Routine.

A boy stood before a mirror, staring intently towards his reflection. He slowly glances down to look at his chest in the reflection, almost docile in his movements.

Where was the red stained skin that he had worn like battle paint? Where was the hole in his abdomen that exposed his insides? Where was the indescribable pain that filled him as he lay dying in the dirt?

Like a failed sketch, they had all been erased. Leaving nothing behind but a blank canvas that dared called itself alive.

His cold eyes now began to wander back up, finding their way to his face once more. This time he took notice of the slightly red tint that dusted his cheeks and the way they contrasted with his haunting gaze. Lifeless eyes stared back at him and even though he knew they were his own, he felt watched. Judged.

Further still, his eyes wandered.

Two fox like ears protruded from his messy blonde hair, moving and twitching without his consent. His gaze began to sharpen as he tightened his grip on something in his hand, something cold and firm.

These were not the features of a man. These were the features of an animal, unable to think for itself.

Now his eyes fell fast to the dagger that he held tightly by his side. It was hard to spot in the dimly lit bathroom but his hands were shaking in the most subtle way. He took a deep breath and the shaking slowly stopped.

This was routine, said the boy with the fox ears.

Nothing but routine, repeated the boy with the fox ears. He now brought lifted the dagger up and above his head, carefully placing its blade against his ear.

Drip.

Drop.

The sound of liquid against tile filled the room, overpowering the noisy cars that filled the streets just outside. He could feel himself becoming deaf as the sound chimed over and over, like a clock that would never stop ticking.

His eyes fixed themselves on the mirror to observe his work, making sure to cut cleanly and efficiently. Something in the reflection caught his eye however. It was not the steady stream of blood that ran down his cheek and fell off his chin, nor the way the bathroom seemed to pulse and sway with every drip of blood.

No. It was the way his reflection did not mimic his movements. In the mirror his eyes did not move with him, instead they bore directly into his soul. They judged him in a way no other had ever been able to, in a way only he could.

Boom. Suddenly he was snapped out of whatever daze he had been in, startled by the sound of the first ear falling to the now blood soaked floor. For a moment and only a moment, he felt afraid.

Why was his ear on the floor? Why was he in so much pain? Where even was he?

He was overrun with fearful questions until the moment passed.

That was not his ear, it belonged to a filthy animal.

He calmly went to work on the second ear, severing it in a similar manner. He no longer saw himself in the mirror, no longer feared the chime of blood raining down from him.

Naughty birds had their wings clipped, this was no different.

When the next ear fell to the floor he was once again frantic, feeling the cold dampness in his hair and his face. There was so much blood. He couldn't open his mouth without it flowing in to invade.

He had to do something or he would bleed out. The dark room suddenly exploded with flickering light as the boys hand ignited with fire. Without thinking he raised it to the wounds on his head and felt the searing pain as his flesh was burned closed.

He tried to calm himself, pained breath after pained breath. However, he looked up at the mirror and he saw the Fox. A smiling, young, fox. A bushy tail protruded from the Fox's tailbone, poking through a hole in his white jump suit.

On the chest was a series of numbers that were blurred out followed by a single word.

Achion.

The Fox had small but developing whiskers and an expression filled with childish innocence. Memories played through the mirror, fond memories of a young Fox learning and training. Displaying telekinesis, Pyrokinesis and a plethora of other magical abilities. And yet as training grew tiring and filled his days, he was still happy.

The reflection now shifted to show the world for what it really was, reflecting a bloodied man that resembled the Fox, if only a little.

He was not a Fox, an animal that attacked when frightened and could not be held accountable for the pain it causes.

He was a man, accountable, responsible, tyrannical and evil.