her much more. She certainly felt like the product of some evil mage stitching together animals without any regard for its well being.

A bitter laugh fell from where her lips should have been and quiet anger bubbling in her chest grew that much hotter.

That seemed to finally give her the strength to break free from the hex the mirror had put on her as her hands pushed her away from the sink and she turned to twist the knobs of her shower.

She’d always be stuck halfway. And maybe there would have been some comfort if those two halves could come together to make a whole but they didn't, the progress of one meant the deterioration of the other.