Ghosts

Adeena stares into the mirror, and it stares back at her. A light aqua-colored hair that gradients into darker shades as it flows gracefully around her delicate features; Slit-eyes like that of a reptile, purple and complex in their unsettling beauty; Brown chitin, smooth to the touch like skin yet hard and jagged at the edges. She raises her hand, grabs at one of the slight outcrops at the side of her chin, and pulls it, ignoring the pain and the blood that follows. Only a sliver of the chitin came out. She looks down at the sink, at the dozens of slivers that have accumulated around it, and grunts as she feels the pain fade and the damned curse regrow the bits she chipped away. When Adeena looks back up to the mirror, it does not meet her gaze. Her mirror-self is stuck staring at her clothes, soaked in her own blood. She steps back, leans her side against the wall and then her back, allowing her legs to give as she melts onto the floor whilst her eyes stay fixated to the mirror. What a wretched existence. The betrayal, the cold, the curse. She can't help herself, and the one soul that would have done something in every prior life barely casts an eye on her. Worst of all, she hungers. The famine that gnaws at her mind, the urge to bite and rip and... The bathroom door opens with a click and a creak. Warm light shines from the other side, in contrast with the pale blue light she'd summoned; The aroma of freshly ground coffee wafts in as if carried by breeze, overcoming the smell of despair. The house, in all of its wisdom, has once again moved. She tentatively arises to her feet once more, her head turning to the open door in a daze as she catches a glimpse of a white silhouette passing by. The doorway no longer leads to her room, but rather, the house's library. In contrast to the study, she'd only been here once at her host's bequest, and never found it again. Perhaps it was time. She stumbles out onto a large room, her chitinous feet clicking against the cold shale floor. Pale silhouettes wander through the aisles of walnut bookshelves engraved with details in gold, some peruse the scrollracks on the walls and others even sit in the common area by the middle. Zerathur is at the other end of the room, sat on top of his desk with a steamy mug by his side. The tall windows behind him are open, allowing soft rays of sunlight to play with the particles of dust that dance in the air as the late afternoon breeze rolls in. He seems too busy watching the silhouettes to notice her approach, but as she moves up the steps to meet him, his dull blue eyes finally shift to meet hers. He frowns. She stops. The grey-skinned man sits up, grabs his mug of coffee, and stands up. And it's in those couple of moments in which he approaches her and looks inquisitorially at the blood that covers her and her chipped chin... That she feels Hope's presence. Her heart sinks, she freezes completely like a deer caught by headlights. She saw it, for one second she could see through the illusion. His skin, taught and torn, revealing a wooden interior carved with spell sygils and symbols she does not recognize. He reaches out his free hand and touches her shoulder, and it is cold. But, she no longer feels the cold, she no longer hungers. He is not looking directly at her, but somewhere beyond. "Teach me---" Adeena couldn't finish the phrase, Zerathur was already gone. The sun has set, the breeze has turned cold and brings with it the smell of rain, the room is turning dark around her. She looks down at her hands, closes her fists, and then lets go.