Archaic ||Peterick||

Alicorn Dust

Pete stared at himself in the mirror, thinking about love, and loss, and drugs. And looking in the mirror. He used to do it a lot more. He squinted at his almost glowing frame in the darkness of the room. He looked different in the dark

Everything was suddenly more defined. His eyes had that tinge of yellow to them, and his skin's grey pallor sparkled slightly under the moonlight shadow. He could hear better. The point to his ears was more definite, too, he guessed that probably came with the sharpness of everything, his vision, his hearing, his slightly obscured jawline. He smiled to himself, looking at his scruffy little half beard on his chin. It was kinda nice. He might keep it.

He turned his head to one side, looking at the patch of infected skin on his neck. Two black circles, each one about two centimetres in diameter, surrounded by a grey patch, that looked more like gravel dust than skin. He touched it lightly with his finger, and gagged at the slight sponginess of it, the way it bounced back like the top of a well baked cake made of death and stone.

It sparkled though.

There was a tiny silver pile of Alicorn powder on the desk. Vampire drugs. Pete looked at it. He wanted a distraction, but he knew Patrick wouldn't approve. Then again, Patrick didn't approve of most things Pete did.

Patrick's soft snores filled his ears and he let out a sigh. He squeezed his eyes shut and used all his willpower. He thought about bats.

He groaned in slight pain and discomfort before morphing into his bat form. He let out a pained squeaked and gingerly lifted his injured wing to the mirror. It was still slightly scarred, and hurt a little when he moved it.

He nudged his little nose into the Alicorn dust and breathed some in. Just a little, not nearly as much as he got before. Just a bit to lift his spirits and make the scary sharpness of everything go away for a while.

Patrick snorted disdainfully in his sleep. Pete let out a squeak and glared at his reflection. He looked over at Patrick. He had rejected him. Patrick didn't love him. Patrick only loved himself.

He turned back into his human form and lay back in his chair. The world was such an annoying place. In the day, he couldn't live, but in the night, he felt like he was on the very edge of a cliff, walking along, trying to get as far as he possibly could before falling into the churning water below him. Except the water was his darkness, and the cliff kept changing shape. Sometimes it seemed like Patrick was trying to push him off, sneering at him, laughing, waiting for the solid ground under Pete's feet to collapse.

He suddenly became aware of his sleep and thus woke up. The wraith of cold necrosis in his body returned. He sighed, allowing the shadows on the ceiling to make pictures in his brain. He felt tired and empty. He looked back at the mirror, and yelled.

He quickly covered his mouth and looked at Patrick. Or, rather, the other Patrick.

He looked back at the mirror. No way. This couldn't be real. He hadn't even noticed.

Patrick was on the bed. But Pete was Patrick too.

He slowly waved his hand, just to make sure it wasn't one of Patrick's weird tricks. Magic, it might be, but no. He was Patrick. Even if he did still feel like his cold, slimy, gross vampire self, he looked like Patrick now.

He smirked and crawled over to Patrick's bag. There were a million different pockets. Pete was curious, but on the other hand, he rather liked having a head, so he just picked out a spare set of clothes Patrick had brought and went to the mirror to change. He stripped down and just stared.

From his memory of Patrick, which was still a bit hazy, he looked exactly like him. The only difference was Pete still had the nasty cut on his arm. Black and grey with the red blisters from where his body had tried to heal itself, but ran out of fuel. He let his hands slowly roam around, staring at 'himself' in mesmerisation.