OH RIGHT THAT WAS WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY. HMS ALL HAVING THE SAME APPEARANCE FUCKS ME UP
like ok soul looks in the mirror and he sees every single difference between him and whole and he doesn’t know if he wants to mold his face to fit whole’s image or make himself so horribly unrecognizable because he doesn’t DESERVE to look like whole. he SHOULDN’T. everytime he looks in the mirror he is reminded his existence is predicated on stealing from whole. he destroys the mirror one day. out of pure impulse just smashes it. it’s like the epicenter of some wound, soul’s stolen face refracting on every single shard that isn’t covered with his blood, and he stabs the shards in further because he doesn’t want this he doesn’t want to see it. he breaks the mirror so thoroughly he can’t see his face anymore. the thing that sickens him - not how cut up his hand is now - is that while destroying the mirror he looked into it, his own eyes spattering with blood in the reflection, and he was reminded of desecration. was this desecration? whole’s mirror. whole’s house. he himself was made of whole and yet he squandered it? he sees whole. not really of course. he and whole were never meant to coexist. it was always one or the other. but in dreams that feel like memories whole hands the chains to him, staring at him expectantly, to chain himself up, to save whole, even if that means killing him. especially if that means killing him. and he had always known deep down whole wouldn’t like this. as his floor covered in crumpled papers he knew this was not whole’s wish. but soul is too persistent to just let whole die. he should not be here. but he sees his face in that mirror and thinks of whole - just as enthralled with self destruction. self erasure. and he grinds his fist into the shards hoping the sparks of pain overwhelming his hand will stop him from thinking, but it doesn’t, because it never does.
he left the shards. he couldn’t bear to look at them.