#ithilios

The Man in the Mirror

How long had it been now—months? Time no longer moved forward; it bled. The ache remained, crawling beneath his skin like rot, and with it came the slow erosion of care. He no longer bothered to maintain the elegance he once demanded of himself.

Leo sat in front of the mirror, in the room he shared with his best friend, GiGi. They had spent more time together lately, but even that comfort couldn’t reach the hollowed-out place inside him. He stared at the reflection in silence.

What looked back at him was not the man he once was.

Tired. Unkempt. Drained of all luster. The refined image he’d once guarded so fiercely had collapsed into something raw and unfamiliar. The past few weeks had been an endless theater of pretending—charming smiles, careful posture, polite conversation. But behind closed doors, this was who he had become.

He leaned closer to the glass, pulling at his skin, grimacing at the sight. “Pathetic. Hideous. Worthless.” The words rolled from his tongue like venom—an incantation of self-loathing. He’d begun to repeat them daily. They were a lullaby for the creature inside his chest, the one that twisted and stirred, hungry for ruin.

It wanted out.

It wanted to destroy.

And gods, how badly he wanted to let it.

He imagined it: giving in fully, tearing through everything that dared to exist near his pain. Letting the world burn just to match the wreckage within him. But something—some fragile tether—kept him from collapsing entirely. Not out of hope. Out of fear.

With a snarl, he balled his fist and drove it forward— The mirror exploded beneath the blow, shards flying like tiny daggers, scattering across the floor. His reflection lay in pieces at his feet, broken just as he felt inside.

With a ragged sigh, he pushed himself from the chair, stepping toward the ornate mirror across the room—an oval of gold, encrusted with glittering stones. GiGi’s mirror. It had become his salvation and his curse.

He stared into it, and slowly, the ruin faded. His features twisted and smoothed into the mask the world was allowed to see—flawless, composed, radiant. A lie, but a necessary one.

Only once the illusion was complete did he move, drifting from the room like a ghost wearing borrowed flesh.

It was morning. Time to play beautiful again.

@daily-writing-challenge

Have your whip tricks gotten you a date by accident? Either in the past or recent? *The goblin death knight is curious.*

Leon laughed a bit. "Iunno if it's necessarily by accident, when I did it on a stage an' hit people with m' best shot fer a few minutes straight, but Ithilios did get up th' nerve t' chat me up because of it. Wasn't th' intention of it at all, but it was a nice bonus."

He ran a hand through his hair, letting it come to a stop on the back of his neck. "...Now Trist comin' by th' next day, tha' might qualify as an accident."

Ithilios

ArtFight 2023 revenge piece of Ithilios for JovillinArt. Thank you for drawing Asmo for me! <3

Another day. Another coin. Another slow step toward unraveling.

Leo had picked up more than just dust and bruises during his time in Undermine—he'd acquired habits that would have once disgusted him. Now, it was gambling halls instead of grand stages, whiskey-soaked nights instead of refined soirées. He threw away his gold as easily as he threw punches, often side by side with his best friend in taverns that reeked of sweat and smoke.

The drinking, the brawling, the reckless spending—it was all a carefully veiled performance. A façade to keep the beast within him sedated. For something monstrous stirred beneath his skin, clawing and gnashing with every breath he took. It whispered promises of liberation, of fire and ruin. The voices had grown louder, more demanding, and he had long since stopped trying to silence them. Now, he merely tried to drown them.

Self-soothing had become a foreign concept. Comfort? Impossible. All that remained was distraction. And so, day after day, he repeated the ritual—wager, drink, fight, survive.

And in those moments—the brawls especially—there were flashes. A second of bloodlust. A heartbeat where time slowed and he knew... he could win. Every fight. Every foe. Every damned soul that crossed him—if he just let go.

If he let it out.

But—

No.

It cannot be released.

He could feel it, coiled in the marrow of his bones, waiting for a moment of weakness. And though the temptation burned hot and sweet, Leo remembered too well what had happened that day. The day it escaped.

And he still wasn’t sure—if it came forth again—whether he’d ever find the strength to lock it away once more.

On one of the days he found himself home, Leo drifted wordlessly toward the river that cut through the edge of his yard. He settled at its bank, knees drawn in, arms draped loosely across them. Solitude was a dangerous thing for someone like him, but lately, the real danger felt like himself. Being alone, at least, spared others.

Tonight, though… he was just Leo.

The moon hung full and cold in the sky above, casting pale silver across the water’s surface. Crickets chirped in steady rhythm, grass rustled gently with each sweep of the wind, and the river hummed its ageless lullaby. The world around him exhaled, and for once, he felt no need to speak. No need to perform.

A chill crept through like the cool breath of autumn, but it brought comfort. Fireflies danced in the darkness like stars fallen to earth, and below the surface, fish traced glowing paths beneath the current—otherworldly and serene.

Leo's eyes locked on the distance, but his mind didn’t follow. No thoughts, no voices. Just quiet. Blessed, infinite quiet.

Time unspooled.

And he let himself drift, lost somewhere between the hush of the night and the ache in his bones, neither fighting nor feeding what lay beneath.

For now, the stillness was enough.

Leo sat on the chaise in the living area, his gaze lost in the flickering fire, with only his fox, Vega, for company. The distant sounds of children’s laughter and playful screams drifted through the air, a reminder of the life outside. Meanwhile, Trist and their newborn slept peacefully in another room.

What would have once been a dangerous moment of solitude, a time when his thoughts could turn dark and consuming, had become instead a rare moment of stillness. For the first time in what felt like forever, his mind felt empty—quiet. The usual din of voices, the constant clamor of thoughts that had become as familiar to him as his own heartbeat, faded into the background. They were still there, no doubt, but so much a part of him now that he barely noticed them.

From the far corner of the room, a voice broke the silence, cutting through the trance Leo had slipped into. "Yeh be doin' dat more and more of'en."

Leo blinked a few times, as if clearing away the cloudiness from his thoughts. "What are you on about now?" he asked, his voice low, not even bothering to turn and search for the source. He knew that voice all too well.

"Da way yeh look out inta nottin' for so long," the voice continued, its tone thick with an ancient accent. The footsteps came closer, soft and measured, despite the immense size of the Zandalari who owned them. "There be nottin' in yuh eyes when it happens. Like yeh be lost, like yeh be gone somewhere. Where do yeh be goin', Voidsinga?"

Leo sucked at his teeth, a faint twinge of irritation flickering in his eyes. "So I need a reason to enjoy silence now? You used to be so happy to see me find peace in these moments, and—"

"Dat was before them moments became sometin' else. I feel da air aroun' yeh. It gets tick and troublesome."

"Thick and troublesome? Please... you are reading far too into it."

"Okay... so where yeh go den? What was it yeh were tinkin' about just now? No lyin'."

From the moment they met, Zy'chaal had sworn to be honest with him, and Leo had vowed the same in return—no lies between them. "I…" Leo began, his voice faltering, the silence that followed heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, he admitted, "…I don't remember."

Zy'chaal pointed at him, approaching with more assertiveness. "See? Dat not be right. Dere is sometin'. Sometin' happenin' to yeh."

With a long sigh Leo leaned further back into the chaise, "I am just tired- exhausted even. A new baby is rough. I know Trist is doing most of the work but it is still taking a toll on me as well. It'll be over soon in a few months."

"And den it'll be too late."

Suddenly, Leo shot upright in his seat, the abrupt movement sending Vega skittering out of the room. "Stop talking like that! There is. Nothing. Wrong!" Each word dropped like a thunderclap, the final one laced with a growl that rumbled deep in his chest—a warning, primal and raw. His voice, now carrying the edge of his Star-Eater form, sent a shiver through the room. His eyes burned with unbridled fury, and, as the troll had warned earlier, the air around him grew dense, heavy with power.

"Dere it be..." Zy'chaal approached showing little to no fear. He kneeled before Leo and looked at him with worry and sorrow- an expression he's never showed before. "Da raven fear for yeh too."

Leo's nostrils flared, his irritation palpable, but at the mention of the raven, Saiya, his expression softened—if only slightly. His features returned to their usual calm, though the annoyance lingered in his gaze. "If she’s so concerned," he said sharply, "why hasn’t she come to me about this herself?"

"She fears yeh, Voidsinga. She know what yeh are capable of doin' to her if yeh let that power overtake yeh. Best to not be in yeh way when it happens."

A look of guilt crossed Leo's face at the confession, "She really thinks I will succumb to something that much?"

"We both do."

A look of surprise now, "I am fine. I feel great, honestly."

"I taut yeh were tired?" Zy'chaal tilted his head, calling Leo's bluff. "Yeh lied."

Leo stared down at his hands, turning them over as if expecting to see the transformation his companions claimed to witness—but there was nothing. No sign of the monster they feared. His voice wavered as he finally admitted, "I did lie. And I’m… so sorry for that."

Pressing his palms against his face, he let out a heavy sigh, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. After a moment, he rubbed his face and lowered his hands again, his expression weary.

"It isn't like yeh, Voidsinga. Sometin' is happenin' to yeh. But I will remain 'ere and watch yeh. Just like I promised. I hear dem whispers too. And they be sayin' a lot about yeh. Yeh be important to them and everyone 'ere. Dun let dem take yeh." Zy'chaal placed his large hand at Leo's cheek. "Stay wit us."

Leo raised his hand, letting it rest gently atop the one at his cheek. His gaze locked onto Zy'chaal’s, searching those eyes for the comfort he desperately wanted to find. Every fiber of his being longed to make that promise, to give the reassurance Zy'chaal sought—but something deep within him resisted, a quiet, stubborn force that refused to yield.

No lying.

Here we were again.

The relentless internal battle that had begun a year ago had only grown fiercer in recent months.

And now this.

Leo sat hunched in his chair, elbows propped on his knees, head bowed as the gentle breeze from the courtyard stirred his hair. He watched the strands sway, absently thinking, It’s getting long. Maybe I should cut it. But then, just as quickly, he dismissed the thought. Why bother? It wasn’t worth the effort. A long sigh escaped him, ruffling the hair from his face as he opened his palm, revealing the small stone resting there.

So much more could be said, so many words left unspoken—but none of it would change a thing. In the end, he would still be here, sitting in this chair, drowning in his own thoughts.

People had tried to comfort him—those who cared most. But comfort was a fragile thing. Every person filled a unique void in his heart, and when one was gone, that void remained. No amount of effort from others could ever truly mend it. That was the complexity of being him. Curse the world. Curse emotion.

His teeth clicked in frustration as his fingers curled around the stone, gripping it tightly. Anger surged within him—he wanted to crush it, to destroy it, to make the pain stop. But love restrained him. Love for her.

Darkness seeped into his fingertips, inky black spreading up his arm in jagged veins of shadow. It coiled, fed by the storm inside him. But before it could consume him, soft footsteps padded into the room. A familiar blue fox trotted to his feet, sitting with quiet understanding, looking up at him with wise, knowing eyes.

Vega.

She had always been a source of comfort when nothing else could reach him. After all, how could anyone remain upset in the presence of something so pure? So unconditional?

With a quiet exhale, Leo tucked the stone away, then reached down to scoop Vega into his arms. She wasted no time, scrambling up his chest to nuzzle against his neck, her warmth seeping into him like a balm to his frayed soul. She knew—she always knew when he wasn’t okay. And though Vega usually demanded the world revolve around her, today, she gave him her world instead.

The creeping shadows on his hands faded.

"You’re a good girl," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her head. She let out a soft, happy sound in response.

Leaning back, Leo let his gaze drift to the ceiling, his mind slipping back to that place again. But this time, it didn’t crush him under its weight. Instead, a single tear traced its way down his cheek, falling in complete silence.

DWC- Day 2- Suppress/Pastel

Another day dawned upon Stormwind, and Leo found himself navigating its streets with caution. The past few months had seen him keeping a low profile, laying low and hidden from the limelight, all thanks to a daring heist he had orchestrated against a renowned tavern within the city walls. Now, tentatively stepping onto the cobblestone pathways, he couldn't help but notice the lackluster ambiance that surrounded him, despite the city's usual bustle.

As he wandered through the maze of canals and districts, his journey led him to Lion's Rest, where a familiar figure caught his eye amidst the crowd—a certain ginger-haired dame.

GiGi Fiske.

GiGi had always been more than just a friend to Leo; she was his confidant, the one person with whom he shared his deepest secrets—something he couldn't bring himself to do with anyone else, not even his former partner in crime. Approaching her, Leo was serenaded by the gentle strains of a lute, played skillfully by a magenta-haired elf standing nearby—a sight and sound he had sorely missed.

After exchanging greetings with GiGi, Leo's attention was drawn back to the bard, whom she introduced as Trist'Ayran Ambrosio-Autumnrayne—a name that sparked recognition within him.

Trist'Ayran Ambrosio-Autumnrayne was his name.

Gif by Kotlass on YCH.Commishes

There was an undeniable allure to the lute player, a stark contrast to Leo's own demeanor. Clad in vibrant teal hues, the elf's attire screamed of brightness, his hair a striking color that caught Leo's eye. Despite the exuberance in his appearance, a somberness hung in the air as the lute's melancholic melody filled the space. Leo stood at a distance, observing the bard with keen interest. He noted the fluid movements, the subtle flicks of wrists and ankles that set the bells adorning Trist into motion, adding depth to the sorrowful tunes. Everything about the bard seemed to radiate sadness to those who paid attention.

Yet, as people passed by, smiles adorned their faces, greetings and compliments showered upon Trist for his masterful performance. It was indeed a captivating display, but they failed to grasp the pain concealed behind his façade.

Approaching the bard, Leo engaged him in conversation, each word tinged with a sense of desolation. The adeptness with which Trist crafted a façade of beauty to mask his inner torment intrigued Leo deeply. He felt compelled to delve further into the enigma that was the bard.

No, he NEEDED to unravel the mysteries veiled beneath Trist's cheerful exterior.