Mirrors [Seven-Colored Song]

[[Argyris]]

Perched on the bathroom counter, Argyris stares into the expanse of the mirror in front of him. 

The opposite image of the white-tiled room around him is captivating in its distortion, but the flash of silver in the center of it is what truly holds his attention. 

Silver. Second best. Never like him. 

He's pretty; Argyris knows that much. He's his mother's most beautiful child, all delicate features, soft smiles, and silky, well-combed hair. Even if he's not golden like his twin, his luster is nothing forgettable. And he tries. Unlike Auriel, who has everything come oh-so-easily to him, Argyris works his hardest to be worthy of Mother Angelica's love. 

Would he look better in braids, perhaps? He twists sections of his hair around his fingers, tongue poking past his lips in concentration. Will Mother call him cute for it? 

If only there was more he could do. Makeup like Mother's would surely suit him— painting his lips crimson like hers, dusting an artificial blush high on his soft cheeks. Even if his jawline has been looking sharper lately, that would keep him pretty. 

Auriel has no such luxury. 

His harsh, boyish features are nothing in comparison. Argyris will always win in that regard, and he's proud of himself for it. He'll always be the lovely one. 

Looking good is a valuable skill, and he's perfected it. No matter what has to be sacrificed, he keeps himself perfect in her eyes. Doing what he's told, pushing down his own wants in favor of what will make Mother smile proudly and tell the others they should be more like him—

That's the dream. That's what he's always wanted. 

When his hair is finally woven into two neat braids, it doesn't look so good, after all. They're uneven, one higher than the other— no good at all. 

Argyris, frowning, meets his own dissatisfied gaze. 

He starts to unwind the braids. He'll try again. He'll try until he gets it right.