I've been looking in the mirror for so long
That I've come to believe my soul's on the other side
All the little pieces falling
Shatter
Shards of me too sharp to put back together
Too small to matter
But big enough to cut me into so many little pieces
If I try to touch her
Weiss stared into the mirror in her bedroom, the room eerily quiet. How she hated the thing. Smooth, glossy, not a chip or a crack marred the perfect surface. Every morning, someone came in and polished it, removing any hint of an imperfection. Just like the mirror, she was polished to an impossible sheen. Ever since Winter had defected from her father's clutches and given up the title of Heiress, it had fallen to Weiss. She had become no more than an ornament, well-educated and trained in a variety of arts so she could keep up appearances for her family. The cost it came at, however, was rather great.
She learned that she needed to sacrifice any image of self for her family. Winter had left the household to join the military upon her graduation from the Atlesian Hunting Academy, and that was almost a major scandal among the upper crust of Atlas. Quick to cut ties, her father had then paraded a newly-titled Weiss around the next social event, and she was then thrust into a whirlwind of new education that left her dizzy and terrified. Winter was no longer there to reach out to for support and guidance, and her father was harder on her than ever. Her mother, sickly ever since she had given birth to Weiss, grew even worse; doctors were starting to discuss just how much time that she had left.
On the morning after Winter's departure, Weiss snuck one of Winter's bracelets from her room before the maids could completely clear it out. She retreated back to her room before she could be caught, and closed the door behind her. Turning, she faced the large, silvery mirror that dominated one of the corners of the room. It was an old family heirloom, given to the firstborn of the family. Winter has it first, being the firstborn, and Weiss loved to sit in front of it, staring at the glassy surface while Winter brushed out her hair. Upon graduation, when Winter announced her intent to join the military, the mirror had been moved into Weiss' room, sending the unspoken message that she wasn't a daughter of the Schnee name any more. Standing up tall on her tippy-toes, she was barely able to loop the bracelet over a wrought iron curlicue on the top right corner. Settling back down, she looked at the bright pink beads, and her heart broke.
And I bleed
And I bleed
And I breathe
I breathe no more
The pain was sharp, jagged like glass. She flew across the room, the corners of her vision going dark. The tall suit of armor could make no sound, but if it could, Weiss was certain it would be laughing at her. She rose, swaying on her feet. She felt blood, hot and slick, running down the left side of her face, over her eye. That was bad; that meant that her Aura had been depleted to the point where she could bleed. Offense hadn't worked, and defense hadn't worked with the damned thing, so now, she was going to have to get a little bit creative. Refusing to show any fear in the face of this test, she brandished Myrtenaster, the slender blade comfortable in her hands. Pulling it close, she spun the cylinder, before locking it down on the Burn Dust cartridge. The entire blade glowed red, encased in flames.
The suit charged her, its thudding steps like thunder. It swung its massive broadsword down, aimed directly at her head. Looking up, her arm jerked up and Myrtenaster's point met the broadsword, the impact sending the flames into a large arc. The force sent the broadsword flying backwards, and in the same breath, she spun the cartridge as she spun herself, locking it on the Ice Dust. Plunging the point of Myrtenaster into the ground, a spray of jagged ice lunged forth from her blade, encompassing a streak of ground and the legs of the armored giant. The giant, confused, tried to reach forward and slash at her with the broadsword as she rocketed forward, landing lightly on the massive blade, Myrtenaster's cylinder already spinning and changing. Locking down on the Lightning Dust, her entire blade glowed with an eerie yellow light as she somersaulted forward and slashed with a punishing force at its gauntleted hand. The force was enough to knock the broadsword out of the giant's hand, and it landed with a heavy slam, point embedded into the floor, behind Weiss as she landed in a ready stance.
Once again taken aback, the giant glanced at either of its hands before its gaze landed on Weiss, a giant glyph now under her feet on the floor. She held Myrtenaster up, perpendicular to her body, the cylinder spinning once more, locking into the purple Wind dust. Swinging its enormous fist, the armored giant smashed the ground where Weiss was as she somersaulted out of the way. Extending her arm with two fingers out, she placed a glyph under the giant and one in front of her. The glyph sank into the ground, and then threw the giant off its feet into the air. Sweeping her arms over her head, Weiss turned a graceful pirouette, moving Myrtenaster in a wide circle, blue ice crystals forming a large perpendicular halo around her. Flicking the blade down as if it were a wand, she sent six arcing points racing for the giant. They hit him on both its arms and legs, around its middle, and around its neck, suspending it in midair and rendering it immobile.
Another large glyph appeared under Weiss as she crouched down, the cylinder on Myrtenaster spinning for a final time. The glyph launched her in the air, high above the ground. She turned in the air, Myrtenaster drawn back, the cylinder locking down. White Origin Dust, cold and vibrant as the full shattered moon backing her, lit all of the Dust in the cylinder and arced down the blade, filling all of the hilt's engraving and etching the blade in old runes. One final glyph appeared behind her, and threw her forward at an impossible speed. She slashed down across its chest, opening a huge gash. The sheer force was enough to knock the giant out of its glyph restraints towards the floor, white flames reaching out of its faceguard and any connective parts in the suit of the armor. Weiss delicately landed in a kneel and raised to stand on two feet, the suit of armor landing behind her and shattering into delicate snowflakes that fell around her, freezing her already numbed heart.
There was a light smattering of applause from a viewing room overlooking the arena. Weiss looked up expectantly, her icy eyes searching for that one familiar face amid those assistants and secretaries. Realization hit her like a douse of cold water. He wasn't there.
He was never there.
Take a breath and I try to draw from my spirit's well
Yet again, you refuse to drink like a stubborn child
Lie to me
Convince me that I've been sick forever
And all of this will make sense when I get better
But I know the difference
Between myself and my reflection
And I just can't help but to wonder
Which of us do you love?
"Are you sure you want to do this, Miss?" The maid was hurriedly smoothing Weiss' skirt before she took the stage. This was a large event, charitable in nature, but Weiss knew better. She wasn't stupid; attacks had grown more frequent against the company ever since her father had moved into more shady and morally gray business practices. This event was to placate the public and to soothe any fears, human and Faunus, that might be held. The entire nation was abuzz with gossip with how an entire train car of Dust had been stolen right off a Schnee train, and this event was a show of power. It said We are not afraid of you, and your efforts are for naught.
Weiss had been invited to the event, of course, but she had declined on the reason that she must study for an upcoming entrance exam for one of the many combat schools. An admirable reason to miss such an event, the gentry assented, and it spoke so well of the Schnee name to have such a studious Heiress! In all actuality, she hated these shows of power, and knew that she would be nothing more than an ornament to her father's success. Weiss' face twisted momentarily in disgust at the sheepish mentality held by such people, but she supposed that she herself was no better. Every move she made was calculated to bring honor and pride to her family name, but she lived in little more than a dollhouse, a carefully constructed facade to mask the real dysfunction that lived within. There were whispers among the household staff of her father's growing infidelity to her dying mother, who was starting to turn to illegal imported drugs in a vain effort to prolong her dwindling life. Weiss wished desperately she could turn to Winter, but she was hard to contact, having reached the title of Operations Specialist with the military. Her father forbade any mention of Winter's name within his hearing, so Weiss has to swallow her longing.
"I'm sure." Weiss' voice was strong, elegant, and an alien sound to her own ears. She had decided on the spur of the moment that she was going to more than just attend; she was going to make a public statement of her hurt and contempt for the mindless judgement that dogged her every step. Of course, she couldn't do it outright, but the beauty of music was that she could give her heart to it and people would still be stupid enough to not understand. However, she was going to make damn sure that they understood her veiled message.
The curtains drew back, and the emcee of the evening announced her name to the crowd. She walked out, head held high, as the camera lenses flashed and applause filled the room. The soft sounds of a piano filled the room with the opening bars of a melancholic melody, and Weiss took a breath. She sang of a fairy tale she had been told countless times growing up, of a beautiful princess and a vain queen with her magic mirror. The queen had always asked her mirror who was the fairest of all, but this time, Weiss had changed the phrase. She drew from the wellspring of her heart, remembering all the times she had asked her own mirror.
Mirror, tell me something.
Tell me who's the loneliest of all?
Suddenly, the music rose, the piano accompanied by a flourish of strings that echoed around the room, amplified by the silence of those listening. She conjured the image of her mirror in her mind, loathing its unattainable perfection, and asked it again, this time with a barely restrained venom. She questioned if her heart could be turned to stone, and coupled the question with a demand for an answer. The music flew, carrying her words into the furthest corners of the room. The piano, elegant in the beginning, moved with a quickness and trilled like a caged bird crying for its freedom. The music grew darker, more ominous, as the piano faded away. Weiss opened her lungs for a deep breath, then her voice soared in an aria, high and ethereal. Strings and piano moved into a sharp duality to chimes that softly sang their scales over the powerful music. The music swelled, and Weiss sang alongside it, begging the mirror to show what was behind it and to save her from the appalling things she was seeing. She stated that she could keep her true self from the world, but questioned why the mirror wouldn't let her hide from herself. As the music rose to its impossible crescendo, Weiss threw her head back and opened her arms to the sky, her sorrow-filled voice once again asking her mirror the plaintive question: Who is the loneliest of all?
I'm the loneliest of all
Of all
The applause that filled the room was thunderous as her song came to a close. The sound snapped Weiss out of her trance. She looked around the room, then up to the massive skylights that let the moonlight in. It glowed with its pale fire, and Weiss felt alone in its silvery halo. Turning her attention back to the crowd, she spread her skirts and dipped into a graceful curtsy amidst the thunderous applause. As the curtains closed around her, she turned to walk away, but was pulled up short by the tall imposing form of her father. He stood there, hands behind his back, icy glare fixed upon his younger daughter. As Weiss stepped forward, her mouth starting to curve into the beginning of a smile, there was a sharp crack that split the air. Her head was knocked to the side as a stinging pain blossomed across her cheek. Her hand immediately went to her face, gently cradling the redness that bloomed like a poppy.
"How dare you."
Weiss looked at her father, and swallowed hard, refusing to let the tears come.
"How dare you embarrass me like that. You have never behaved like this before. You have brought shame to the Schnee family name."
He turned and walked away, almost immediately being swarmed by the gentry. Weiss could hear their platitudes, complimenting him on the finery of the event and the delightful surprise of the Heiress' musical talent. Surely it was the climax of the event, and how fitting it was! Weiss was left alone backstage, her hand still pressed against her skin. Her head drooped slightly down, and her bangs shaded her eyes that were threatening to overflow. She moved in slow careful steps, knowing that if she moved too fast, she would draw attention to herself, and that was the last thing she wanted.
She left the gargantuan ballroom and began making her way back to her room, avoiding those who would stop her for questions or those who wished to congratulate her on an impressive musical debut. As she started to ascend the stairs to her bedroom, the tears that she had been swallowing for so long started to finally crest her eyelids and drip down her cheeks. She made it into her room and shut the door, leaning against it while pressing a hand against her eyes, trying to stem the waterfall that fell from them. He thought that she had brought shame to the family name, but all she had done was enhance it in the eyes of the gentry! Did he consider her acting of her own will bringing him shame?
Sliding down, she held her knees against her chest and wept into her knees. This was the first time that she had actively "acted out" against him, and he had no idea that this was her true self. Raising her head, she stared daggers at the mirror in the corner of the room. Its flawless surface glinted back at her, reflecting back her own shattered self. Rising in anger, she stalked across the room, her closed fist drawn back. She swung at the mirror, but froze before she could touch it. She gently placed her hand against the surface, then crumbled to her knees, her sobs echoing around her.
So I bleed
And I bleed
And I breathe
I breathe no more
The air caught in Weiss' throat as she pressed down with the stolen scalpel. She drug the delicate blade across pale flesh, and watched as scarlet blood started to well from the incision. She bit her lip as the pain set in, the pain a welcome wash against her backdrop of numbness. The blood was hot against her cold skin, warming it. She carved another laceration across it, patterning her shoulder with cross-hatching. She had picked her shoulder to abuse with careful consideration. Her bolero, which she now rarely took off outside of her bedroom, hid the growing patchwork of scars. If she was bothered while she was in her nightwear, her nightgown had just enough sleeve to stretch over her shoulder.
A single tear trickled over her eyelid as she cut herself again, testing to see if she truly could feel. The pain was sharp, but then faded back into nothingness. She kept cutting, going a little deeper, wanting the pain to last. It felt terrible, but at least she was feeling something. She had been cutting herself for sometime now, starting the day after her vocal performance at the charity event. She had started out small then, venturing only a one or two cuts at a time. Soon, she had begun adding more, staining her skin with the brilliant red taint of her blood. She had cried at first, but her tears quickly dried. As her tears disappeared, more cuts appeared, as if she was afraid that the loss of her tears really did signify the loss of her ability to feel.
Suddenly, there was a knock on her door.
Opening up the drawer of her vanity, she dropped the knife into the drawer and closed it hurriedly. Grabbing her bolero, she shrugged it on right before the door opened and her father entered. His cold eyes took in her immaculately kept room, then raked over her spotless white and blue dress. Not a hair out of place, Weiss thought bitterly. Clearing his throat, his father addressed her, his voice surprisingly upset.
"Weiss. . . your mother. . ."
She could feel her heart skip a beat.
"What happened to my mother?" Her voice cracked, breaking her facade of perfection.
"Your mother is dead. The sickness finally took her."
Bleed
I bleed
And I breathe
I breathe
I breathe
No more
Unsurprisingly, it rained the day of her mother's funeral. Clad solely in black, Weiss stood next to her father under a large umbrella. They were next to the headstone, marked by a grieving angel locking in eternal sorrow. Weiss hated it and was jealous; it could weep where she could not. The black birdcage veil that covered her eyes shaded her from the outside world, who saw her as nothing more than the grieving daughter of a prominent woman. No one could know how she really felt.
The pallbearers were moving slowly towards them, the large cluster of white roses on the casket swaying slightly with the motion. There was no preacher, no religious figure. This was simply a time for the Schnee family to say goodbye to a lost one, and make their peace with her disappearance. There was a small crowd with them, though none of them were family. More of Remnant's upper crust had come to the funeral, to express condolences and for those with no shame to parade in front of the grieving widower in hopes of catching his eye. Winter had not come to the funeral, and it was no doubt what was causing the ladies of the gentry to whisper behind their hands.
There was a muted thunk as the coffin was placed down on ready lowering ropes. The silence was deafening, the rain barely seeming to disturb it. The pallbearers began to gently lower the pristine white casket down into the deep dug hole. It seemed like an eternity, but it finally hit the bottom of the grave. The ropes were removed, and her father stepped forward. Picking up a handful of muddy earth, he dropped it onto the casket, marring its perfection. Naturally, Weiss was next.
Her gloved hand scooped up a handful of the sludge, and she stood over the edge of the grave, out in the open. The rain poured down on her, soaking her hair and sticking her clothes to her. She held out her hand, palm down, fingers closed. She tried to take a breath, but it stuck in her throat. Nausea swam over her in waves, and she brought her hands to her chest as the world began to spin around her. Some vague, distant part of her brain chided her for getting mud all over her clothes, but another part of her thanked her for the cool mud against her burning flesh. She swayed a bit, then turned, intent on making it back under the umbrella. She took a step, then the whole world went pale, then black as she fell.
She woke up in her bed, the covers drawn to her chin and a cold compress on her forehead. Sitting up, she took the cloth off her head and looked around. Her black funeral attire was hung in her closet, freshly cleaned. Not trace of mud or shame stained the garment. Outside her door, she could hear raised voices. Closing her eyes, she covered her ears, trying to block out the sound. Suddenly, a gunshot cracked through the barrier of her hands, and her whole body convulsed in a startled shock.
In a split second, she made up her mind.
Throwing back the covers, she swung her bare legs out of her bed. She had been changed into her nightgown, and that thought sent a panic through her. Someone had seen her scars. Shaking her head abruptly, she refused to let the panic cloud her head. She picked up her Scroll, then opened it, swiftly clicking through it. She compiled a list of documents, hurriedly forming an email as she could hear heavy steps climbing the stairs. She typed in the recipient's address, then hit send, watching with relief as the email sent. She closed her scroll then set it down, before getting back into her bed, long white hair swishing around her. She pulled the covers up to her chin and replaced the compress on her forehead. She closed her eyes as the door opened and her father entered the room. She fought the urge to flinch as she felt him gently stroke her cheek.
"Darling Weiss, I'm sorry. Soon, you'll be in the Atlesian Hunting Academy, and you won't have to worry about this any more. I will take care of you." Weiss let her lips curve in a smile, and she knew that her father would think she was unconsciously responding to his promises. What she was smiling at was something that he didn't know.
Professor Ozpin had received her transcripts, and so died the Weiss that once was.