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A looking glass.
Azreyal Dak'ma stared at his appearance, tracing each line of his features with sharp white-gold eyes. Â They were his mother's eyes, his brother's eyes. Â His face was his brother's face, his mother's face. Â What was his? Â A hand came up to touch the sunkissed skin, naturally tan underneath the enhanced golden sheen. Â It trailed across his jaw, thin and strong, to his mouth. Â There, barely noticeable, were disruptions in the skin; little pinpricks of scars on either side of his lower lip.
They had asked him about his long abandoned piercings today and forgotten the question. Â He had started to answer, but his musings were lost to the rain and more interesting conversation. Â This was alright with Azreyal, of course; he didn't need to explain himself. Â It was likely, he thought, that they would even find his reasoning silly. Â This was also alright with Azreyal. Â
A little more than five years ago, there had been metal hoops there, decorating his bottom lip on either side. Â Sometimes they were gold, sometimes silver, always thin and discrete, little more than a sliver against the darkened flesh. Â These had been his first, save the ones on his ears. Â The metal had felt real against his skin. Â His skin. Â Yes, this was his body, his nerves, his flesh and muscle and bone; nobody could take that from him. Â
Next had come the brow, two there on the left side; little hoops hidden by his bangs, which were shaggy even back then. Â Azreyal remembered the feeling of each one, even to this day, the painful yet oddly satisfying pinch of metal and flesh. Â He reached up to touch his left brow, which contained no signs of the jewelry that had once adorned it. Â His finger ran across the ridge of bone and straight down to the outer side of his left eye. Â An odd place to pierce, he knew, but this skin too bore the subtle signs of once being home to a small curved barbell, unnoticeable to one who did not know what they were looking for and hidden by the leather patch he normally kept over that side of his face. Â
Azreyal regarded his reflection, dropping his hand to his side. Â There had been other piercings, but none had meant so much to him as these. Â It might have been a superficial reason, perhaps even a bit twisted, but they had made him feel as if he'd claimed his face for his own. Â The man crossed the room to his desk, flanked by two beds. Â One was occupied by Eva, his animal companion, a growing fawn who enjoys sleeping in a nest of furs and work materials. Â The other was claimed by a small and huddled Miqo'te shaped figure, rose pink hair and ears sticking out over the blankets. Â Azreyal regarded the second figure with a soft expression, leaning forward to ensure that her dreams were safe before turning back to his desk.Â
In the second drawer from the top on the right side sat a little box, covered in fine velvet, just large enough to resemble one normally found holding rings in jewelry shops. Â He scooped it up into his hand, opening it gently. Â The ring that had originally sat inside it was now on his finger, of course, the golden band he wore on his left. Â Instead, there were little hoops, studs and barbells in golds and silvers. Â Azreyal took the box and crossed his room again to the looking glass, pulling a thin hoop from the myriad of metals and resting it around his bottom lip on the right side.Â
For a moment, the man saw the reflection of his adolescent self, an overconfident yet sentimental boy, burning with desire and initiative to forge a bright future for himself and his family. Â He saw the youth who fought in the arenas with his twin, openly basking in the glory of shirtless fame and yet entirely alone. He saw the young man who had proposed to and married a young Seeker from Ala Mhigo. Â He saw the young boy, not even of age, who had shot his first kill up on the cliff. Â He could see the wolf howling before his arrow had silenced its voice...
Azreyal's hand came down to his waistline, pulling the loose pants he wore down a few ilms to look at the howling wolf forever immortalized on the left side of his pelvis. Â He stared for a long time, tracing the thick and expressive lines that composed it with his eyes. Â He had never stopped to consider why the wolf had been howling in the first place. Â Mother had once told him as a boy that wolves howled out of love. Â Had the wolf been in love? Â Could wolves truly love? Â The wolf tattoo disappeared as his hand released the garment, letting it rise back up and rest on his hips once again.
The hoop on the man's lip glinted softly with reflected firelight, catching his eye, making him remember it was there. Â Slowly he pulled it off and set it back into the box in which it belonged. Â There was no more need for the jewelry, not anymore. Â Whilst Azreyal's desire to conquer himself had not dissipated, it had manifested in other ways, more permanent ways. Â His dominance leaked into his actions, his words, his intimacy.Â
Turning from the looking glass, Azreyal spied the sleeping Miqo'te again. Â His hand closed around the tiny box of adornments tightly, almost crushing the small hinges. Â Catching himself before destroying it, he moved forward to tuck it away into his desk once again, pulling out a false bottom on the drawer below it. Â There sat the journal they'd retrieved from Kitka's deceased brother, with her name embossed in gold on the front of its deceivingly innocent cover. Â The man's hand shook as he took the small book, with anger and anticipation and fear. Â
Azreyal closed the drawer silently and sat on Eva's bed, the fawn gazing up at him with a strangely knowing look in her wide eyes. Â The journal opened to a random page and he began to read Kharth Bodelaire's twisted musings, terrible messages hidden behind a beautiful script that could have belonged to royalty.Â
5th Sun of the Fourth Astral Moon.
    The experiments are exceeding my greatest expectations.  I've been able to completely remotely manipulate Kitka's entire left hand whilst she sleeps.  It seems she has no recollection of these events when she wakes; the magic must be effecting her memories.  This is a marvelous breakthrough, to compete with the sheer amount of nerves and musculature in the Miqo'te hand with simply my will and my gift.  Should I succeed with my plans, I, Kharth, shall be considered perhaps the most powerful magister in Eorzea.
The man closed his eyes, furrowing his brow. Â This was an earlier entry, far less implicating than the ones to follow...the ones... Azreyal had read some of them twice, once on his own and once with Kitka. Â The words had made him feel sick to his stomach, as if his heart was being ripped out of his chest, torn into shreds and then replaced. Â The female had turned a delicate shade of green and then completely shut down. Â As she had walked away, he had seen himself. Â He had seen a mistake he once made. Â He had seen something he knew at that moment he could never let go of again.
This desire had led Azreyal to giving in to Kitka's wishes over the last few days, but he could not help but worry that it wouldn't be enough. Â Veloxa's voice resonated in his head as he stared at the page of the journal blankly. Â She'd told him to offer the young woman a normal and stable life and allow her to come to terms with things as she would. Â That made so much sense, it did, but something in his mind tugged at him. Â
How could he give her a normal life? Â How could he protect her as he failed to protect Alicein and Eva? Â How could he save her from something that already happened? Â
Azreyal opened his eyes and flipped much further into the book, toward the back where the darkest entries were, landing on one he'd already read with Kitka a few nights previous.
26th Sun of the 3rd Astral Moon.
    I've devised a rather ingenious plan, though I believe it will take a few months to come to fruition.  I've not yet been able to infer whether or not it is safe enough to remove the protection I use to prevent conception; however, after this it may not matter.  Thus far I have noticed that she has less pain when moving after I finish with her; she has begun to adjust quite nicely.  My Kitkalianne.  She should be proud, her purpose is a great one; our children will be the start of something incredible.  I have already contacted the 'group' with logs of my interest and they have agreed to help facilitate my interests once I can steal her from this place. Â
My only concern is that she has begun to lash out at me during our nights together, and I've seriously lost control over her. Â I fear the magic building up in her body as a result of the manipulation is seeking a violent way out of her system. Â She will need to learn to enjoy me; it is the only way to circumvent the violence. She will.Â
The family trusts are almost all transferred to my name, insurance on the home secured. Â My 'death' may shatter her for a time, but I know that she will easily fall back into my waiting arms when I come to 'save' her from the torment that will be her life after the 'accident.' Â I may even bring her Parker's head as a gift; how thoughtful of me.
I've been taking steps to secure my hold on her. Â Her heart is mine, and as long as it remains so... Â I am in full control. Â The future is so bright that it shines.
Even reading this for the third time, Azreyal felt a a murderous rage wash over him, every muscle tensing. Â He flung the journal to the side, into the mess of things on the spare bed. Â Every bit of him wanted to cross over to the sleeping woman and just hold her tight so that the world could never touch her again, but he did not. Â If the world had never touched Kitka, she wouldn't be the woman he cared so much for today. Â If he never let her experience anything, she would be sheltered and naive. Â There had to be a balance struck, a way to offer her the support she needed and to share her burdens. Â
The man began to calm as he heard Veloxa's voice in his head again, this time fuzzy, as if he'd not heard her correctly. Â She had mentioned something about...Kitka needing something of his to wear. Â He could do this, but he rarely had anything he wore all of the time, something that meant enough to him to bring her the sense of security she'd need. Â Azreyal's left thumb started to twist the golden band on his left ring finger and then he froze.
The ring.Â
Slowly, his white-gold eyes trailed down to look at one of his most prized possessions. Â It was simple and yet strangely elegant, the malleable metal twisting around itself in an infinite spiral. Â Azreyal frowned, the thought of parting with the object foreign to him even five years after his marriage was broken by death. Â That very feeling was the fuel for his next action, a slow sliding of the ring off of his finger and insertion into his pocket. Â
Azreyal stood, pulling a pair of fluffy furry pajamas from a bag on the bed and folding them meticulously onto the table. Â He scooped a wooden bowl into the pot of stew over the fire and set it next to the warm garments. Â The sun was beginning to shine through the fur he kept over the window, and he knew Kitka would be waking soon. Â Quickly, he drew a chocobo feather quill and scrawled a note on parchment for her to find when she wakes.
Something gave the man pause, however, as he went to exit the room hastily and prepare for what he needed to accomplish that day. Â His reflection stared at him from the far wall and he stared back. Â It was his face now, he decided, stepping closer to the wall to see himself closer. Â Suddenly, without warning, Azreyal's fist cocked back and slammed into the glass. Â It shattered quietly around him, into his face and chest, cutting into his hand. Â
The male Miqo'te just gave a twisted and satisfied grin, leaving the pieces on the floor and turning on heel to leave. Â The very real sensation of warm crimson lifeblood dripped from every new cut and gash. Â The pain was good, the reality was good, the nip of mortality was excellent. Â His blood. Â His face. Â His life. Â
A looking glass. Â
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