Mirror, Mirror
Vlad's POV
Summary: Vlad faces the Blood Mirror on his sixteenth birthday.
A/N: Since the BBC have decided not to give a decent explanation why Vlad didn't face his reflection on his sixteenth birthday, I decided to give this one shot a go. I hope I've come at it from a different direction from other people, but if I've copied someone I apologise, it wasn't intentional. Great minds and all that jazz. Thank you so much to redrachxo, HyaHya and jabifan4eva for the lovely reviews of my last fic.
Disclaimer: I don't own YD it is property of its rightful owner.
The clock tolls ominously. Twelve consecutive chimes that signal the start of a new day. My sixteenth birthday. A smile comes involuntarily to my face.
The halls are still dark as I walk down them, familiar halls by now. Normal and boring. Crumbling stonework and grime-covered flagstones have marked my life here. That's about to end.
My pace is measured, calmer than inside my head which is swirling with some emotion I can't be bothered to name. It's unimportant compared to what I must do today. My counterpart is waiting for me, and I have no idea what he has planned.
Voices I barely register give me encouragement from behind. I receive a half-mocking pat on the back which I shake off almost instantly. My steps increase in pace, trying to escape the people behind me who suddenly seem so insignificant. They urge me to the mirror, to my destiny, chasing behind me as I break into a run.
The voices drift into quiet as I put as much distance between us as I can. I stop and turn to see the room behind me is empty. My shoulders slump with relief.
That feeling is short-lived as I turn around again.
The glass of the Blood Mirror stands before me.
All the plans I've formed in my mind over the last sixteen years culminate here, yet every one of them seem redundant. My other half stares at me through the mirror.
I am momentarily clueless.
I blink once at the same time the other me does. I'm sure he can't see me yet; I'm not close enough to the mirror, so I take stock of my 'opponent'. His hair is swept in the opposite direction on mine, and he seems to be wearing some form of leather, the Dracula crest emblazoned on the collar.
I let a strange confidence bubble within me. Taking a cautionary step back I make a semi-circle in front of the mirror, inspecting him from all angles. My small smile from earlier returns. Perhaps this will be easier than I anticipated. Standing directly across from him I brace myself. I watched as Boris and Ingrid did this and it didn't look easy. I lower into a crouch and brace my feet.
Then I pause.
I re-evaluate what he's wearing. Now why would he wear this out of his own free will? Something looser would be much more practical in this situation. He knows this as well as I do, having watched his sister and cousin go through their transformations. So dear old daddy-kins must have decided to dress the Chosen One up for his transformation. I smirk and pull out of my crouch.
If I'm right that means there's a large entourage of the Count's 'friends' poised outside the door, waiting for the historic moment when the future Grand High Vampire would accept his reflection. What would happen, I wonder, if that reflection never made an appearance? It wouldn't be blamed on me. No, the shame would be directed at him. He would be a failure, despised by those waiting and by his father. I release a sour laugh that echoes through the glass to him. What respect will he have if his own reflection doesn't deem him worthy to face him? I can do far more damage this way.
I retreat slowly, and the clamours of the nine hundred and ninety-nine copies of me surround me, jeering at him, agreeing with my decision. He tenses and glances towards the door on his side of the glass. Coward, we hiss as one. He shrinks back.
We will wait until he's weak. We will prey on him when he is unprepared. We are his reflections, and even the Chosen One will fall.