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The mirror was lying. It showed a kind, smiling dolly. It showed soft fabric cheeks and a button eye the color of the dark sea. It showed a pretty feminine dress and a cute bow. It showed who ‘Ragatha’ was supposed to be. It didn’t show the person behind the avatar. Just the idea of a perfect doll to be everyone’s best friend.
She could never live up to that standard.
Because she, whatever her name truly was before this, was never that, and never would be.
She was a traitorous woman who kept her secrets and only let them out when they would hurt. She kept a smile on just so when it fell she could hurt the people she held dear even more. She kept her voice low so it could boom louder when she did choose to yell.
She spoke with kindness so the words said in anger cut them deeper.
Her mother, the woman she was, tried to teach her well. As a kid, when her daughter raised her voice or spoke impolitely, she’d wash her mouth out with soap. When she turned into a teenager, she’d tape her mouth shut and rip it off her face when she refused to listen. When she turned into an adult, a mere look would cause her to lose her voice.
She shouldn’t even speak at all. She learned to keep quiet, to simply nod along, all for it to be lost the moment her mother was no longer in reach to scold her.
She shifted her gaze from the lying eyes of her reflection, to the sewing kit next to her. She’d used it hundreds of times to sew her skin back together after adventures. She sat down to do the same again. It was a small tear, too small for who she was. Too small for what she deserved, especially for today.
She’d said so little and yet so much. Told a secret that wasn’t hers to share.
She was so quiet yet so loud. Spoke up for the first time in months and yelled at an innocent bystander.
Neither Jax nor Pomni deserved it. They didn’t deserve her to poison their relationships and time.
As if on autopilot, she picked up the sewing kit. Her hand briefly paused at the needle and thread, but she ignored it, picking up the seam ripper.
She raised it to her left arm, smoothing the point at the rip she was meant to sew up. A stitch had ripped, probably at the softball adventure. It was barely noticeable, not even painful like some could be, but with time, it would unravel further, up until she’d lose all feeling in her arm.
She put the sharp edge of the ripper to the next stitch in the row, the one that still held on despite everything.
She pushed down, and it let go, the sound of a tiny snap almost echoing in the silent room.
It felt good. Like something that mattered. Something like the soap that stung her mouth, like the tape that burned her skin.
She pushed a bit further, reeling in the feeling of the thread snapping along her forearm.
She wasn’t sure how far she wanted it to go. Something in her head told her she was standing at the cliff, one step away from the point of no return, but she hushed it.
She needed to feel something good for once. This was good. This was like home.
She settled on taking out a stitch for everyone she’d hurt. To make it fair.
One for Pomni, the poor girl that she disappointed.
One for Jax, someone who seemed to know and hate all her tricks.
One for Gangle, for all she said to her that she couldn’t even recall.
One for Zooble, for being such a nuisance and not being to help them.
One for Kinger, for not being able to live up to what he saw in her.
One for her mother, although there were a hundred faults she could’ve listed.
One for that one school friend she had in second grade, for accidentally insulting her. One for her aunt, her uncle, her dad, her grandparents, each high school friend, college friends she abruptly stopped talking when mother found out she went to a party that one time, every teacher she forgot to hand in her homework in time, the lady at the store she used to go to for when she was tired and impolite, mom’s guests for-
Oh. She ran out of stitches. She had so many more things to apologize for.
The mirror called to her. Her face was still there, kind smile gone, soft cheeks soaked with tears. Her button eye was still shining in the light of her circus room, and she looked at it. It was too perfect, too useless, too… her.
Shaking, as if it knew what was awaiting, she took the seam ripper away from her mangled arm that she didn’t even notice she lost feeling in a while ago, and poked at the button.
She couldn’t see from it, but it was still important to her avatar design. Her arm might’ve been destroyed, but her face was too perfect to be her.
She scratched at the button trying to cut through the thick thread that tied it to her face, but after a couple minutes, she managed to loosen it enough to rip it off. It took a bit of fabric from under it as it went, but that didn’t matter. There was no eye to damage, and frankly, she deserved it.
But it did hurt, and she heard herself yell out in pain, voice rough from hours of silence, but still audible in the otherwise quiet room.
That was it! Of course none of this felt right, she was going about it wrong.
She was so dumb, of course she had to tackle her voice to really get it right.
She tossed the seam ripper somewhere, it was no longer useful for what she had to do.
The needle and thread she originally disregarded still sat in their places, needle already threaded with the normal cream thread she usually used to fix herself up with. She picked it up, hand trembling as she rushed to poke it through her cheek, at the very edge of her mouth. A tiny sting of pain resonated through her face, but she didn’t mind it, tying the end to keep it from unraveling while she worked.
She leaned into the mirror, using her shaking hand to poke the needle in and out, slowly sewing her lips shut.
Her breathing was rushed, eye wide in a manic, foggy craze. The torn up space her button used to be in felt strangely empty, but she liked the look. Simpler, less perfect, it fit her. As she moved to lean further to the mirror, more and more of the filling from her arm tumbled to the floor.
Once done, she tugged the thread, making sure it was nice and secure, tying it again to keep it from fraying.
She leaned back into where she sat at first, and looked in the mirror.
Perfectly fucked up, just like her.