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Reflections of a refracted mind

Mirrors, how much do they really reflect, do they paint the sins of our being upon our face or is it just that horrible beauty of our physical form that is relayed in the cold cutting glass. What do people see when they stare into their own eyes? Are they content with an image drowning in debauchery, or are they so ignorant as to believe that the image reflected within them is perfect.

Are the eyes really the windows to the soul as they say? Can you face the judgement of yourself, of your own soul as you stare into its depths? What is it that you see?

Do these images haunt you at night or do they provide a platform for lovely dreams? Can you see the pain relayed on your face as your soul bleeds; blackened blood burning into a disgusting sludge of corruption filling your figure, yourself as you stare into the mirror.

Nobody has the right to judge one another, but it's in front of the mirror that we judge ourselves. The hardest of our kind, the murderers and rapists they fall victim to the cries of their decaying soul, as they stare into the depths of themselves. Madness shortly convinces them of what they have become.

What do I see as I stare through the mirror you ask; by no means am I a pure man. I have committed sin and I have repented, still I am not free. Tis not only my own corruption I see as I stare into my soul, but the corruption of something much larger that lives within. I can hear him growling quietly too. Only I can hear him. He drags me away from reality and into temptation, a lust for blood and screams of terror alike.

The mirror reflects my physical being, my eyes tainted in debauched shades of gold. The teeth under my feral lips grow only sharper. The voice calls out to me still, the one I hear only due to the night where the moon shines full. I answer unwillingly but something bubbling in my blood says I must. The growl escapes my lips seeming much more real than the voice enveloped deep within my soul. I don't like the reflection that is presented to me. It's disgusting and feral, vile to the very last refraction of light. At this moment I wonder if it's possible to hate myself any more than I do now. Where are my soft blue eyes flicked in amber devoid of any sensually cruel sharpness?

Where are the smooth lines of my barren face that were once present? Now the coarse brutally of the wolf peering through is all I see. I'm glad my teeth aren't visible to the mirror, So I don't have to watch the transformation happening under my feral lips; my once pure teeth moulding under the influence of vampirism. Is this all I really am?

Is this all my soul reflects, the monster within? I pray tell what happened to the existence once known as Remus. What I'm looking at now isn't Remus it's a beast in every sense of the word. Is this what people see when they journey into my eyes? It's no wonder they are afraid. I almost dare to say I am too, but to be afraid of myself would be truly tragic even more so than harvesting a beast within my being. Is this all I am, all beast and no man? If the mirror reflects the real soul behind the sins it must be true. I'm nothing more than a beast with the hope of living under the pretence of a man. I feel trapped by this mirror; I cannot tear my eyes away from this study of my sins. It's almost like being lost too deep within a dream.

A noise breaks me from my observation, yet my eyes remain fixed upon the mirror. They move up to stare at the reflection of the door, as it creaks slightly open and a lightly muscled figure slips through without a sound.

I remain determined to keep my eyes fixed on the slow change of my beastly feral body and not the intrusion. It seems however that He has other ideas. A warm hand presses over my shoulder, its long fingers grasping around the blade in a startling strong grip that somehow doesn't pain me.

He comes to stand silently behind me his appendage still settled on my shoulder. His reflection becomes clear in this glassy hell. He is perfect, every line soft with an appearance of shocking youth despite my knowledge of his age. His locks scrawled in the darkest ink of black, hang loosely over his almost boyishly chiselled face; running down his neck to kiss his shoulder blades. His nose is as straight and perfect as I remember it. My gaze drifts slowly down to the hand gripping my shoulder, it's long fingers personify beauty, hell he is the personification of beauty. It seems to radiate from every molecule reflected in the glass. It's a strange sight to see for me. This Adonis of beauty settled in to close to the reality of a beast. It's an almost awkward dichotomy in itself such things should never stand side by side. A beauty such as his should never be marred by such vulgar bestiality that I possess inside.

I'm almost afraid to gaze into the eyes that are reflected upon me. Will I see all the sins he has committed playing themselves through his pure soul, corrupting him as if he were tainted by a futile cancer? Alas I cannot not look, for that would be a crime in itself, the eyes are easily the most beautiful part of the body after all they reflect the soul as it has been said. I guess though one's eyes are only beautiful if he is beautiful inside as well, god knows my eyes aren't beautiful, they're terrifying and evil. Finally gathering the courage that our house is known for I seek a look at his soul.

His eyes are everything I hoped they would be, they are soo soft and fragile, a cool steely gray melted in the warmth of the ocean blue, they seem like jelly that defies the laws of gravity as it stays settled within the smooth walls of his sockets. There is no sin, no evil, no imperfection to taint those eyes no that would be criminal – for his beauty is far too great. Perhaps if I dig deeper I will find the corruption that inhibits the hearts of every last one of us, yet nothing becomes apparent, if anything he seems to grow more pure under my scrutiny. As much as I enjoy the radiance that draws me to him, I know it must be false. He has committed heinous sins of that I know, for I was present for the majority of them. That fiery blaze of betrayal became so close to murder, it was only the common sense of one boy that saved us all from an unmentionable fate, it was labelled as "the incident of 6th year". All the lustful trysts we found ourselves in at the dark halls of Grimmauld, all the sleepless nights spent rolling around beneath the sheets, soiling the cleanliness with each other's seed.

Those were all sins I was sure we had both committed and yet I saw no recognition of them in the eyes I surveyed. He was pure – oh so pure! Aware of all the debauchery I know we have committed, I question why is it that he remains so untainted by his sins whilst I rot away in a physical hell from mine.

Sensing my confusion the man smiled, his teeth reflecting straight and pure white in contrast to my now feral ones. He pulls my gaze from his reflected self to rest on the real living breathing Adonis beside me. As my sharp eyes travel to him, they pass my reflection still enveloped in the presence of bestiality, I face him. He seems so much more real than the reflection it's almost as if I can hear the beating of his pure heart against his chiselled chest. I can sense the boiling blood surging under his youthful skin. He reaches out touching my face; it burns under his palm, long fingers caressing my cheek. He brings my face level to his, it's then I understand why he comforts me and holds me like a lover despite what lives within me.

His eyes are as pure as I have described them before yet there is one difference within the wet glaze that coats them. I see my reflection – not the same reflection as the mirror, I don't see myself through my own eyes refracted. I see myself through his. There is something strangely wondrous in staring at yourself through someone else's eyes. I'm sure by now you have noticed that I am far from narcissistic but the image that greeted me threw away all of that if only temporarily. I was beautiful, pure and simple. No sins tainted my fine skin; no bestiality was present within my being, but much more than that I seemed content, strong, at peace like nothing could move me. My hair normally slickened with hate for the beast, sat softly in different sandy shades of brown upon my head. My eyes were not angry or sharp at all from the beast but retained the beauty of my soul as he saw it; they were the purest blue- not like his at all – they were the blue of the skies of freedom not of the oceans vast. Flicked through the skies birds flew in the colour of amber slashes. My features were soft and held a human quality. My figure normally so dilapidated and thin seemed even so slightly beautiful and muscled under his gaze. I had never looked so full in all my life. For thanks to his unwavering faith in me I pressed a kiss to his sweetly boyish lips, for which he returned whole heartedly. He knew his message was received as I slid in a tongue to caress his own.

Yet something bothered me still, how was it possible for him to view me like that. Twas then I realised that love is much more than a mere emotion, it seemed to have saved me from myself and for that I was internally grateful. If everything were to end tomorrow my life would now be complete with this discovery. He pulled my figure into his arms and I knew love was all we ever needed. For no one is perfect just like no one is pure. We have all sinned at one point or another but it is in our love for each other that we are redeemed. For as long as we love, we shall remain ignorant to the sins of this world and see each for the beauty that we are determined to believe is hidden within. As we stand side by side, hands clasped together, admiring our beauty through each other's eyes, another lesson makes itself clear. How we are is all up to how we are perceived. We are how others perceive us, not how we believe ourselves to be.

Fin

AN: Hello, there everybody, this is kind of inspired by "The picture of Dorian Gray" written by Oscar Wilde. I read that like a week before I wrote this and I guess it just got me thinking about the sins that people commit and if they were given a chance to look upon their soul as Dorian was what their reaction would be like. I also felt like I needed to explain that even though Remus may only see the wolf inside himself there is soo much more to him and that his loved ones know who he truly is and what kind of person they perceive him to be. Yeah so that was my inspiration for this little piece hope you enjoyed it and please drop me a review even if it's only short because reviews are the best things people like me can receive. Oh and I also apologize in advance for the overuse of commas I can't help myself sometimes. Once again thanks for reading and please review. Love Messer Moony.