The face looking out from the mirror at me - unblinking gaze, frown - can't be mistaken for human. Even if the gauntness is explained away by diet - though that would have to be a killer way to lose weight, - you don't get that luminescent white with any kind of cosmetics, and there are no black contact lenses that conceal the whites of the eye. And there are no age marks - not even one line.
I sigh miserably. There *has* to be another way of doing this. Like staying out of the spotlight, maybe. Or not interacting with humans outside of dark alleys and the Internet. Until I learn to conceal my nature.
"Come now." Roderick speaks up softly from his armchair in the corner. "Concealing one's true nature is not that hard. Remember: people like to be fooled, and sometimes it is for the best that they see not a lie, but an illusion."
"Easy for you to say!" I turn to my Sire only to find that ironic smile on his face. "You've a different method!"
"You know," He says thoughtfully, "I think I've figured out the reason you are in such a stupor relative to Obfuscate."
"Oh?" I am hopeful. Even though Obfuscate does not run naturally through our veins, it is a Discipline most Kiasyd know well, at least to its third manifestation. And it is one of the first Displines my Sire attempted to teach me. However, there was something distinctly wrong with me and this Discipline. Even though I could feel the power rushing through my veins when Roderick showed me, no matter how much I tried, I could not summon it myself. All of my occult training in life - which helped me so much with the other Disciplines - seemed to disappear when I dealt with this peculiar art.
"You are supposed to learn that which any civilized person knows. Your polite nature protests against your conscious choices." He suggests coolly.
"This is the twenty-first century, not the sixteenth." I retort. "Civilization is no longer measured by the ability to paint faces!"
"No, but like in the old days, your ability to survive is."
Of course, Roderick is absolutely right, and I am merely stalling. I look down at the bottles and little boxes that crowd with hostility before the mirror. Then I reach and pick up the smallest brush out of the five that are laid out before me. Then I turn back to the older Kiasyd again. "How much time do we have?"
"Two hours."
I shake my head. "I'm not sure I'll be able to produce anything convincing in two hours."
"Still, you are not one to pass up the opportunity to learn, are you?"
"Of course not, Sire." I answer with the utmost seriousness. "However, I am afraid that you shall learn more than I."
"Oh?"
"Of the boundaries of human and inhuman ineptitude and their true reach."
He waves a hand dismissively. "I have known since I was mortal that there are no such boundaries. Go on."
My fate dependent on my cosmetics. I never thought I'd sink this low.
An hour and a half later, Roderick - who had been reading some sort of fiction - looks up and says, "Looks like you really did not pick up *any* skill in this while you were alive, Morgana. You were a historian of art. How did you manage?"
"By the power of my wit alone." I grumble, erasing the tonal cream from my skin for the tenth time. My face looks like it was used as a palette. In essence, it was, but that's not the result I was aiming for. "I was a scholar, not an artist."
My Sire sighs and puts his book away. "This one time, I shall rescue you. But for the sake of our security, you shall spend each night at this under my guidance, until you learn."
"The horror." I say tiredly. "It may have gone easier if you had given me a few pointers *before* setting me to this vile task."
"Possibly, but it wouldn't have been half so interesting." He replies, as he sits down next to me. "Now, please relax. We don't have much time and I haven't practiced in about a hundred years."