A/N: I wanted to write something about Cecil's past and this kinda happened. This is my first piece in the WTNV fandom, so any and all advice is much appreciated. I might make a chaptered fic based on this (with a certain scientist in it of course) if people like it.

. . .

When Cecil Gershwin Palmer was just one year old, Cassandra Palmer discovered that a mirror would kill her youngest child. It didn't surprise her that it took so long to figure out; after all, there weren't very many mirrors in their home. She always avoided the few they had while carrying her child, a sense of foreboding and fear washing over her whenever she brought him within five feet of one.

She supposed it was her gift that was subconsciously warning her.

But she wasn't there when Cecil's brother decided to play with his baby brother. Cassandra was in the kitchen, sacrificing some salamanders to the stove so she could begin cooking when a knot of dread settled in her stomach. Not even a second passed before screams could be heard from down the hallway.

Forgetting the salamanders Cassandra rushed to her children, only to find them both in her daughter's room. Cecil was in front of the full-length mirror in the closet, crawling closer to it, little pudgy hand trying to grasp at the shadows that were present only inside the mirror.

Cassandra snatched him up quickly, an ear-splitting shriek followed by banging seeming to emit from the mirror as if the shadows were furiously banging against the glass, trying to escape. She grabbed her older son from the corner he was hiding in and bolted out of the room, slamming the door shut.

"Mommy, I just wanted to show him Annalise's bloodstone circle but she hid it again and I found the photo album and he was crawling away and –" her five-year-old said quickly before bursting into tears, burying his face in the leg of her furry pants. She rubbed his back soothingly with one hand, cradling her youngest with the other.

Cecil's violet eyes watched her curiously, not making an attempt to cry. Cassandra watched him curiously, only to have him give her a smile and attempt to grab a strand of her white-blonde hair – so much like the tuft of hair on his own head.

Cassandra wasn't aware of when she stopped comforting her oldest in favour of holding Cecil out in front of her. She stared him straight in the eye, though she couldn't register that she was doing so.

"Someday someone will kill you, and it will involve a mirror," she hissed, to which baby Cecil only laughed, reaching for his mother. After a moment Cassandra blinked and held the baby close to her, tears forming in her eyes. Her poor child. . .

Later at dinner, when Annalise returned from her friend's home Cassandra made a new rule.

"The mirrors must always stay covered and Cecil can never go in front of one. Ever."

. . .

When he was five, the tablet about his prophecy, the one that stated that he would become the voice of Night Vale appeared in City Hall. Cassandra was told this by Old Woman Josie when she took the kids for a visit to their 'Aunt Josie.'

She looked at her children – who were all in the back playing with some kids from school – while Josie told her the news. The hand holding her teacup was shaking.

"Leonard Burton didn't get a prophecy," Cassandra said, putting the cup down before she spilt her tea. Josie gave her a sympathetic look. "No other host did."

"Leonard Burton isn't like Cecil, now is he?" Josie countered, her own teacup magically full again. Probably one of those not-angel Erikas that were hanging around the place all the time, Cassandra noted to herself. "He's not just a voice. Your little boy is going to be The Voice."

"Not if I can help it," Cassandra snapped, not at the older woman, but at whoever had damned her precious boy to this fate. "I've heard the stories. That is not happening to my child. He can be a radio host, but not that – never THAT."

Old Woman Josie just shook her head. "You know then that you can stop nothing Cassandra. Just accept his fate. It doesn't have to be as bad as you think it does."

"But there's the chance that it will be! He could –" But she never continued with what could happen since Cecil had just ran into the room with his notebook. He was jumping, trying to reach the radio. Annalise walked in a few moments after him and turned on the radio for him before scooping up her baby brother.

"He wanted to listen to the radio," Annalise explained, tucking a strand of lavender hair behind her ear. "Wouldn't shut up about it."

"Shhh! Leonard is talk'ng," Cecil hushed, squirming in his sister's grip to try and turn up the radio. His tattoos – which appeared the day he turned three – started moving in agitation. Annalise rolled her eyes, balancing him on her hip. Josie chuckled, putting down her teacup and glancing at Cassandra, as if to tell her that their conversation wasn't over.

"You really want to be a radio host, huh Cecil?" Josie asked the boy. He turned in his sister's arms to look at her, a wide toothy grin – which had another gap since the last time she had seen the boy – and nodded eagerly.

"More than anything!" Cecil exclaimed, waving around his notebook. "I even, um," he bit his bottom lip, trying to remember the word his sister taught him. He looked over to her, clearly upset that he forgot.

"He interviewed one of the kids, Earl Harlan," she spoke up, putting down her brother, who ran to show his mother and 'aunt' his notes.

"Yeah, jus' like a radio host!" he grinned proudly. Old Woman Josie clapped her hands together, congratulating the boy on his first interview and giving him a cookie as a reward. Cecil looked to his mother for approval.

Cassandra smiled at her son and ruffled his hair as he stuffed the cookie in his mouth. She tried to ignore the nagging feeling that she would never get to see her son take over the position.

. . .

When Cecil turned fifteen, Cassandra gave him a cassette recorder since the boy's interest in radio never did die down. She tried her best to make this birthday extra special for him; Annalise had just moved out and it upset Cecil even though she visited regularly. Cassandra knew her middle child was angry with his little brother. Even now, he was glaring at Cecil with his hollow eyes.

Cassandra could hear Cecil recording himself the very next day as she did her usual sweep of the house, making sure all of the mirrors were covered. Satisfied that they were, she knocked on his door and poked her head in.

"Sweetie, where's your brother?" she asked, noticing her son's tattoos stilled instantly. That was strange; she never once saw the purple ink so still. Something was wrong.

Cecil turned to look at his mother. "He went down to the new pizza place a little while ago," he said, pushing his slipping glasses up his nose. Cassandra raised an eyebrow, opening the door more and looking around the room.

"Cecil, what are you hiding from me?" she asked. The crescent tattoo on her son's forehead blinked open into an 'eye' before looking at the floor. He just shook his head, turning away from his mother. Cassandra wanted to demand an answer from him but seeing his shoulder's slump, she just strode into the room, pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and went to shut the door as Cecil began recording again.

Cassandra swore that she saw something flicker just out of sight as her son started speaking.

She never did find out that her son was upset that his older brother told him that he would never make it in radio. She also never found out that her baby boy started seeing that strange flickering even when he stopped recording. She never knew that he had somehow put a mirror in the closet, keeping it uncovered.

She worried so much about him. Cassandra tried her hardest that evening to fight whatever was attempting to possess her.

She lost.

A week later she watched as her baby boy got ready to intern at the station. She wanted to scream, to yell at him to not go, to pack his bags so they could escape this place, escape whatever was going to separate them all form each other. A horn blasted outside and Cecil gathered his things. Annalise had promised to drive him to the station that day.

"Goodbye Mom," Cecil said, ignoring the hissing from his brother and kissing his mother's cheek. He moved away and Cassandra could feel her panic building up. She had to focus! She had to fight!

She grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. Surprise was written all over his face as he turned to look at her. Cassandra fought the being inside her head, one last time, to warn her baby boy. "Beware, be warned, be wary." Cecil nodded and she let go, watching him walk away from her. He was a smart boy.

. . .

Cassandra was forced to hide for three days. She only hoped that she had covered every single mirror in the house. She could hear shouting from the other side of the door.

"I can make it in radio!" That was Cecil, she was sure of it.

"You never could! Just because Mom says you're special doesn't mean it's true!" And that had to be her other son.

"I have a prophecy!"

"Well good for you! That's the only reason you got the internship!"

There was a gasp. "Take that back!"

"You know it's true!"

The argument ended with slammed doors. Cassandra went to the window to see Cecil's retreating form, stalking away from the house towards the radio station. Of course. His tattoos were moving rapidly, blurring together. She walked out of the room and flung open the door of her elder son's room.

"Start packing, we're leaving," she said, grabbing a suitcase from the closet. Her son just looked at her with his hollow eyes.

"What do you mean?" he asked, running a hand through his white-blond hair, only a shade or two darker than her own.

"I mean we're leaving town," she said, throwing his clothes into the bag. Cassandra had already packed her own and put it in the car yesterday.

"Why? Where will we go?" She could tell that he was panicking now. The anger that was building within her was at a dangerous level now.

"Mom?"

"WE HAVE TO LEAVE NOW!" Cassandra shouted, tears running down her face. It was too late for Cecil, the flickering was too strong. She could only hope that whatever it was kept the mirrors covered. "We'll go to Desert Bluffs, stay with your grandmother."

It wasn't a lie exactly; Kevin's father wasn't from Night Vale, unlike his brother and sister's. It was pure luck on her part – and some magic and bloodstone circle chanting – that made sure he didn't look it.

"What about Cecil?" he sneered. It was no secret that he was her favourite child.

"It's too late for him. Hurry up Kevin. We have to leave."

Kevin sat there for a moment in shock. They were really going to leave him behind? He shook his head and threw his things into the suitcase. Ten minutes later they were speeding away in their car, Cassandra wiping at her tears every so often.

"Kevin, do you remember someone named Cecil?" Cassandra asked gently once they were beyond the limits of her beloved Night Vale. Kevin just made a face at her and shook his head.

"No Mom. Why?"

"No reason," she replied, monotone, looking straight ahead. Her spell had worked on Kevin. He would never remember their life in Night Vale and she had placed enough false memories in his head to make up for it.

She knew that the Sheriffs Secret Police would take care of Cecil, it that thing didn't first.

Later that day, as the sun began to set, she felt a searing pain in her heart and she knew. She knew that the mirrors were not covered, that the entity that was dubbed the 'Voice of Night Vale' had removed the covers.

She knew that it had forced its way down her baby boy's throat. She knew that he was now what he was always meant to be. There was a reason that her son was the only radio host to have a prophecy about it. It was because he was the true Voice, the true Host.

He was Night Vale's Host. He was always meant to be. And now that he was the Host, she didn't have to worry about anything killing her boy. Except if it had something to do with a mirror.

She cried that night for the five year old boy, running around with his notebook interviewing friends.

Cassandra would never see her boy again.

She cried for the little boy that wanted nothing more to be a radio host, looking up at his mother for her approval.

Josie would take care of him, or maybe Annalise would.

She cried until she couldn't cry anymore.

She would never see him again.