Ch. 1: Ravenous Rituals
Sunken amethyst eyes gazed at the contents of the mirror, terribly displeased by the image concealed within the glassy depths.
"I've barely consumed anything these past few days, and my cheeks still look as if they've had animal lard injected into them!" complained the self-conscious millennium spirit, exhaling dramatically. "Why? Why can't I get rid of this infernal baby fat that plagues me?"
Keeping his weary orbs plastered to his reflection, Yami turned to the side. With great determination, he forced his hands to place themselves around his waist. Trembling fingertips of his pinched at the flesh stretched over his lower body, searching for any excess inches of flab. Methodically, Pharaoh measured the width of himself, occasionally biting his lower lip in concentration. His vision was blurred, his legs felt about ready to fold underneath him, his breathing was more shallow now than it had ever been, but none of these minor setbacks fazed him. Not one bit. All he cared to do at the moment was critically scan the contours of his frame, attempting to find a way to eliminate every imperfection he saw.
Happening across a slight mound of tissue located by his hips, the Egyptian male frowned. "Damned trouble spot." cursed the zombie-like individual, molding his features into that of a formidable scowl. "Since this whale blubber refuses to disappear from me, I guess I'm stuck without having dinner again tonight."
Dropping his limbs to his sides in disgust, he contemplated the last time he actually allowed himself to consume a meal. The wheels of his mind turned painfully, trying to recall how long ago it had been since he met the basic requirements of nutrition. He had no real concept of time itself, since his reckless eating habits had caused most of his long-term memory to deteriorate. Five days? Possibly more than that? Could it be any less than that particular estimate? Maybe it was, and maybe it wasn't. Strictly speaking, it made no real difference to him if he ever ate another morsel of food again. Yami would see to it that the imagined pouch around his hips was removed from his frame altogether, no matter what the cost would be for taking up such a detrimental task.
There was always some sort of terrible little flaw he wished to get rid of, another position on his already trim structure that he desperately wanted to save from the blemish of excess padding. Sickly obsessed with his appearance alone, the millennium spirit formed his vanity into a ravenous ritual. This deadly practice of deprivation of daily essentials had greatly damaged his senses, compelling him to treat mirrors like legions of small gods. Off and on throughout any given day, he would drag himself in front of one of the silvery masters, peering into its glossy surface almost in order to pay homage to his inanimate deity. It was an idol that was cruel and unloving, showing the purple-eyed person a dreadful series of shortcomings that never seemed to have a remedy. The pictures trapped within the core of the polished exteriors never ceased to be distorted, unrealistic, and highly lethal to Yami's self-esteem. In truth, the prodigious ruler of Thebes secretly suffered from one single defect in his personality: his impressive reputation was an extravagant illusion, and, more horribly than that, he was his own worst enemy.