Killing Butterflies - Empires SMP

Three - Dinner

Xornoth made a rather unhelpful and uninteresting discovery. All of their clothes were the exact same texture and colour, a stuffy, unbreathable fabric that only came in an insufferable white. No pockets or folds for them to carry anything in, and the sleeves only came down just long enough that they didn't feel as exposed as a slab of meat. If the lack of pockets hadn't probably been there so they couldn't hide things, they would've thought that whoever dressed them thought they were female.

Although the fact that someone had changed their clothes whilst they were unconscious made them unbearably angry. The urge to stab someone was stronger than ever, but alas, magic.

It was stupid. Their light battle robes were plain black with only a hint of purple and crimson. What had been so wrong with them that someone felt the need to violate their privacy like that? It was probably a pride thing to make themselves feel better, because nothing said 'we have control over you' more than wearing different clothes apparently.

They got up in agitation, deciding to investigate the room. If they couldn't hide things in pockets then they might as well stuff things around what they had decided to unceremoniously dub their cell.

It didn't actually look anything like most of the cells in Rivendell. Such features of making it not look like a Rivendell cell included a bed with surprisingly soft blue blankets instead of suspicious swabs of fabric. There were also two plush armchairs, a spruce table and a dark oak bookshelf currently empty of about two-thirds of its books. Why Scott hadn't removed the last few was beyond them, but after closer inspection, they saw titles like 'The Side Effects of Manipulative Siblings' and 'Recovery Time; Toxic Sibling Addition' with there being no books about literally anything else.

They supposed they should be offended, but it was so stupidly petty that they felt an amused sort of annoyance. They were also more focused on the most surprising object in the room - the mirror.

It had been such a long time since Xornoth looked at themselves in a mirror, that they had half-forgotten what they looked like. The reflection staring back at them was probably just as surprised as they were as they sunk in every small detail of themselves. A messy, ragged curtain of black hair. Violently saturated blood-red eyes surrounded by void black that refused to budge out of where the whites should be. Tensed wings, grey feathers misaligned and dirty. Two noticeable facial scars - one that disrupted their lips and ripped all the way across their cheekbone to almost their ear, and one that had wrecked the side of their nose and sliced up towards their hairline. Jagged, misshapen, razor-sharp teeth that were too crowded but excellent for biting people.

They reached out with a far too pale hand and touched the sheet of glass. It seemed far too fragile to create such an accurate and strange image, but it had, and it was a clear and defined portrayal of them.

Nothing else peaked their interest. They returned to sitting on the bed, and after some debate, rolled themself into a ball and closed up into a mock imitation of sleeping because they were still tired. It was too soft, to squishy for them to sleep on and they ended up shifting more than anything. How did people actually sleep on beds? They felt far too exposed in this open aired bubble of comfort, but most people thought they were the only solution to a good nights sleep.

Xornoth opened their eyes with a grumble and looked further around. There were three doors, but they didn't think they would be able to open any of them (who needed three doors in their room?) The table would be too cramped to fit under, and there wasn't really that much else they could use to sleep in a way that made them feel safe.

They poked their head under the bed - ignoring how pretty much all of their body protested - and took a look around at the space. Large enough that they could fit under and small enough that they would feel much safer.