Different

Things seem to regard you differently, now.

The animals look at you strangely. Not like you’re a person; they don’t bother to scatter at your presence anymore, or bow away from your towering, swathed countenance. Instead, they scurry around you, trying to puzzle out the mystery of this strange boulder that seems to be moving all by itself.

You regard yourself differently.

You stare, vacantly, into the mirror. Your eyes are not behind the mask. Your ears make no appearance. You are but a silent mask and robes, moving only with the determination that the world would be worse off without your languidly voiced opinions. Or perhaps, more secretly, that you would be worse off without the world to give you something to fight for and against.

People regard you differently.

Shambling down the streets of Starpeak, the people gently but pointedly avoid you. As you pass him, you happen to notice a man who catches your distinct scent of ozone in his nose, and turns to look at you with some mixture of confusion and suspicion. Merchants you speak to are disquieted by your hollow voice and empty leering. You try your best to sound... human. But it never works.

The Ichor regards you differently.

You venture to sullen shores, at the height of noon when the Well’s jailer holds the waves steady, and wade out into the pitch. You stare, standing knee-deep, watching the slow bobbing of the black sea. You expect to see it blossom slowly with light, the subtlest and basest imprint of your mind. But instead, looking into it, you see your reflection: a soul, shaped like you.

Broken in half by a vast crack, its widest valley placed squarely across your face.

You are different. But, the stinging awareness that sparks in your chest tells you that, in spite of your transformation, you’re still... you.

A question, then, arises: Why are you still here, damaged as you are? What do you cling to?

You can’t be sure, but you feel as if you notice the crack shift, ever so slightly. Wider or slimmer, you cannot say.