follows no weapon, no blood, no body cw: self harm, body horror

Another late night, but this one clearly far more pleasant as the owner of the house sauntered through the door, every bit of him flushed and frayed at the edges. The smell of people, many, sticking to his skin in the form of cologne, of lotion and spray tanner, all haunted by smoke and the dirt-and-copper smell of alleyways. A little used, but only gently so.

There was no Eles in sight this time, but Malory decided to check the pool in a bit, just in case the fae boy decided to play at Ophelia, drifting through the waters. What he did find, however, brought out a quiet laugh.

He'd finally done something about the mirrors.

Eles's discomfort with them hadn't been subtle from the very start. He looked at his own reflection like he was looking at not just something unfamiliar, but as if it was a problem. At first Malory felt he could, to a certain, degree, relate. But curiously, as the days passed, Eles remained estranged from what he saw looking back.

It had quickly become a question of which would break first, the mirrors or Eles, and when.

But Malory shouldn't have assumed Eles would do something so simple and crude, so normal as to break dozens of mirrors. Or cover them over with blankets. Nothing so sloppy, of course not. Looking down the hall at the neatly taped up mirrors, he noted with a sweet, almost doting smile, that the changeling of a boy had alternated the directions of the tape from frame to frame. Thoughtfully avoiding monotony.

It wasn't as enchanting, as love inducing, as the art left of Malory's own mirror, but he felt a little welling of affection anyway. Humming softly to himself, he followed both that warm feeling and the covered mirrors to Eles's room and opened the door. The bathroom light was on and it was very, very quiet.

And the smell of what waited carried on the air, covering up everyone else who'd so pleasantly inserted themselves into Malory's night. He made his way to the bathroom with unhurried steps and paused at the doorway, still smiling a little, a little hum sounding in his throat as he took in the tableau before him.

The blood, where it must have begun and how it traveled. The boy, where he begun and how he had traveled. The aspirin and the faint remnants of wine in the air.

Malory took a careful step inside, avoiding the blood where he could, and got a better look at Eles, pale where he wasn't vivid and rusting from his wounds. Several more minutes passed and then Malory tilted his head and repositioned his arms, as if he were suddenly in a smaller space and gracelessly boneless. He glanced at the mirror, frowned, and then looked back at Eles, readjusting and looking at the mirror once more.

There, better.

For a long moment he stood there, posed in a strange echo of the boy in the bathtub and then, abruptly, time seemed to once again inhabit the room as Malory began pulling out his phone. A moment later and, "Good evening, sir."

"..."

"Yes, I'm afraid I'll need a house call. It's a bit of an emergency...maybe?"