In all senses of things, the mind is what owns the body. It is the control mechanism for every movement and action one makes. It is the center of thought, process and complete control. Without proper function, the body would go into a lapse of terminal breakdown. And in knowledge of this, the only true way to gain complete dominance over a body is to break the mind.

The voice had first come to him as a whisper, hardly even that, more so a fleeting thought that urged his mind to take it to action. Malik brushed it aside as one of his own, but it stayed in the back of his mind, gently prodding "steal the cup, Malik." It was an odd thought, but hardly anything note worthy. But as the day progressed, and it's gentle urge proceeded, Malik felt himself itching to steal his father's cup.

The object itself wasn't much to think about, just something that was off limits to Malik to touch, but he never reasoned with this and quietly, at night when both his father and Isis were asleep, he snuck to the the cabinet where it was held and took it from it's place. Malik stood there for a while, admiring it's smooth finish and intricate designs, before rushing back to his room to hide the treasure. But Malik chose to ignore the soft murmur of approval in the back of his mind. After all, he was the only one in the room.

As Malik grew older, so did The Voice grow stronger and bolder. The commands went from simple acts of theft and retaliation to the point that Malik started disobeying Isis and Rishid. At first he was scared at what The Voice would tell him to do, but he never once thought of ignoring it. The Voice was his friend, and it understood him when nobody else did. The Voice was something to trust-that he could confide in. The Voice never said anything.

It was when the ritual was drawing near that The Voice finally spoke to him, no longer a whisper, but a REAL voice, loud and booming. Malik had hid in his room after Rishid had tried to calm his fears of becoming a tomb guarder (the boy had only made facing it worse).

"Please, I'm so scared, just...why me?What have I done?!"Malik sobbed into the plain cotton robe he had donned most of his life, sniffling into his pillow. He cried softly, fisting the blanket before pulling it all the way over his head so that none of his bright blonde hair was shown. This was his retreat. In the cave which was his blankets, only Malik existed and there was no ritual. But The Voice was there, and he was not alone.

"Malik."

And Malik froze, eyes wide and red.

The Voice came just as softly as it first had, but this time it had form. It was no longer a thought, but a solid part of his mind. A part of him.

"Malik, y-you shouldn't woworry."

The words that were

(thought)

spoken wavered, like a voice shaky from not ill-use use.

Malik kneeled under the blankets-transfixed. It wasn't everyday that one heard voices without a physical body. But then again, in the under ground world that Malik lived, the days meant nothing more than a count down to his death.

"Please, who...?"

"Lovely Malik, I am you"

And if The Voice had a body, it would have smiled.

Malik wrinkled his nose at the 'lovely' comment. Boys weren't 'lovely.' But, he hardly gave this a fleeting thought before returning to the newly started conversation between him and...himself.

"But, I'm me." Malik made a worried expression, not liking how this new voice claimed to be him. It was dumb, only Malik could be Malik.

"But Malik, how do you not know that I am not the original?"

"Because...I am ME, you're an impostor."

"How can I be an impostor if I am in your mind? Are you saying you're schizophrenic, Malik?"

Malik sat there for a while, trying to register what The Voice had said. Before he could ask what 'schizophrenic' meant, the voice was gone with the parting line of:

'Just remember Malik, I will always be here.'

Malik merely shivered and went back to his daily chores. At least he was no longer thinking about the ritual.