Me and The Devil (Also Me)

In the dark, dampness of the Whisperer’s Gorge, where the shadows consumed all and the echoes bounced along every twist and turn of the caverns, there sat the young Illusion. Her eyes, those silver orbs that twinkled in the light stared blankly into the darkness ahead of her. She had roamed the wilderness with an insatiable curiosity, had a few romps outside of the border with her mother and her companions, but it was never enough. Her slate-blue fur blended well into the shadows, her golden markings shimmering in the light of the fire light coming from somewhere to her right. One of the only lights this far into the gorge, where they had marked the tunnels. No one really came this far in. They preferred the light, the day, the life out there – But Illusion was not like the other wolves of her pack. While they thrived on the bonds of kinship and camaraderie, Illusion found solace in solitude, preferring the company of her own thoughts to the chatter of her peers. She often couldn’t stand the noise of ideals and feelings she could not resonate with.

The more Illusion grew, she became increasingly aware of the importance of appearances and reputation among her kind. Observing from the shadows, she noted the nuances of social interactions, committing to memory the gestures and pleasantries exchanged between pack members. With a meticulous eye, she practiced her manners, emulating the graceful movements and polite exchanges she witnessed, determined to blend in seamlessly with the pack. It was not lost on her how much difficulty she was having, this copycat act she was sharpening to perfection.

Beneath her practiced facade lay a sea of conflicting desires and impulses. In the quiet solitude of her dark escape, Illusion would engage monologues with the echoes, rehearsing her desired behaviors with the precision of a seasoned actor. "Smile," She would remind herself, forcing the corners of her lips upward in an approximation of warmth. "Make eye contact," She would murmur, fixing her gaze on an imaginary guest with unnerving intensity. Ah, no. Gentler, softer. As her gaze ebbed in ferocity, she forced her eyes to round as well – since that usually got pleased reactions from others.

But despite her best efforts, what felt like her true self remained an ever-present cloud over her head, or a shadow lurking just beneath the surface. It was like she was crawling out of her own skin, watching from the outside as her fleshy body moved like a puppet. Usually, in moments of solitude, when the facade slipped and the mask fell away, she would reveal glimpses of her inner turmoil, the darkness within clawing at the edges of her consciousness. It was a constant battle, a war waged against her own nature. “Be.. generous. Kind.” The words felt like poison flowing down her throat. A small voice screaming why she had to care caused the girl to sigh and frown for a moment, before she replaced her mask with a new one. Practice makes perfect.

“Compliment them,” She continued her rehearsals with a gentle tone. Despite her efforts to assimilate, she often found herself watching with detached interest as the other wolves forged bonds of friendship and loyalty, their hearts open and vulnerable. “Make them like you, make them love you.” But for Illusion, such sentiments held no allure, no sway over her heart. She was a creature of instinct, driven by a primal urge to survive and thrive, whatever the cost. She wanted to be cared for, to be at the center of attention.. Because it was what she deserved.

For all her cunning and manipulation, Illusion could not shake the nagging sense of emptiness that gnawed at her soul. “Don’t be yourself.” Try as she might to bury it beneath layers of deception, the truth remained undeniable: she felt nothing. She was incapable of experiencing the warmth of genuine connection. Unable to feel the way others did. She did not cry when she was hurt, she much rather watch her ruby red essence leak out instead. She didn’t understand what made her siblings happy, nor why it made their mother happy in turn. She didn’t understand the point of life at all. But she was here, and for those shreds of emotions she did feel, she would keep practicing her act.

Illusion would act the picture of innocence, her gaze wide and doe-like, her voice soft and lilting. She would feign interest in their stories, nodding along with practiced empathy, all the while hiding the jealousy that simmered beneath the surface. “Be perfect.” When another wolf received praise or admiration, she would smile and offer her congratulations, while inside, a storm of envy raged. Everyone else’s eyes were meant to look at her, because she was perfect. Fury swelled up within her chest at her trickiest obstacle, her jealousy. Rising to her dainty paws the girl trekked further into the dark caverns – still speaking to herself as her facial features fluctuated between anger and indifference. Which wouldn't do at all. Focus.

"Remember, Illusion." She would whisper to herself in the dead of what might as well have been night, the words echoing softly in the confines of the tunnel she found herself in. "Appearances are… everything. They must see what you want them to see, not what you truly are." And so, she practiced, rehearsing her lines and perfecting her performance until it became second nature. But her soul – she was supposed to believe in those – her soul was an empty thing, devoid of emotion. Of fulfillment. It was a part of her, a stain that no amount of pretending could ever wash away.

Illusion would close her eyes, turning to find her way out of the gorge, and brace herself to hide behind her carefully constructed facade yet again.

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