#shxttered-mirrxrs

@shxttered-mirrxrs

It, perhaps, wasn’t wise to keep his current affliction a secret. Then again, intelligence and wisdom don’t always go together, do they?

By this point, it had been months since it started; the whole business with his little experiment.  He hadn’t told anyone about it, of course- not at the time he conducted it, and certainly not when the results started becoming more and more of a problem. Being labelled a madman would be very inconvenient. So would be going to prison. But the longer he let this continue, the more blood he had on his hands. How many people were dead, by this point? How many more would die? He didn’t know. One death was enough for him to be hanged, anyway. 

The noose wasn’t what scared him. No- the experiment, trying to become immortal through some cocktail of chemicals- had worked. For all intents and purposes, Adair couldn’t die. The problem was the side effect; or, as he preferred to call himself, Fear.

At first, he was more... benign. Something Adair could control, more or less. But it grew worse every night; control was beginning to slip. The transformations became more frequent. And then, in his nightmares, he was given an ultimatum: give over full control, or anyone he knew and cared about would be murdered. 

How was he meant to refuse?

Simple; he wasn’t. That was what had led to his current state; exhausted, forcing himself to stay awake, slowly constructing his own doom and withdrawing himself from everyone he knew. He hadn’t expected Mary to visit him, and he didn’t have the heart to send her away. Instead, he let her in- but not before hiding all the evidence of his situation he could. 

But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t hide the terrified exhaustion in his eyes. 

Usually, to a god, months don’t feel like much at all. But this, well-

This was different.

Truthfully, he had lost track of time since he had been caught. He had lost track of most things, actually. To him, however long he had been here was a mystery- but he had been in this room, at least, for... days? Weeks? Or perhaps just hours- there was no way of telling, and it felt the same either way. The Ministry of Joy had a knack for disorientating its victims, after all.

Likewise, every other aspect of his stay here was a blur. He could remember every knife and needle and dissection in agonising, exquisite detail- but none of it felt real. Nothing here, in fact, felt real at all. It all felt like some horrible, morphine-soaked, feverish dream- and even the cold metal of the new spidery, mechanical limbs brushing against his flesh felt unreal. Not even the faint aches managed to ground him.

He couldn’t even feel fear or anger- all he felt was a sort of cottony numbness, and the sort of tiredness that made even breathing the chemicals in the air feel exhausting.

There weren’t any mirrors in this room- in fact, it was essentially featureless. The only reflective surfaces was the steel in the mechanical alterations that the ministry had made to him- so getting a clear picture of him through the dark and the obtuse reflections was almost impossible. Perhaps, considering his current state, that was for the best. But faintly hearing Mary’s voice finally made him stir.

@shxttered-mirrxrs

“That’s Gracey Manor spirits for you,” he chuckled, smiling lightly as she spoke of the summoners’ kindness. “We welcome every spook, spirit, ghost, and goblin with open arms: Everyone here comes from all walks of life-and death-so we’re generally very welcoming. Be glad you weren’t summoned to the Florida mansion or, worse yet, the French mansion. You’ve could’ve met the Dreads or Monsieur Ravenswood, and neither of them would be nearly as inviting.”