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"As a matter of fact, I have," you admit without a moment's hesitation. The voice that you've been calling your shadow has been pushing at you ever since the Arbiter left you with your cursed wound. The diagnostic draught only seemed to make its voice louder. "All of the thoughts that I'd normally compartmentalize, file away, and put out of mind seem to have grouped up into a single voice that's just been... [i:lit]pushy[/i:lit]. Can you imagine that, all the things you know you shouldn't say getting spoken, not aloud, but..."
You make a gesture with one hand as you fail to find the words that you want to say. It feels like your other self, your shadow is there behind you whispering all the thoughts into your ear, pushing you to give her a voice.
"No, I don't think I can," Damien says. His words reek like a lie that's been left out in the sun, but save for a narrowing of your eyes, you don't push him on it. With a tone you don't think you like, he asks you, "What sort of thoughts? An example would be helpful."
Crossing your arms beneath your breasts, you accuse him that, "You just want to hear me say something crude, don't you?"
Damien waves the accusation off. "Perish the thought, Louise. Hearing it aloud would just help out with the diagnosis. As someone who studied for a while in Sal Khemia, I know what to look for. I mean either way, you won't be quite right in the head, but I can tell if it's the [i:lit]special[/i:lit] sort of crazy that we want to see, instead of the garden variety sort."
You run him over with a suspicious look. From the quirk of a smile on his face and the smoke he's let drift out of his pipe, you imagine that you nailed his motive with a guess. Though whether you're playing into his rotten sense of humor or his perverse and lustful nature, you don't know. After a moment, you tell him that, "I take no responsibility for [i:lit]anything[/i:lit] my shadow says, got it?"
"Oh, giving it pet names now?" Damien says with a chuckle. He draw in the smoke from his pipe before it becomes too much of a haze, then breathes out a smoky bird that flutters its way onto your shoulder. "When do I get one of those?"
You say nothing. You simply smack the smoky bird away and stare at him with a look that lowers the temperature of the room by several degrees.
"Not for a while, then," Damien gives an exaggerated slump of disappointment before perking right back up. "Alright, so dig deep down, I want to hear what this voice says.
With a sigh, you close your eyes and reach into yourself.
Breathing as René taught you, you bring yourself back to a place calm and black and filled with a thousand beautiful stars that pierce the darkness and bring light. Then you stand before the dressing mirror in the King's palace again. Or rather, it stands before you amidst the field of stars.
