Information

Khaibit has a minion!

the Bean Sidhe

Khaibit
Legacy Name: Khaibit

The

Glacier Harvester
Owner:

Lin

Age: 6 years, 7 months, 1 day

Born: September 18th, 2017

Adopted: 6 years, 7 months, 1 day ago

Adopted: September 18th, 2017

Pet Spotlight Winner
March 27th, 2019

Statistics

Level: 1
Strength: 10
Defense: 10
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 0
Books Read: 0
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

Warning: This story deals with mental illness (symptoms similar to schizophrenia), and mentions suicide.

I hate mirrors. There's something about staring into the reflection of your own eyes that just isn't right. Isn't natural. There's something cold, and dead that I can see in them no matter how well I think I can hide it. I've always wondered if there's something more to it - if there's really another world on the other side of the glass. In my mind, all the things I've learned to conceal about the darker parts of myself live there. Maybe the real reason it's bad luck to break a mirror is really because it releases all the evil hidden within, all the things only you can see when you look into your own eyes. If a person's eyes are truly windows to their soul, then I can only imagine the horrors that would spew forth. Humans are greedy, foul, despicable things - not that I'm any better.

The thing I hate the most about mirrors, especially the old Victorian one on the wall in my bedroom, is that It's never just my reflection looking back at me. My late husband is always there, just in the corner of my eye. I never really see him but sometimes, for a fraction of a second, I know that he's standing just behind me. It makes my skin crawl, like the way it did when he would get into bed with me after sleeping with that other woman. He wants to see guilt in my eyes, I think. He never will. But, my reflection stares back at me - laughing, covered in hot blood with rage burning in her pale blue eyes. Rage, and a touch of sadness, but not guilt. Never guilt. It's my fault, though - that he's gone. I go about my life, always feeling his shadow cast over me. To the world I am a happy, well-mannered woman with a promising career in medicine, who has a smile that lights up the whole room. When I look in the mirror, however, I see a monster.

I see lies that led to betrayal. Anxiety that turned into hopeless fear, and never ending nightmares. But the worst is the anger, the burning hatred - not for others, but for myself. I am a sick, twisted, unlovable creature who has no beauty - physical or otherwise. I can't blame him for seeking someone else. Who could love me? I am a greedy, cowardly, selfish soul who hardly even deserves love. Of course he wanted another woman. That's what they tell me, anyway - the voices of the shadows that lurk below the surface of the mirror. In a fit of rage, I slam by fist into the mirror on the bedroom wall. I watch with satisfaction as blood drips down the glass from a spiderweb shaped crack in the center of the mirror.

Let it out. Let the evil flow through. I laugh like a madman as shadowy things pour out of the cracked glass. I wonder if this how Pandora felt when she opened the cursed box. Just below the surface of the glass I can see myself, pounding my fists against it, silently screaming in terror. I look away, and see nothing but darkness. I stumble and fall, as something grabs me by the ankle and drags me deeper into the shadows. I scream and struggle as it everything fades to black.

"She was a doctor here, wasn't she?"

Two men in white lab coats stand beside a middle-aged woman belted to a stretcher in a sterile, nearly empty room in a mental hospital. The one that spoke, the younger of the two, stuffs his hands into his pockets and glances out the window at the setting sun.

"She was," The older doctor, a stern looking man with grey hair replies wearily. "Until her husband died. She admitted herself shortly after, claiming that his ghost was stalking her and that she could hear spirits calling her a murderer whenever she was near a mirror. She was stable, mostly, but as time went on she became less and less aware of the real world."

"How did her husband die?" The younger doctor asks, looking through the woman's file.

"He committed suicide - in front of an old mirror in their bedroom, apparently," The older man tells him, and sighs. "It's a shame, really. She was doing so well with the new treatments. Sometimes I could even see a bit of who she used to be. I suppose we'll have to start over. I know she's still in there somewhere."

"What caused the relapse, though?"

"They moved her into a new room. ...With a mirror."

Khaibit's story is somewhat loosely inspired by Egyptian mythology. According to the Egyptian concept of a human soul being made up of several parts, the Khaibit represents the reflection – or shadow, according to some sources. Like the Ka it can move freely, but it's the manifestation of the darker part of the soul. The Khaibit is everything someone knows about their soul, but doesn't let the world see – things like greed, hatred, despair, etc.

Story, overlay, and profile code by User not found: song || Art by