Still Me

To have the face of a monster, forced to be that monster's twin. How long until you forget where you end and the horrors begin?

She looked into the mirror, forcing herself to stare into her eyes.  It was difficult, because all she could see was a maniacal smile as a man was tortured, an orgasmic thrill as a young man, barely out of mid-school was taken from behind as he cried for her to stop.  This face was one of a monster.

And it took everything to not smash her face into the mirror.

Her gaze dropped to the sink, watching the swirls of crimson blood became diluted.  It took a moment before she realized it was her own tears that were diluting the blood.

“Belltok,” She hissed, whirling away and leaning her back against the edge of the sink. She picked up a towel and pressed it to the large gash that had been haphazardly stitched in their haste to flee.  The dingy gray towel quickly became stained with her blood and she tossed it away.

Ten years she'd been fighting against the Toroks, spilling blood so her people could live.  It was blood she was proud to share.  Now...now lately every drop of blood was towards that putia of a being and it sickened her.

“Quna,” A soft voice spoke from the other side of the door.  Quna glanced up but said nothing, instead turning back.  As much as she could not stand her own face, she could not stand to face the woman even more.  “Quna what,” the door opened and the woman paused, drawing a frown from Quna.  It was always there, that millisecond pause that happened when the woman tried to discern who stood before her.  “You should be coming in for dinner.”  The woman walked in and leaned to the side of the sink, staring intently at the side of Quna's face.  “I told you, you should have let me stitch that.”

“I am fine, Norla.  And I'm not hungry, I'm,”

“You have not eaten since we escaped that party.  That was two days ago.  I know you are hungry.”

“I will eat later,” Quna snapped, her anger at the situation burning her voice hot.

“Stop it,” Norla snapped, her green eyes flashing.  She pushed herself between the sink and Quna, forcing the woman to look at her.  “Just stop it.  You have been staring at yourself in the mirror.  I would start to think you're turning more into Rorko more and more.”

Quna reeled back as if she'd been slapped and her face contorted in anger, the stitches pulling almost painfully.  “What?  I,”

“But I know you,” Norla said, wrapping her hands around Quna's biceps, pulling her back.  “I know you are not Rorko.  You were chosen just as I was to be put in this hell of a situation.  To be Rorko's obsession is the deadliest of double edged blades.  You live a life of fame and comfort as long as you do whatever she wants.”

Quna dropped her head down, her jaw clenching as she thought of all the things that Rorko wanted; the blood, the sex, the drugs and the murder.  The screams were almost as addicting as the drugs for the daughter of their country's dictator.

Norla cupped the woman's chin, nudging it up so green eyes stared into ice blue.  “You are only here because you had the bad luck of looking eerily similar to her.  But you are NOT Rorko.”  She reached up and ever so tenderly brushed her finger along the gash running from the middle of her forehead down the right side of her nose to bisect her cheek and end at her jawline.  It was a deep red and noticeable.

“Rorko would not have put herself in the way to save anyone, especially if it may have messed up any part of herself.  This is a sign that you are not Rorko.  And it’s because of that I know who is standing before me.”

Quna pulled Norla close, wrapping her arms tight around the smaller woman.  She drew strength from the slight, but strong frame, from the heat that seeped into her skin and the arms that wrapped around her waist.

Her eyes drew to the mirror once more.  Due to a 97.43% likeness she had been chosen to be shiharik, a double to Rorko Qunzal, the daughter of Torbi's leader Ritzkin Qunzal.  Her life had been extinguished.  She had been given the clothes, taught the mannerisms and how to fight like the other woman.  But she wasn't.  As much as the anger bubbled up it was not a selfish rage, it was a rage against the woman who committed violence for entertainment's sake.  She was still herself, still Quna De'Croa, lieutenant in the mighty Torbi army.  Daughter to Yorb and Tatink and sister to Robrit and Moran.  She was still herself.