"This should help with the swelling." He said, rubbing in the lotion around the area of my wings until the medication stung. It began burning so much, in fact, that I had to repeatedly pound my fist into the kitchen island to compose myself until the pain subsided.
"Stop moving them." Tom's slightly agitated voice grumbled from behind me.
"I can't. They do what they want." I retorted back. I sighed heavily and when I finally turned to face him, I saw it - the familiar look of pity overcoming his face, studying me heavily.
For the past few days, Tom had been acting... strange...
It started with the nightmares. The more frequent and worse the nightmares became, the more some sort of shift became of him. He seemed more... distant somehow, more drawn into himself.
There were times when I would catch him staring blankly out in front of him for hours on end, as still and silent as stone itself.
Something was waning on him, making him restless and irritable. Unfortunately for me, I became his target of unfathomable anger and passive-aggressivensss lately.
Yet, quite frankly, he was a wild card of emotions. I could never really predict which emotion would prevail, nor did I ever understand Tom in general.
Our talk just last night feels so surreal, considering I hadn't shared a laugh with Tom in a long time, an echo of an eternity ago.
"Are you done?" I asked, impatience noted in my tone. He didn't answer. He just stood there, staring at me with that same look. "Hey. Underworld to Tom?"
"What?" He blankly responded, blinking his eyes as if to awaken from a daydream.
"Are you done?" I repeated, more impatient than the last time.
He put the bottle of lotion down and dropped his stare. "Uh... yeah. I-I'm done."
"You okay?"
"I'm fine. Really... I am." He smiled yet something of it appeared forceful and fake rather than genuine.
Tom went off into the corridors of lit torches that lead to our bedroom, leaving me in the kitchen. With the top half of my body resting on the countertop, I picked myself up, my wings still just as sore as they were for a week now.
My infection was beginning to take its toll on me and physical movement became a burden more than ever.
I was about to follow in Tom's wake to the corridor yet my reflection in my peripheral vision had captured my attention. My vivid green eyes stared vacantly back at me. I couldn't help but study how my red horns descended from an already intense red, like my wings, to a fine black point, like my fingernails and my ears stood on end, perked to a curved point.
My pair of fangs hung out from the front of my bottom lip, slightly revealing themselves instead of hiding like the rest of my flattened teeth. They may be difficult to spot at first, but when I smile, they are visible.
I turned away and found myself looking down the hall where Tom had gone. I took one final, sparing glance at myself in the mirror, taking in my appearance once more. Yet, something of my reflection had been curiously altered, so much so, that I did a double take.
I yelped in instinct, causing my body to stumble and crash into the wall behind me.
The boy in the mirror followed my actions. With his mouth open in shock, his fangs were gone. He had light brown eyes and matching dark hair but without horns. His wings - he had none. I had been wearing no shirt at the time, yet the boy in the mirror had on a light red hoodie.
He had the same terror in his eyes as I did.
Something about him - I knew that reflection. I knew that face.
But... from where?
"Tom!" I shouted, panic driving my voice to a frenzied volume. "Tom!" The boy in the mirror copied me, mocking me, teasing me, perfecting me.
...
Tom practically fell into the doorway, assessing the situation as it unfolded before him. His mouth hung open in a bewildered silence. He wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words.
I pointed with a shaking finger out in front of me at the mirror, locking eyes onto him.
"The mirror." I said.
Something about his face appeared more dumbfounded now than alarmed this time.
"The mirror?" He echoed, his eyebrow went up in skepticism.
Though I could only imagine how idiotic I sounded to him, creating hysteria and urgency over a mirror.
"Look." I said, my finger still outstretched. Just as Tom glanced over at the mirror on the wall, the taunting boy had disappeared. I mentally cursed, realizing my moment of distraction was taken for granted.
I approached closer, this time my reflection was true, fangs, horns, wings and all. "What? No. Nononono! I-I saw it - someone else. But - how?" I tore the mirror off of the wall to inspect it closer.
Tom stood next to me, rendered speechless.
I growled in aggravation, holding the mirror up to my face. "It was real! I saw it!" From behind me, Tom stepped into the reflection. The same damn pitiful look came back to his face.
My anger flared up inside of me and I felt as if I could just snap the mirror in half.
"What?" I snapped at Tom, turning around to meet his real face.
"What do you mean what?"
"What is with that stupid look on your face?"
Tom held his temples in distress, an uneven sigh escaping him. "It's... it's nothing."
Judging by the way he bit his bottom lip to keep it from noticeably shaking and by the way he ran his fingers through his hair, I could tell that he was lying.
But before I could question it, he retreated back out into the corridors, his head hung down as if to conceal the look on his face.
Once again, he had flipped a switch, yet I had no idea what had triggered it. I stood there in the kitchen, debating whether to approach him or not. The last time I tried to talk to Tom, he almost scathed me with a sphere of fire.
By the time I had made up my mind to go talk to him, I couldn't even find him.
Ironically enough, the last place I found him was the first place I had not thought to check.
...
The scorching heat outside of the castle only seemed to aid in exhausting me. It was dizzying and I had to steer myself steady with the balustrade of the front steps.
Tom was sitting there, knees tucked into him and his upper body bent over, curled into himself. He often found solitude in the center of the Underworld, where the roiling magma pit formed and the distant demonic screams of the residents were absolute. It brought him solace and pleasure to hear the suffering of others.
I hadn't intended on him overhearing my sudden presence, yet the scuffing of my feet must have been an accidental giveaway. His head lifted and turned, yet only halfway, before turning away completely and wiping his face.
"You shouldn't be out here." His voice broke through, unsteady at first, reflecting a tone of breakage and vulnerability.
This, I was aware of, considering for the past few weeks, I had been having trouble staying conscious in the overwhelming heat of the Underworld. In fact, a noticeable light-headedness was already taking effect as I stood there on the steps.
I neared closer to him now, deeming it safe to proceed and sit down.
"Are you okay?" I said, disregarding his previous statement.
He gazed up at me then and the answer was obvious in his face. His eyes were rimmed with redness and his cheeks were damp. Just the sight of him was startling enough but above all, the way he did not deny it had momentarily staggered me.
Something about him - it was raw and true. Whatever the loss was, he was hurting.
"You really don't remember, do you?" His voice was low and gravelly, almost worn.
"I... I don't..." I couldn't muster another word.
My gaze dropped down to his lap now, something in his embrace that had piqued my interest.
It was red and molded with horns - a headband.
His stare was hard and fixated on the accessory in his hands. The gravely dark look of his face read an eeriness, a bitter echo and a grim reminder. Something of his face read some sort of a quiet, seething vengeance.
"Tom," I murmured. "What's going on?"
For a moment, and only a moment, he met my eyes. One moment, one breath-seizing, blood-curdling moment, the look on his face became real.
Real wrath, real underlining vengeance in his hardened glare.
Real, raw emotion in his stone face - his reddened, tired eyes, tear-stained cheeks, an overall violet blush in his naturally lavender skin tone.
Something of it frightened me, shook my core.
The way his blank yet concentrated stare pierced through me, impaling through me as if I was somehow the gut-wrenching source of his pain and he had finally realized me as the enemy in front of him.
Something in his face - was a haunting presence. Almost like the answer to avenging his grief was so clear and all he had to do was strike...
Then, just like that, gone. Devoid of any disturbance or pain - just defeat.
His head hung back down to distract himself with the headband, cradling it into him.
"You wouldn't believe me." He finally said.
"Just talk to me, Tom." I insisted, despite his beliefs. "I mean, c'mon. We're brothers, aren't we?"
"Stop."
The sudden, audible demand was something of an absurdness, a sort of hilarity, that I had to laugh.
"What? I was just-"
"We are not brothers, Marco-"
"How could you say that-?"
"No, stop!" Tom's protesting grew louder now. He rose from the steps to meet my face. "You can't actually believe that."
"I... don't get it." Was all I could manage to say.
"No, of course you don't, Marco! Because you aren't a demon! And you are not my brother." The booming strength in his voice as he shouted back quaked the Underworld. It was vocalized throughout the void, welcome to anyone in a mile radius to concern.
Something in his tone of voice, of the way he neared closer to emphasize his words, had stunned me back. A pang rose in my chest and suddenly, the whirling dizziness of the molten core's heat became too much to endure.
Tom froze. He must've been able to read the obvious impact of his infliction on my face.
"Marco, I-"
"It's fine." I concluded, rising up now before I could succumb to the strangling temperature. "I get it now."
And before he could say another word, I stumbled back into the safety of the castle doors and into the freeing, merciful air.