The Outlanders

Visions and Reflections

LANE

I've been staring at this mirror for a while now, and trust me, it's not because I'm so captivated by just how good looking I actually am, but because something inside of me has been willing my soul to do so. Like my eyes are somehow magnetized to the glass. Everything else around me is swallowed by the dark. I'm alone. The other three haven't made their presence known, and originally I chalked it up to the fact that maybe they're around here somewhere, just as lost without vision, but I've tried calling out. There hasn't been a response in the last ten minutes, so my assumption is that something's going down. I haven't quite decided if I like it or not, but my mind isn't letting me think. Instead, it watches my reflection raise it's hand without me telling it to. "What the..." I whisper the words under my breath, calmly pressing a palm against the crystalline formation in front of me.

"Jonathan Lane Seabrooke"

My body shudders from hearing someone say the entirety of my name. By no means is Jonathan the worst name on earth, it could be worse like; Bob, or Joe, or-- Kasper, but it's been a hot minute since anybody's ever used that name. Well, by anybody, I really just mean my own father. The voice, however, causes me to pull away, and having to watch the strange sight of my reflection not mimicking my actions is jarring to say the least.

"Do you understand the role that you will play in saving Laethora?"

There's a short answer to that question, and it's; "No?" Because I can't even begin to understand how we're supposed to save an entire world against what is apparently demons from this world's version of hell. Sure, they can train us to swing giant swords and carry around large stupid shields, but I gather that even with those abilities, we could only get so far. I could be wrong, but I'm sure the guards of Cassinvarya trained for half their lives --if not more-- to protect their homes, yet those things slaughtered them like clay in a preschool.

"You aspire to be seen by the entire world."

Disembodied lady voice is right. I do want to be seen by the entire world. If anything, that's my whole shtick. The way I choose to present myself to people, the way I dress, the way I speak. It means a lot to me that people turn their heads just for me. It might be just a little bit too narcissistic, but that's the reality of it. Does the admittance of that fact further prove just how vain I actually am? "I don't... I don't really understand where this conversation is going."

"Recognition, to you, is most important."

"In this day and age, lady, assuming something is a terrible thing." But she's right on the money. There's almost no hiding what I actually feel about the subject. Even as the words leave my lips, they don't sound as if they hold any form of conviction. "But what's your point?" If it's at all possible for something so dark to get darker, it does in the form of the room. And my eyes no longer see anything. Not even the softest silhouette of what used to be a mirror standing in front of me. My hand reaches out to make sure, and I don't feel it. I wait for the voice to say more on the subject, but it doesn't come. The feeling of being by myself attacks me, but it doesn't light a panic in my chest. Maybe all of this is some weird hallucination from drinking the cough syrup-like liquid. The "blessing", they call it. It's really more of a drug trip than a blessing, in my opinion.

"The face, or rather, the mask that you wear is presented to the world as the individual that you are, yet you yourself know that it is most certainly not the case. You deceive all but yourself into thinking what they see, is the real you. Tell me, Jonathan Lane Seabrooke--"

"Stop calling me that."

"Why is it, that you cannot accept yourself, for who you really are?"