It's cold... why is my face so...?
I blinked rapidly, my eyes opening to the dull ceiling lurking overhead. It takes me a second to register.
Right, no bed anymore.
It hadn't been that long since I lost the bed in this apartment, but damn. It was more important than I thought.
"Ugh, the weather's awful as well. Why's it raining so much?"
I rubbed my forehead, wincing as my fingers brushed against the tender skin near the crown. A dull ache pulsed beneath.
That damn disease... it still doesn't wanna stop eating away at my body huh..?
The floor groaned as I finally stood, my knees stiff from hours of sleeping curled up. Cramps stabbed through my thighs, sharp enough to make me curse under my breath.
"Fuck."
The mirror was foggy, couldn't see a thing on it. I wiped the fog from it with a sleeve.
"Huh, when did I grow a beard...?"
I caught my reflection in the cracked mirror—unkempt, tired, and definitely more hobo than human. The beard didn't help either.
"Still stuck in this homeless shelter of an apartment." I mutter to myself. "Only thing goin' for it, is the 10 dollar rent."
Not that I have much of a choice.
I glance toward the window next to the mirror. The rain hits the glass in sheets, so thick and relentless that it blurs the view. I can't see anything past the smudges—just gray, as far as the eye can go.
But that's the city for you, well more like the backstreets of the city. A festering pit of crime, dirt, and people who could vanish without a second thought. This place? It's cheap for a reason.
My gaze flicks back to the mirror.
"Great. My left eye's nearly gone." The world through it's a smeared blur. Everything's off. My eye's barely even functioning anymore.
My Distortion.
Lovely little affliction. It's like a disease born from the uncontrollable flow of magic—magic that doesn't play by any rule I've ever understood. It distorts everything it touches: bodies, minds, even reality itself. Sometimes, it gives powers. Sometimes, it kills.
And sometimes. It just does things incomprehensible to human beings in general. For me, I was distorted at birth and got this disease-like affliction.
My disease started from the top of my head, and over the last year, it's been eating away at my left eye. Slowly, but surely. And lately, it's speeding up.
Maybe it's the constant exposure to magic on the job. Or maybe I'm just unlucky.
"I should probably get this checked… but hell, I can barely tell the difference between my pen and my fingers anymore."
I pick up the pen and sit down at the table. The journal's still open where I left it. I've been writing down my dreams lately. Strange dreams. Too strange to ignore.
The thing is, I've noticed a pattern. It's not just dreams. It's more like… déjà vu. Every time I wake up, I feel like I've seen whatever happens next before.
I open the journal and start to write again.
Last night, I dreamt of rain. Heavy, relentless rain. It wasn't normal. It felt wrong. And I think it's coming.
Before I can finish, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Work.
"Yeah? A new contract? Alright. I'm coming."
The call ends too fast. The job I've been hoping for. It's make-or-break this time.
I toss the journal aside and grab my worn leather jacket off the chair. My eyes catch the cloth-wrapped sword leaning against the wall. It's old, scarred, but it's made for the kind of work I do. For things I can't explain.
I throw it over my shoulder, adjusting it with practiced ease.
I pause at the mirror one last time before I head out the door.
And freeze.
"Huh."
I can't see myself. Not a damn thing. It's like the reflection's been swallowed up by the fog. Or maybe it's something else.
I stare. My breath hitches in my throat.
Something's off. Something's wrong.
Who am I?