She passed out underneath the bed, her safe place, and the voice in the darkness worded tales she no longer remembered in the morning. She awakened to a banging on her door and made haste to unlock it.
"Must you make everyone's jobs harder? Do you really deserve privacy?! Please hold some consideration for us and leave your doors open. I can only imagine what you're preying upon inside these walls," a maid shuddered as she walked inside and dropped a basket on the floor.
It rested with a loud thump because the floor had no carpets.
"You could have left it outside my door. No need to walk in on my territory and make yourself a potential prey to my vices," Tibetha snapped, cold dark eyes staring holes through the maid's skull. Her hair were a ruffled mess and face a sunken ground of soullessness: the image of intimidation.
The maid was quick to purse her lips and retreat out of the room with three quick strides. Yesterday's memory of her fellow maid's charred face was warning enough for her. She stood by the doorframe and leaned in just enough to point at the basket she had left inside, "Those are clothes for the festival. Don't forget the gloves," she gulped and ran away.
Tibetha sighed and closed the door. As she turned the knob to lock it, the memory of a writhing maid burned her vision. She twisted the knob open and flinched away in exasperation. Her hand instinctively flew to her neck as she walked up to the mirror to remember the tangible damage incurred.
Though, her neck looked smooth and unscarred as ever.
No signs of two maids violently stabbing her with a fork, just a day prior.
It was a pity that they died. They were just being ferociously loyal and wanted to do away with the bad omen lurking in their beloved master's household. They weren't wrong to attack her — she was guilty of killing them.
She did not deserve human treatment. She was a monster undeserving of breathing rights.
If she could—
"Death is never an escape. Live to be better," the scruffy voice tsked, mocking her pathetic thoughts. "Don't you have something to look forward to?"
Tibetha ground her teeth in nervousness. She wanted to go out to the festival, this would be a first, but she was immensely terrified. Of the people. Of the eyes. Of herself.
Everything that could potentially switch her to flight and fight — which could be anything. She did not want to do harm. But that was all she was capable of.
"I'm scared," she whispered to herself, as she sat on the floor and pressed her knees to her chest. Her mirrorself did not oblige. It pressed a hand against glass and stared at Tibetha who was avoiding eye contact and her own truth.
"If anybody dies, they deserve it," it insisted, scratching its nails against the glass. "Death is always round the corner, you know," its scruffy voice sounded annoyed. "I cannot believe you're talking to me so early in the morning," it scoffed.
"I'm sorry, I-uh, I think I should run away. No body really likes me here. Mother and father would be so much at peace if I would willingly disappear... should I leave a note?" Tibetha bit her lip, head hung low.
Her mirrorself self knocked against the glass. Tibetha looked up to see her mirrorself frowning with a scowl.
"Oh why don't you leave a diary with your sob story?! Maybe then they'd finally understand!" mocked the agitated voice.
"Oh? Should I? That's a brill—"
"No, Tibetha, I was being sarcastic. Tsk, don't muddle in the past. So what if you tell them and they still think that you're a monster? It would destroy your poor soul— or whatever is left of it until you surrender your pretty self to me. Keep it all to yourself."
Tibetha rolled her eyes as her own self — face, body, voice — humiliated her. She crawled up to the basket and surely there was a set of a pretty lavender robe and a dress with white shoes and scarf. There were even a pair of leather gloves but no food.
"Do they really think I feast on air and the dark vibes that surround me?" Tibetha pulled a face and looked around her barren room, wondering if there was something she could transform into food.
There was only an iron bed, an iron desk with a chair and a iron bookshelf.
"If you're a demon, can you not eat metal and stuff like Calcifer from Howl's Moving Castle?" Tibetha sighed, much to the voice's offence. Her mirrorself jumped out of the glass, manifesting into a dark wisp that surrounded her head.
"Excuse yourself, whatever made you assume that I am a measly demon?! I am nothing short of a God! Noth—"
Tibetha smacked a hand on the floor and the entirety of it lit up with black flames. They crackled and swayed for dominance amongst eachother. She got up and pulled out a book from her bookshelf. It was something about vocabulary, she did not bother with the title, and threw it on the ground. The dark flames consumed the book, page by bage, charring its texture to ash.
"Fresh and sizzling paper, what a delight," she picked it up and ate it. The dark flames died down and curled themselves up into a wisp again.
"Hence why you must learn control! You cannot use a God for such purposes as burning paper for breakfast! I am offended!" the voice barked above her meal.
Tibetha looked up to face it, "Then leave me," she deadpanned.
"I'm afraid I cannot abandon your lousy soul to your own devices. You'll get yourself killed in a day, three hours tops."
"Come on now, don't be afraid. My death doesn't concerns you personally, now, does it?" Tibetha munched over the last bits of the crispy, ashy, paper-book meal.
A moment of silence made her look up to see that the wisp had disappeared.
"Heh," she dusted her hands over the wornout lavender dress and got up. If she went out to take a shower, would they blame her? For using too much water? For showing them her face? For accidentally making them have a bad day?
What if they see her trying too hard to fit-in and mock her incompetency? All dressed up but not deserving.
A chill ran down her spine and she decided to stay and strip. She was disgusting as she was. No one would look at her and no one would care. It'd be an injustice to the dress but father would probably kill her if she did not oblige.
"I'm sorry you had to end up with me," Tibetha sighed, pulling the dress over her body. It was a warm lavender dress, velvet probably, that clung to her torso and flowed from waist down. Next, she put on her shoes, gloves and the robe. Her hair were still a dark mess so she let up her robe's hood to hide it.
Yes, that's about right. Lowkey; no effort. No one would mock her now, hopefully.
Though, now that she was all dressed up— she was still embarassed to get out and stand in front of people. To let them show her unwanted presence. They'd all hate her.
"Shut up. I'm trying to rest here, you insecure child."
"I'm trying," her voice cracked. She could feel her heartbeat escalate within its cage and a familiar warmth was birthed in the palm of her hands.
"Clearly you're not trying hard enough. If they put you down, you put them down for good. Easy, is it not? Must you lose all your life source over it?!" the voice sighed an exasperated sigh.
"It's not that easy. Killing them is not right."
"Well you wouldn't be killing them if you would only learn how to live with yourself."
Tibetha sighed. She knew she lacked self love— but it's not something one could develop in a day or an year, when she had spent majority of her life being hated and consequently hating herself for not meeting expectations.
"I'll be unbothered," she nodded and clenched her fists. "No matter what they say, I'll be myself." She nodded again.
"Who even are you?" The voice mocked, almost snorting.
"Not a killer, for starters," Tibetha narrowed her eyes, heart still thundering in her chest.
"You entertain me so much," the scruffy voice chuckled.
"I try."
There was no response for a minute, so Tibetha sucked in a breath and decided to walk out of the room. Her footsteps faltered but she continued to stride. In a world where she had no one, she'd stick to herself. She'll just try being there for herself.
Even if it meant conjuring up demons that kill.