Always Swipes Right
He found himself staring again. Unable to look away from the reflection.
He'd been charming once. Honey-blond curls, a rueful smile, a jaw strong enough to make even his large nose seem deliberate.
Now the mirror gave him back a sunken eye with a sickly golden gleam, a hate that burned wherever his gaze landed, as if trying to compensate for the ruin on the other side of his face.
It was the corruption of the Dark side. The power that wore down the body. And the mark Abregado-rae had left on him.
He'd suppressed it twice already. But the corruption crept back every time he reached for the dark side's sweet rot. And lately, he hadn't been able to stop reaching.
Calyx gripped the edges of the washstand, breathed in, and closed his eye. Any chance of finding inner calm was gone. Abregado had taken that from him for good. The nearest he could get was certainty. The hard conviction that everything he did from here on out served the goal. That was usually enough to clear his head.
When he opened his eye, the gold had faded to dull blue.
He held his own gaze a moment longer. Then straightened, and practiced his smile again. He eased into a pose meant to look indifferent, then one meant to have a regal bearing. He went on, rehearsing each little facial expression and gesture until it stopped feeling like performance. This is going to be you. It has to be natural.
He opened the tall black-paneled drawer beside the mirror. The rack slid out, stuffed with brocade coats stitched in gold and silver thread. He chose one with a slash of maroon, expecting it to pair well with the loose spidersilk shirt.
One more glance at the mirror, and he found someone else there. Not Callan. Not Calyx. Not the dreary Sith. But the persona he'd have to wear as flawlessly as he did the coat.
Something moved in the corner of his eye.
He half-turned, but already knew what the familiar invasiveness led to. Still, he was surprised to find it here.
"How?" Calyx demanded.