âItâs alright, Wil. Just forget it happened, and we will recreate the tape again. I wonât let our project fall. Not when weâve sacrificed years for thisâ Dark lightly patted Wilfordâs shoulder in a way of comfort, letting the frustrated man calm a little. âWell, you know, accidents happen and whatnotâ Wilford grumbled. âBut theyâre always so messy and stain the carpet so red, and then we have to find another actor again !â his tone was exasperated as his movements were.
âNo need to be so tense, Will. Things will piece themselves together in the endâ Dark kept walking, even when Wilford had stopped. âWell, I guess youâre rightâ his exaggerated shrug almost knocked a painting off the wall. âJust gotta, strap on the big boy pants and keep going !â His finger waved aimlessly in the air as he turned and walked away, finally leaving the demon alone to recollect, probably to stress over grooming his mustache.
âThingâs are getting so troublesomeâŚâ Dark sighed, pushing open the door to his office, rubbing his temples and eyes closed as he shut the door with the base of his cane. With the projects chancing on failure and success, he couldnât rest. He needed to make sure everything was set in motion and nothing failed. With Wilford going more and more chaotic and their âmisunderstandingsâ rising, he needed to ensure that these little âaccidentsâ happened no more than they already have. But for now, he didnât want to think of those anymore. He wanted to take time to rethink how to move next. But when he opened his eyes, his shoulderâs tensed up even more.
The cream walls came into view, unlike the usual dark blue ones he remembered. The white marble floor, spotted with diamonds between the tiles and the rustic antiques, long hallways and the balcony of the second floor peeking from the top made him pause. He didnât look at the black, shiny table. He just turned away. He must have entered the wrong room. Yes, this must be the only explanation.
Yet, when he turned, instead of the door came the view of a mirror, his grey skin and red blue static finely present over the broken glass. The mahogany door in the reflection, however, was open. The static still remained, and he fixed his tie slightly in the reflection, determined not to let this undermine his composure, taking a step back so he was not so close to the table that connected to the wall. When he glanced down at it, he could take note of his own reflection, but it shimmered. He furrowed his brows. âVery strangeâŚâ he muttered. When he looked up to investigate forward, his frown deepened
The static was ever present as yesterday was, but it slowly seemed to fill the room, dripping through the crevices. And for a moment, he thought the reflection changed. âHas it been so long that the mirror became this dirty ?â His tone was uncaring, and he made a point to prove it, leaning forward and wiping it with the length of his black sleeve. But when he pulled away, his reflection had changed. His grey skin gained colour, the clothes twisted and turned and his usual black slick hair grew and changed, as did almost everything else. And out of the distortion of colours, he recognised you.
You, still wearing the clothes you died with, the blood still dripping down the wound you were revived with, your eyes still wide and filled with the same emotions you experienced that day when he pushed you out so hard it cracked the mirror. When he had promised and broken what could have been yours.
âI thought iâd never see you again, DamienâŚâ This time, he could not help but take several steps back, covering up his started posture by fixing the cuffs on his wrists. He refused to look at you, staring down as if in thought. ââŚI suppose itâs been a whileâ he muttered, as if to prove he was unshaken. âA while ?â Your voice shook with an anger you could barely contain as he simply ignored it, focusing on the dirtied marble. He could still see a little red there, and the small crack where your head had hit when you fell from that balcony.
âItâsâŚbeen years, Damienâ The sudden change of tone from anger to exhaustion confused him, and he forced himself to glance at you to keep his composure. You didnât look aged a day, but the tired look on your face and the slight yearn for anywhere but here reminded him it had been more than just âa while.â It had been years indeed. âSo it hasâ
âYouâve gotten colderâ You murmured, looking at his composure. Stiff, firm, grey. He was so formal that you could barely call him Damien anymore. âDarkerâ he glanced at you with annoyance and you could only smile slightly. You were not here to play with dice. It had taken years for this. âCareful observation as usual. If perhaps, you had been more so this way, you could have been more helpâŚâ he glanced at the floors of and the walls, then back at you. âHereâ he frowned. âBack when it was actually neededâ
He could see the anger that flashed in your eyes, before it was gone in a matter of seconds. Neither of you were willing to be weak, not even when it mattered. Begging would be no help here for either of you. âLike you were such a big helpâ you couldnât help but show that anger again, gritting your teeth. âHow did it feel to be trapped in Limbo for so âlongâ, Mayor ?â His eyes darkened slightly. âWhat made you so desperate that you had to push me out ?â
He turned away, deciding to ignore you as you would only taunt him, but when he did, he saw the same things again. A pristine mirror hung on the wall, and the black table that held nothing but memories he would rather forget. The same cream walls, the same manor and everywhere he turned, he could see the same walls and the same reflection. Only now, those mirrors were not broken, and his reflection had become yours.
Everywhere he looked, he could not escape your gaze and that flaming betrayal and anger in your eyes. Because you couldnât stand it anymore. You had spent years being ignored and you didnât care if it exhausted all of you to make sure he finally listened and saw you. âNo more runningâ your voice came from all of those mirrors. There was no escape. âNo more pretendingâ your smile came mocking and it seemed like you felt as if you finally won some of his time. âOr are you going to ignore me as William did to you ?â
âYou donât get to talk about William that way !â His voice suddenly crackled with anger and you could see a bit of his shell crack, his anger rising over the sea of static that filled the room. William was all he had left of that life, and he would not stand to hear it repeated so mockingly from a person who had broken him. As if realising his mistake, he took a few more steps back to fix his hair, which had come undone when he yelled, glancing sideways as if to cover up his outburst, but all he could see was your taunting smile.
âYes, because the last time we talked about him, you left me trapped in hereâ Your tone was accusing and that sharp edge you had created in your fit of anger stayed just as deadly. âIt was your choice. Your decision to trust me. Itâs not my fault if things ended this wayâ He darted his eyes away from one of your reflections again and you couldnât help but tear away the font that had been so useless to you up to now.
âHow is it not your fault ?!â Your voice rang with the static and it increased so much more than the tone that Dark was equipped to hear. It seized him, it crawled over his skin and it annoyed him to no ends because it reminded him so much more of that darkened void that he was buried in for days. Screaming, until the static was so loud he could scream no longer. âBe quietâ He muttered, rubbing his temples, as if out of annoyance, when it felt like so much more.
âYou were the one who manipulated me into giving you my freedom ! You trapped me here, within these glass walls, and then what ? To watch over these walls ? To watch the same, empty halls for years and never be able to leave, to, to do anything but hope that youâd come back and let me out !â You yelled, anger mixing into the room and your tears beginning to brim, because youâve been in here so long that sometimes, you forget how the sky looks. The only timeâs youâve ever been able to see anything but the decaying paint of the once pristine manor was when Darkâs reflection showed. And he did quite well making sure that never happened.
âYou believe that I wanted this result ? That I wanted all my friends dead or living in insanity ?! Where everything should have been fine, but it just isnât !â His exaggerated posture, throwing his hands as he spoke reflected the anger that contrasted the anger you saw that day when he argued with William. When his anger turned from a type that was once caring, which now was filled with pent up rage. âThen whyâŚ? You spoke, and your voice trembled with a tone that youâve once used to beg him to look at you when he once passed a mirror. Abandoned, desperate, pleading.Â
âWhy am I here ?â
