"I have to go," D'aijeen was saying, fixing her hair behind her head with a metal hairpiece, watching herself in three mirrors at once. Her fingers and voice were deliberate, calm, but fast with purpose. "I have to go. I need to find out what D'hein's done."
"It's alright," D'ahl took the fake glasses from her face. Anyone else might lose the thin frames and lenses in all of the glass furniture and mirrored walls, but aside on the reflective table-top was casual for D'ahl.
"Thank you for..." the woman pursed hr green lips, face flushing, as she adjusts the bow that sat on the chest of her white coat, smoothed its fabric. She did not wear anger well, and the distress clung to her like sweat. As she groomed her appearance, she cleansed her base emotions away and restored the facade of the elevated person. "Thank you for comforting me. I'm sorry to leave you alone."
Pulling the braids out of her hair, D'ahl shook her head to let the goldenrod hair dash about her shoulders in the straight tangles that were more her own style. Dropping the doppelganger guise that D'aijeen preferred. "I'll be fine, love. It was good seeing you for as long as I did."
"Everyone always tries to take my K'airos away!" D'aijeen lamented, voice suddenly high, and then took a breath to steady herself. "No. Just my mother, the crone. And D'hein in league with her. And K'airos so overjoyed by thought of... She's deceived! She's deceived. There is no love there. Only conflict between us."
"D'aijeen," D'hal said, the motherly purrs absent from her voice. "What are you going to do."
"Divide them as once I did before. Or banish the woman." She clutched her hands into fists, arms and shoulders shaking for a moment. With great effort and concentration, she released the gesture, the tenseness sliding off of her like warm water. She sighed. "I need to go. I need to go."
Standing from her seat, D'ahl watched D'aijeen's green tail as she trotted towards the exit. She watched her in the mirrors as well, at once from either side and above and in front and behind. On a whim, D'ahl spoke in that imitation voice that D'aijeen had taught her, "Everything will be all right, Aijee," evoking her mother, the woman she called the crone.
D'aijeen stopped in the hallway near the entrance, her gaze snapping up to mirrors that covered the door. Those blue eyes were reflected back, from one side to another, flipped and turned and guided to the sitting room around a corner where she caught D'ahl's gaze. Distantly, through a twisted hallway like shattered glass, D'ahl looked into D'aijeen's eyes and saw a hesitation that confused her.
"Don't." D'aijeen tried to look to one side, and made eye contact with D'ahl there as well. She bit her green lip, "Don't use that voice when you look like that. It's confusing."
"I want to change the rules," D'ahl said, her voice snapping with accidental force. "I want you to call me 'Mom' all the time. Not just when I'm playing the role, but also when I look like this. And when I am playing the role, I want the name of the role to be 'D'ahl'. I don't want there to be a difference between 'D'ahl' and 'Mom' for you."
Ears falling back on her head, D'aijeen turned again, once more to face D'ahl. "What?"
"If you hate the crone so much why must I pretend to be her? Why can I not simply be me? If you love me-"
"I do love you!"
"Then let me be that role!" D'ahl took a step forward, as though to make her way through the tunnel of glass shards to where D'aijeen was, but found herself too heavy to go any further than a single step. "Let the role be me. Remove all preamble and let it be what it is!"
"What it is?" D'aijeen shook her head, exhaled quickly. "D'ahl it's a game. We can't just remove the rules."
D'ahl closed her eyes, snapped her head down. She felt her tail shiver against the inside of one leg. "But you..." She reached up to her hair, pulled on her bangs, laying them over her face dumbly. Her jaw shivered. "I don't understand. You let D'hein call himself your father."
"My birth father is dead," the woman's tone was level. It was hurtfully plain. "I had room for a father. Use for one. My mother is alive. I have a mother, despite all."
"No need, then? If you didn't have need for one than why-"
"It's just a game, D'ahl. That's all." D'aijeen's movement was audible. D'ahl didn't look up into the mirrors to see. She was afraid of D'aijeen's eyes, imagining disregard, disgust, and anger all at once. But she heard D'aijeen moving away. "I need to go. I'm sorry."
D'ahl offered no reply. She stepped backwards until her feet hit the chair she'd stood from, and then she collapsed down into soft leather that sighed to catch her. The click of the apartment door drew D'ahl's eyes open, and she stared at the mirrors on the ceiling, angled to catch the mirrors on the walls, seeing down the hallway an empty foyer. In the many-angled mirrors, she saw all of her solitude at once. She perceived all the emptiness in her home that shone like a broken mirror.
If it had all been a game to D'aijeen all this time, then the only person who had ever been sincerely incestuous was D'ahl. She was not just an enabler, nor just an instigator, but the sole guilty part. Her hands on her head, eyes staring into her palms, she let out a single sob and then laughed. "I guess I'm just an impotent old pervert, then. It would be my best luck to die alone, if only to avoid the mockery that would surround me otherwise."
"It's alright," D'ahl took the fake glasses from her face. Anyone else might lose the thin frames and lenses in all of the glass furniture and mirrored walls, but aside on the reflective table-top was casual for D'ahl.
"Thank you for..." the woman pursed hr green lips, face flushing, as she adjusts the bow that sat on the chest of her white coat, smoothed its fabric. She did not wear anger well, and the distress clung to her like sweat. As she groomed her appearance, she cleansed her base emotions away and restored the facade of the elevated person. "Thank you for comforting me. I'm sorry to leave you alone."
Pulling the braids out of her hair, D'ahl shook her head to let the goldenrod hair dash about her shoulders in the straight tangles that were more her own style. Dropping the doppelganger guise that D'aijeen preferred. "I'll be fine, love. It was good seeing you for as long as I did."
"Everyone always tries to take my K'airos away!" D'aijeen lamented, voice suddenly high, and then took a breath to steady herself. "No. Just my mother, the crone. And D'hein in league with her. And K'airos so overjoyed by thought of... She's deceived! She's deceived. There is no love there. Only conflict between us."
"D'aijeen," D'hal said, the motherly purrs absent from her voice. "What are you going to do."
"Divide them as once I did before. Or banish the woman." She clutched her hands into fists, arms and shoulders shaking for a moment. With great effort and concentration, she released the gesture, the tenseness sliding off of her like warm water. She sighed. "I need to go. I need to go."
Standing from her seat, D'ahl watched D'aijeen's green tail as she trotted towards the exit. She watched her in the mirrors as well, at once from either side and above and in front and behind. On a whim, D'ahl spoke in that imitation voice that D'aijeen had taught her, "Everything will be all right, Aijee," evoking her mother, the woman she called the crone.
D'aijeen stopped in the hallway near the entrance, her gaze snapping up to mirrors that covered the door. Those blue eyes were reflected back, from one side to another, flipped and turned and guided to the sitting room around a corner where she caught D'ahl's gaze. Distantly, through a twisted hallway like shattered glass, D'ahl looked into D'aijeen's eyes and saw a hesitation that confused her.
"Don't." D'aijeen tried to look to one side, and made eye contact with D'ahl there as well. She bit her green lip, "Don't use that voice when you look like that. It's confusing."
"I want to change the rules," D'ahl said, her voice snapping with accidental force. "I want you to call me 'Mom' all the time. Not just when I'm playing the role, but also when I look like this. And when I am playing the role, I want the name of the role to be 'D'ahl'. I don't want there to be a difference between 'D'ahl' and 'Mom' for you."
Ears falling back on her head, D'aijeen turned again, once more to face D'ahl. "What?"
"If you hate the crone so much why must I pretend to be her? Why can I not simply be me? If you love me-"
"I do love you!"
"Then let me be that role!" D'ahl took a step forward, as though to make her way through the tunnel of glass shards to where D'aijeen was, but found herself too heavy to go any further than a single step. "Let the role be me. Remove all preamble and let it be what it is!"
"What it is?" D'aijeen shook her head, exhaled quickly. "D'ahl it's a game. We can't just remove the rules."
D'ahl closed her eyes, snapped her head down. She felt her tail shiver against the inside of one leg. "But you..." She reached up to her hair, pulled on her bangs, laying them over her face dumbly. Her jaw shivered. "I don't understand. You let D'hein call himself your father."
"My birth father is dead," the woman's tone was level. It was hurtfully plain. "I had room for a father. Use for one. My mother is alive. I have a mother, despite all."
"No need, then? If you didn't have need for one than why-"
"It's just a game, D'ahl. That's all." D'aijeen's movement was audible. D'ahl didn't look up into the mirrors to see. She was afraid of D'aijeen's eyes, imagining disregard, disgust, and anger all at once. But she heard D'aijeen moving away. "I need to go. I'm sorry."
D'ahl offered no reply. She stepped backwards until her feet hit the chair she'd stood from, and then she collapsed down into soft leather that sighed to catch her. The click of the apartment door drew D'ahl's eyes open, and she stared at the mirrors on the ceiling, angled to catch the mirrors on the walls, seeing down the hallway an empty foyer. In the many-angled mirrors, she saw all of her solitude at once. She perceived all the emptiness in her home that shone like a broken mirror.
If it had all been a game to D'aijeen all this time, then the only person who had ever been sincerely incestuous was D'ahl. She was not just an enabler, nor just an instigator, but the sole guilty part. Her hands on her head, eyes staring into her palms, she let out a single sob and then laughed. "I guess I'm just an impotent old pervert, then. It would be my best luck to die alone, if only to avoid the mockery that would surround me otherwise."