mirror mirror on the wall

[Zetsu]

[Enter Eden]

It was sometime in the morning—not the next morning, but the morning after—that Eden found the body.

The sun had been up, though not for very long. He was numb; the pain of the cold—a stultifying, pinching pain in his hands, his cheeks, the tip of his nose—had long since calcified into a sensation dull and distant. Stumbling. He could hardly recall what he was doing, by then; he had been awake for not less than 48 hours. Still, he had continued; his purpose had not been so much forgotten as automated.

There had been a clearing, an expanse; he had found himself at a lake, though the details of how he had arrived there were muddled. Iced over, but there were some pools, here and there, and, almost idly, he had found himself looking into one of those pools. And there she was.

Eve, dead in the water, was a pale thing, wet and waxy and slimy-looking. She looked like an amphibian, or one of those strange, translucent fish that one can find deep in caves. Eden thought about flipping her over, taking a look at her face, confirming that it was her. He could also have probed his own throat with a pair of chopsticks, if his goal was to induce vomiting.

Well. So much for that.

He sat at the edge of the pool, looking anywhere but at the sad, human-shaped piece of meat inside, for what else was there to do? He had spent the last night, day, and night again following Eve at a strolling pace, because she had deserved no better. Or perhaps Eden had deserved no better. Which was it, again? In any case, he had—of course—fallen behind after awhile, and then lost her trail, but was that not the point? Wasn’t he supposed to search the island, hour after hour, for his sister? It proved something, he knew. It proved her wrong. It showed that she was—that he would—that he could—that this was something he did. She was wrong about him. He was proving it to her smug, self-obsessed little face, he knew.

And then, well. She’d probably feel terrible for having made him go to such trouble, once he found her. For having made him do this, by storming off like that. That had always been Eve’s habit. Would you not do the same for Eden, dear sister? Silly question; of course she wouldn’t. She hadn’t asked him to follow her, of course. There was nothing that he—weaponless, sleepless, frostbitten, nonsensical—could do for her. Eden’s sacrifice could only ever hurt her. It was what she deserved. For making him prove it. That he was, that he cared about, that he wasn’t—this. That he wasn’t—

As if Eden gave a shit.

He scanned the frozen shoreline; perhaps she had left him something, a bag, a note, an explanation, an apology. There was nothing, of course. Typical, really. It wasn’t like family had ever meant anything in their household.

There was nothing to do but go. Burial was hardly an option. Fishing her out would require more strength than Eden had, and besides, he was cognizant enough to recognize that there was a distinct possibility that he would simply plunge into the pool, the ice cracking beneath the strain, and that he would find then find himself unable to leave. Which—imagine having to share your grave with Eve. They’d float side-by-side and everything. Which was—gross.

He got up. He gathered his things. He faced the pool.

“Bitch.”

He spat the word out, or tried to. Out of his mouth, in the air, it felt small, and weak, and weightless.

He continued, “Do you think—do you really think that—you turd. You. You. Are pathetic. You’re fucking stupid. Did you think it would hurt to find—you? Fuck you. I don’t need you. It was only out of the infinite fucking grace in my heart that I was, that I was—I don’t care!”

He breathed, slow and heavy, and then he was gone.

[Exit Eden]