Picture Perfect

Kanna watched herself catch a drop of moisture with her tongue and slowly drag it back in. She could do this for hours; something about watching herself eat was fascinating. Of course, she found many things fascinating, because she could always see them for what they presented themselves, and what they really were. Two eyes watch four eyes, four eyes watch eight eyes. Sometimes she would get lost along the way, wandering the windy roads that lay deep within herself, unfathomably dark passages that always led right back to where they started. So deep whilst remaining flat, testing the limits of her mind, always pushing that little bit further, drawing that tiny bit deeper from her soul.

She saw her hand select another morsel and, with a delicate twist of the wrist, deliver it to her waiting mouth. There was almost something indecent about watching people eat. Not that she was subject to the normal range of emotions that others seem to feel, but she had them trapped within her from others, and they would often call out to her, singing sad songs of not-quite-silent vigil.

They watched her watch herself, and knew her longings.

"Just like your mirror," Naraku would murmur, trailing one sickly finger down her cold cheek. "Beautiful, lifeless and mine."

But her (hers alone, no one could touch it, hers, hers, hers) mirror would show her beautiful colours, lay before her splendorous dreams of half-real worlds that it had picked from mad minds. It would sooth her with its siren song and draw from her, as a doctor would draw poison from a patient, all her overwhelming emotions, all her irrationality and passion, until she was perfect.

Side-by-side, arm-in-arm they stood, untouchable beauty. Ice-cold, flawless and utterly lifeless.

Perfection itself.