#int.self

already, watching, sayf’s fingers clenched in anticipation, in acknowledgement, in knowing that the sword would be in their hand again soon, that more innocents (were any of them innocent? free from the condemnation that would befall them?) would die from the swing of their sword, from their hand. (they knew it would pass, in the way virgil could read the stars, they could read the violence. there was something in the way her fingers clenched white knuckle on the hilt, something in the panic behind her eyes before something else overwhelmed it, something in the tenderness that sayf knew hobbled her that had disappeared, if only for a second.) today, it was a display of strength, but tomorrow that would strength in an order from the position of ruling.

authority displayed, authority that was supposed to have been shuttered off, threatened away, the broken crown meaning anyone could claim a throne, claim the throne of the high king, claim authority. but chaos hadn’t befallen the courts, not entirely, and something deep within sayf burned with frustration even as it warred with a touch of rejoicing at seeing the fae begin to cut each other  d o w n.

(this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, seladon was supposed to hesitate, to struggle under the sudden change, the threat to her power. there was supposed to be a  p a u s e, was supposed to be questioning, the other courts supposed to rise in revolt, a rebellion to blossom out from their small act, bloom out and choke.)

❛ you are either an ally of the throne or an enemy --- and now i have shown you what i plan on doing to my enemies ❜

the words resounded through the hall, through their head, as they watched the crowd begin to dissipate, face impassive as they scanned the room. (if there were any threats (the -T from the note, perhaps, and that was another mystery to unravel) that would be plans escalating faster than they thought, rebellion putting roots down, the eventual plan beginning to snowball)

they were the weapon, the sword, the plan used against ‘my enemies’, they were the ally to the throne and the enemy, they were both the rebellion and the scythe that would cut it down.

but seladon’s gaze, her face, was blank, blanker than even the nerves caused from the day previous. blank, hiding something, hiding the path of the future. would she be another cedric, optimistic at first but only to fail? would she be ruthless from the beginning, lead to a rule of blood and fire? would she be an actual challenge to topple, or would she be a puppet queen? ( a month ago, sayf had thought they had a plan, only for it to change, and change again. they were sick of these delays, additional things to account for)

the blood smeared across her face seemed to indicate one direction, seemed to imply an actual challenge, a declaration of  w a r  and an admittance to get her hands dirty. the blood of  my enemies is my armour, was the incantation, was the promise, was the threat. and yet and yet and yet -

what was armour, what was blood what was any of it? if the blood was the threat then they lay unfazed, their body coated, hands long drenched and face painted since childhood. sure, she looked like a threat, enough of one for the fae who had nothing but frippery and glory to indulge in since birth to be taken aback, breath held still across the chamber, intake and hesitation at these proclamations.

but sayf held back a sneer at the spectacle-hungry fae, displeasure and vying for blood even as the premonition settled heavier on their shoulders, a promise of something more to come.

At first, the room seems like any other, empty and familiar in a way that isn’t difficult to ignore. It is not, however, all that it seems. A figure stirs in the corner of the room, languid and smiling. He approaches Mitch, a perfect mirror reflection of him - or almost. This version of Mitch is not much older but he looks it, his eyes sunken and his cheeks taut. There is dried lipstick on his neck peeking out from under his collar. It looks to be hours old, though the bite right beside it could be days old. Energy, powerful but but almost too rich, radiates off of him even at a distance. The closer he gets, the more faint sounds can be heard around them - the chattering of voices too soft to be understood, music that fades in and out, the intrigue of some kind of party or event. The mirror Mitch takes no note of it. His gaze, slightly glazed over, scans up and down the real Mitch in front of him

he doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see another hallucination. perhaps he’s already fallen asleep, perhaps its salma or aeron, perhaps its another drop of crazy in the ocean he’s been swimming in. he doesn’t blink, just stands there, looks at how close they got it.he doesn’t have any hickeys himself right now, rarer for the past month, doesn’t normally hear voices like this, but the rest, the clothes, the skin taut around his rib cage, the mania lingering in his eyes, he’s a past present future copy, older in the eyes, the hunger of a few years ago, standing here now.

“You poor thing,” he says, his voice light but strained, like any pressure would crack it in two. “I remember you. Still hoping, even if you won’t admit it, that things could change.” Absently he scratches at a spot beneath his rib cage, revealing the extent to which his shirt hangs off his thinning frame. “That something could be permanent.” He laughs, a brittle thing, and looks right at Mitch. “It’s easier if you stop hoping. I know you know that. Don’t you want it to be easier?” His breathing quickens for a moment and he looks as if he’s caught up in a painful memory, but it passes soon enough, and he’s back to smiling again like it never happened. His lips split a little too wide. “I can show you, you know. Show you how much better it is when you just keep everyone out of your head. They can’t hurt you if you don’t let them in. The universe can’t tear you away if you keep your roots to yourself.” He holds out his hand, seemingly unaware of the way it quivers, his fingers and wrist built with hollow bird bones. “Don’t you want to be free of the fear that you’ll end up alone?” 

he hesitates

it hurts, like a bandage ripped off too early, the wound stinging when exposed to the light. each word is like a diamond cutting through the boxes he had hidden his thoughts in, fears that had taken root since fei had picked him up, blossomed when he had been thrown around the world like a rag doll.

to be free of that fear is to be free of any leash and he knows his reflection too well to turn down the offer, to stop the pain that’s been racking through him since the glitch.

he knows it.

he knows the truth, so he takes the hand even as he hates himself for it, but that taste isn’t new, has coated his tongue since he can remember and perhaps freedom can set it free.

Instead of taking him anywhere, the reflection - if that's what he is - pulls Mitch close, wrapping him in his arms. "I know," he coos, brushing his palms over Mitch's back. "I know how you feel. They're going to leave you, you're right. They'll push you out. But that's okay, because you don't need them. I didn't need them, and look at me." He smiles, a brittle thing. "I left. I left them all behind, everyone who ever tried to hold me down. That's the thing about us, Mitch. We're not tethered to the world like they are. We aren't meant to stay put. We don't need to look out for them or anyone else. Just us. Isn't that right?"

he can’t pull away. never knows how to -

how to respond to the foreign sensation of an embrace. he just stiffens, lets the words wash over him even as they compound the truth that the shadows in his dreams whisper to him.

a broken voice and he whispers out “ can’t i enjoy it? while it’s here? it’ll hurt later, anyway, they’ll leave me. of course. i know this, it’s all a lie, but can’t i keep it for now? “

"Why let them hurt you?" He pulls away only far enough to look Mitch in the eye. "You have the ability to leave. You get to choose. They don't get to hurt you just because they think it's fun to play with you when you're shiny and new, and then toss you away as soon as they get bored." He shakes his head, his hands sliding up to cup Mitch's cheeks. "Why bother with people like that? All people are like that. Why bother with any of them? It's not your responsibility."

because i want to lingers on his tongue but he knows that it doesn’t matter, not with the pain of loss he knows is coming.

“ i leave “ 

he can’t meet his own eyes, wonders if his real self is screaming in his sleep.

“ then i don’t have to leave now. right? “ there’s desperation and longing in his voice, weakness he knows will get picked up on.

he doesn’t mind the others thinking that he’s shiny and new, as long as they do play with him, knows that he’d do anything for their attention. but they’re not dropping him, not yet. when it looks like they will then he can leave.

“ i don’t mind “ getting used, getting thrown to the side, as long as he gets a few hours in the warmth. “ it’s better than nothing “ his tone is pleading but he can’t pull away from his own embrace, shame and desperation rooting him to the spot.

"You still have to decide what you do. I left them first." His voice focuses just a little, just enough that he seems more present out of nowhere. "I got tired of getting thrown out, so I left before they could. They told me they needed me, but I knew those were just lies." His smile starts to fade. "Why should anyone else matter, Mitch? It's just you in this world. Nobody else can be counted on. If the world burns, that's not your problem, because they'd all leave you out to fry if they could."

the fading smile strikes fear, that even himself gets tired of being around him. he backtracks, stumbles on his words. “ they don’t, they don’t “

it’s all a lie, but he’d never lied before. one constant of truth and now even that had spiraled away.

“ the world isn’t real it can burn this reality can burn but - “ he stumbles again, wants to be pulled back into that embrace. but -

he likes the heat while it lasts, a frog left in water slowly turns boiling will stay and cook alive. let the world burn let them all burn he just wants that window corner and those pranks and the chaos and the head pats the affirmation the validation while it lasts.

“ the universe only allows me to burn. there’s no other possibility. there’s no happy ending. you’re not a happy ending. you’re me. “ his hands come up to rest around his reflection’s waist.

“ can’t i steal just this little bit of warmth? “

"I'm not a happy ending?" he asks, his brow creasing as he looks at Mitch with faraway eyes again. "I feel happy. I am happy. No one can hurt me. I just hurt them first and I'm fine, in the end. See?" He smiles again, though the expression is off kilter. "You don't need all of that. You don't need them. I know, and I can show you, but you have to want it. Really want it. The only person who can never leave you is yourself, Mitch."

a laugh, sharp and bitter, echoes in the empty room

a happy ending is one where he was never left behind, one where he kept the name he can’t remember, had a family, had a home.

this him, the hickeys and bones and taste of power is too familiar, too of kilter, he can see the reflection of madness in his eyes. “ i don’t have myself “ his brain is someplace, his body elsewhere, cracked at the edges and even his own sanity has left him. “ you’re going to leave me. i’ve left me. what else is there to risk? “

it’s the argument that runs circles around his head even as he falls asleep, what makes him turn up on the lair’s doorstep every morning. why he’s so tired from taking people across the globe, because for once, he’s needed. and he doesn’t care about pain when that pleasure is shooting straight through his spine.

he tugs his reflection closer, close enough to kiss, the motion bruising his hip bone.

“ if you think you’re sane then you really have gone mad “

(tw incest / selfcest)

The reflection makes no move to stop him, hovering so close their identical noses brush. "Magic itself," he offers in a murmur. His hands find Mitch's waist, dig into the flesh there. "Stay with them just for the temporary reprieve and they will take the one thing you have from you. You've seen them bickering. They don't even care about each other. They'd step on each others' throats for power." His spine curves, bending him over Mitch. "You think Jude cares about anything but his own hide? Or Kian with his temper?" His expression doesn't change, languid and a little hazy, but his voice begins to harden. "I don't have to be sane to be fine. I just did what they were going to do to me eventually. How is that wrong? How can it be wrong to put yourself first? You're all you have, even if you don't believe it." 

he tenses, that fear skittering like ice down his back.

magic doesn’t exist, it’s all a lie and yet -

and yet the power around him, those muttering voices, edges of music, that scent of power envelops him and it’s so rich on his tongue that he chokes

gasps, longs to consume.

“ if i leave, “ he whispers, doesn’t know if the false temptation of this power is enough to overcome the warmth of the others. “ if i go, how can i develop it? how can i - how can i have this? “ 

he licks his lips, tastes the air. it’s not wrong, to leave. he’s done it before, a thousand times, climbed out of the windows of houses of people who had offered their home, opened their doors. it’s inevitable, he knows that, he’s done it countless times.

but why does the thought of this time hurt in itself?

He smiles, a vivid thing this time, no fragment of his pride hidden from view. "I can show you everything. There is so much more that you can have, that will keep you safe and warm and better than any of them ever can, or will." He runs the pad of his thumb over Mitch's cheek. "I can't show you now, I don't have the power, but I will be back to bring it to you. I know you don't believe that." He leans forward, resting his forehead against Mitch's. His voice is barely above a whisper. "I know the moment I say I'll come back, you don't believe me. That's okay. I will, and it will be a breath of air for your drowning lungs. Then I will take you with me, away from all the hurt. We don't like to make promises we can't keep, so know when I tell you this - I promise, if you come with me when I return to you, you will never regret it - that it carries weight." 

that smile is like the sun shining down on him, no matter that the other self is a fragment of his imagination, of the world shattering around them.

the temptation, it’s blinding, and he steps closer, his hands tight on his reflection’s hips. safe and warm, it’s too bad it’s all a lie, an illusion. he won’t be coming back, he won’t be able to take him away. but it’s heady, a drug he can’t refuse.

one hand comes up to pull at his reflection’s hair, tight as he finally makes proper eye contact. “ you promise? “ there’s weight in the air, in the words, knows that even the fevered parts of his brain would never commit to something like this. 

he can’t promise back, doesn’t know how to find the truth in the tangled knots of his thoughts but

but -

"I promise." The words are a prayer. He repeats it over and over, his smile growing so fond, so understanding, like the fingers gripping his scalp only bring him joy. "I came here to find you and take you with me, I know how to do it again. You'll always have a choice, of course. When I come back, you can decide not to come with me. It's up to you. But I can only tell you how much you will miss if you make that choice." He arches, his nose nuzzling at the crook of Mitch's neck. "I promise I will be back, and I promise I can give you something so, so much better than what any of them pretend to offer you."

the breath leaves his lungs and his grip softens, turns to carding through his hair in the way that he knows he likes.

its a lie, he knows that, its a lie, and that’s the only truth he’s ever known. but

but he arches his neck to let his other self pull closer, let’s himself fall into the temptation of that lie. not yet, he doesn’t have to make the choice just yet. but one day - when it looks like they’re ready to throw him away, then

- maybe.

“ what are you offering for now? “ he asks, smirking, moving his hands to unbuckle his reflection’s belt.