Author’s note: In this chapter, the word Drow is used. This does not specify a character’s race, but their loyalty. If an elf who does not agree with what they consider the “norm” of loyalty, we refer to them as a drow. This can be anywhere from betraying their kingdom or associating with races other than elves, aka orcs, dwarfs, and humans.

This place was the same as always. Dark and damp, a stereotypical dungeon. Honestly, Shafir knew where this was going. It almost always led down the same road. The path of a sound night of sleep was a rocky one and he almost never got it. This was something he had carried with him since he was young, almost like a disease that riddled his mind anytime he slept.  

"What do you want?" Shafir's commanding tone was always greeted with laughter from the creature who stared back at him. It had been forever since the man showed his actual face, always donning the face he saw every morning when he woke and looked in the mirror. The violet eyes flickered with mischief and batted his lashes as if he was an innocent creature. It was frustrating how good he was at mimicking. Not a single hair was out of place and if Shafir didn't know better, he would dare say he was the imposter. The only thing that gave it away was the sinister grin that turned his lips up and made his eyes squint with delight. 

"I want the same as I always do, dear child. Join me and make them pay. They have only tortured you since you became one of them. Don't you wish to make them suffer as well?" The man fidgeted with his hands as he spoke, almost as if there were rings there, but Shafir didn't wear any and so the man was only touching the metal that adorned Shafir's gloves. 

"I've already told you. I won't help you, even if they kick me out and maim me." Shafir spoke and crossed his arms. Yes, he had been bullied as a teenager and probably gossiped about one too many times, but it wasn't enough to make him betray his empress. Who, while he wouldn't say was his friend, would probably be as close to one as he would get. Eliqinor… well, he most definitely was not a friend, but he guessed that was the only other person he was close to. 

"Ah yes, the whole. My mother is indebted, and I have pledged my life to my kingdom. I remember that spiel from when you were so small. I hoped you had grown out of such childish idealization of your kingdom. Perhaps your brain has rotted?" The copy of himself tapped Shafir's temple as if trying to say his head was empty. It pissed him off. How could his loyalty be childish? His father was born here and was also a knight. Just because he was a dark elf did not mean he will betray those around him at the drop of a hat. That is what would have given those words truth. Drow. Traitor. 

"The only one whose brain is rotted is yours. Thinking about this every night would influence me." Shafir ignored the consistent tapping on his head. Usually, something like this would have sent him over the edge and caused him to lash out. He knew this was what the other wanted. Shafir had realized that the first time he had touched Shafir in a dream and he flipped out. It caused the mysterious elf to laugh hysterically while saying what a good boy he was. That his anger towards the one who put the curse on him would only strengthen it. When Shafir learned this, he learned to contain the rage he felt when he saw himself in these dreams, as if he was only looking into his own mirror.