
ππππ ππππππ’ πππππππ ππ:@damascusDoctorate The first sign of madness. That night, the third time I met the fuchsiablood in person. When I went home, I thought I saw someone else outside my window. I ran up close, horrified, excited. But they only got closer. Then it hit me. That face I didn't recognise was a reflection of my own. I ran to the bathroom mirror. My face had changed. Only slightly, but the more I looked, the more flaws I unpicked. My eyelashes were wrong. My eyebrows aren't that shape. Was my nose always that angle? I wanted to hit the mirror with my fist and break it, but I couldn't disrespect the house my father had left me. I curled up into a ball on the ground and cried until my head hurt and my glasses that no longer fit me began to cloud up. Until I fell asleep. Every night it happens again. I never thought about how lucky I was that I'd go to bed with the same face I woke up with. I took it for granted. God, what I'd do to undo this. Your feelings are valid, you know them better than anyone. πΌπππππ’ πππ
