The walls of reality are somewhat… thin… in Verona. And Tybalt is one of the very few people who can pick up on this. But the human mind is not capable of seeing multiple realities at once, so of a necessity it takes a toll on him.
It always starts the same way; with Mercutio. The Prince's nephew barges into Tybalt in the market place; Tybalt turns to call offence, a hand on the hilt of his knife - but the man grinning at him with kohl-lined eyes is not, could not be Mercutio - not with that long black curly hair that falls to his waist or that unnerving almost hysterical laugh. Then he blinks, and Mercutio is regarding him with a mocking smile and asking if a cat finally stole his prince's tongue. Tybalt snarls and turns away.
Benvolio bounding across the market square to play peek-a-boo around the trunk of a tree with a small child - except the face that peers around the other side belongs to a man much taller than Romeo's cousin, with a shock of untidy blond hair. He ducks back behind the tree and then Benvolio's familiar face reappears.
In church, Friar Lawrence is briefly replaced by a tall man with black hair and an almost princely demeanor - and then the face of the Prince himself is briefly replaced with that same visage.
Even his beloved Julia is affected, hair length changing as she becomes shorter or taller.
It happens more often, faster, more frequently, the changes more disquieting. Mercutio replaced by a despairing young man in a blue leather doublet, hair falling in blond waves to his shoulders; their eyes meet and there is almost a flash of recognition there. Both know what it is to be touched by Queen Mab, to see things as they should not be. And then Tybalt blinks and Mercutio stares at him uncomprehending and confused, and turns away as though he has seen something he didn't quite understand, quite bereft of wit for once and Tybalt is glad of his silence.
But he knows the episode is nearly over when his own face begins to change. In one mirror he sees a troubled man with short dark hair, a shock of pale blond streaking the centre like a badger. In another, a half-mad man shaved bald with a terrible scar over one eye stares back at him knowingly.
When finally even the walls of the buildings shimmer to be overlaid with strange new architecture and he fancies he can almost even see Death herself stalking the streets and staring at the citizens of Verona with avaricious eyes, he knows this episode is almost over and soon he will have respite.
And finally the seizure takes him, throws him down like a broken marionette whose strings yet jerk and throw him around, mercifully losing consciousness as his body writhes in convulsions. After, there is the migraine, the days of ennervation in a darkened room until he regains his strength again, and then life returns to normal once more.
For a while.
For reality is thin in Verona, and sometimes it... slips. And then it begins once more.