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I’m sitting.

On a chair.

Facing the bathroom door.

And through the bathroom door is the bathroom mirror.

That I’m looking at.

And yeah.

That would be my reflection right there.

                                 

The ‘no-vampires-in-mirrors thing’ always made me fucking laugh.   Dunno who came up with that shit.   Mind you – it would come in bloody useful if people couldn’t see you behind them in the glass, but then it would also be a total fucking giveaway in public, right?   Just bloody stamp “Get Bit Now – Ask Me How” on my forehead.   Look – as far as mirrors go, we’re corporeal, for fuck’s sake – undead, not fucking intangible.   So, busy defying the laws of nature by our very existence, sure – but subject to all the regular ‘natural’ laws of the world.   Are you getting this?   Because that includes the reflection of light and images on shiny surfaces.   Yes – I fucking show up in mirrors.  

Not that I use ’em much.   I mean – I’m not going to be growing facial hair or getting spots or wrinkles or anything.   I’ll look just like I looked yesterday, and last year, and the century before.   I don’t need visual reassurance of my existence like you – by this time, I know pretty well what my face looks like.   So the only mirror I even have is in the bathroom, and you know how rarely that gets used at my place.   In fact, I only opened the fucking door just now because I was looking for the Cat…

Maybe the mirror myth was a metaphor originally.   About us being – I dunno – souless or something.   That we can’t reflect on our selves and our actions.   Shallow, unsubstantial, a symbol of all the horrifying things you’re afraid are already inside you, but you can’t see in the looking glass.   See.   Told you we’re part of nature – your nature.   We’re everything you can’t bear to face about yourself.   We’re the shadow, the unseen, the repressed exhumed.   Right.   Right?

But for this particular symbol, it has been a time of fucking self-reflection lately.   So fuck the metaphor.

And then there have been lots of reflections in my world lately.   Shadow selves.   Mirror images.   Faces in the dark.   See – mirrors are actually bullshit, right?   They’re not fucking true at all.   All they show you is yourself backwards – an opposite, a distortion.   People show you who you are better.   Their eyes – the way they see you.  

 I knew myself best when I killed my brother.  

When I saw Kane hate me.   When the Cat first died.    When I opened the door to Brix.   When Py came back this week.

When I once met Amelia.

 

Mirrors, on the other hand, show you the looking-glass world.   Where people and sanity and you are back-to-front and upside-down and topsy-fucking-turvy.   The whole fucking world in reverse – all wrong.   And see – if you’re a mirror looking back – I mean, if you’re reflecting back what’s reflecting you, it’s a fucking endless corridor of mirrors.   The insane funhouse, the eternal game, the horror of the mirror gazing into the mirror forever.   Gaston Leroux had his particular creature of the night build that as a torture chamber, yeah?   The French even have a fucked-up word for it – mise en abyme.   Into the abyss.   Eternal reflections – the descent into madness, the horrors of infinity.

 

I’m sitting.

On a chair.

Facing the bathroom door.

And through the bathroom door is the bathroom mirror.

That I’m looking at.

And yeah.

That would be my reflection right there.

And, written across it, are lovely long red letters.  

And Amelia’s blood as ink has only run just the littlest bit down the glass…

And it says:

 

 

WELCOME HOME, DARLING.

 

 

NEXT ENTRY…

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7 Comments

  1. PLease Sir, can I have some more?

  2. So…did you find the cat?

  3. I can’t believe I almost missed this..Thank you for making it longer..last words I read before bed. No wonder I can’t sleep!

  4. Ugh! So many plots are left hanging LOL So addictive! Dammit! Thanks for another great read =D Look forward to the next =)

  5. …the BROODING…

  6. You know, on a random note, you’ve never told us how exactly you look… Not that it matters…you could be blond, fat, curly or with horns for all I know, but having an image on our minds while reading could be helpful..
    So we could, maybe, stop imagining you as a black shadow with red glowing eyes that is looking at us from the corner of our worst nightmares???
    But, if that suits you, no problem….

    P.S. This chapter is amazing….

    • There have been – implications about my looks. You’d better reread…


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