She can't say what, but something in Kuvira's brain broke. A compulsion had been created.
She also can't say where the appeal lies; perhaps it is the pain-induced adrenaline or maybe she is just a sick masochist. But the sensation of chewing broken glass and the feeling of blood filling her mouth is somehow tantalizing.
It started as a meer impulse.
A curiosity.
What would it feel like if she shattered a bottle and popped a shard into her mouth.
Baatar had watched her do it, encouraging her in the same way teen boys rallied around and cheered on school yard fights. She had put the glass between her teeth and bit down. It had no taste and she, during the first time around, felt nothing in her teeth at all. Just the tang of copper from the bits of her tongue that the glass touched into.
She had spat blood and some of the larger sides into the sink and washed it down. She didn't eat real food that night, it hurt too much to do so. Her throat was shredded and her stomach ached.
Yet she wanted to do it again.
She does do it again.
Kuvira likes the texture of the shades on her tongue and against her teeth. She likes the aesthetic of the pieces glinting and glittering in her mouth; casting reflections against the wall when the sun hit just right.
She likes the aesthetic of blood trailing from the corners of her mouth and dotting her tongue.
She knows that the compulsion will kill her. At first she had tried to hide it. At first only Baatar had known after he had walked in on her making work of a cracked light bulb. And then the compulsions became irresistible.
She bites into the glass and the glass bites back. It stabs into her tongue and it spikes the adrenaline she craves. She does this openly because she knows that they will find out eventually anyhow.
Eventually it becomes so regular that, at dinner, Kuvira sprinkles speckles of glass into her food while the Beifongs watch in equal parts terror and concern. It is only a powder, she tells them, it won't hurt her. But she knows that she is lying because every now and again, she coughs. Usually the coughs come with flecks of blood. She can feel it in the sharp stabs and burns in her belly.
She knows because she can hardly stomach real food.
Regardless shatters a handheld mirror and picks out her favorite piece. This time, Baatar curls his fingers around her wrist before she can place the piece into her mouth.
"I don't want to lose you." He says plainly.
"You won't, I'm fine." She swears, her voice is hoarse from all of the scratches on her throat.
He doesn't let her bring the glass to her mouth and by the time she wiggles out of his grasp she is coughing again. The back of her arm is dotted with blood where she had covered her mouth. It leaks from between her lips. There is more of it and she feels woozy.
She tells herself that it is because she had been wrestling with Baatar.
Kuvira knows better.
She knows what it really is.
Her legs buckle
She knows that she is headed for the hospital. And she knows that when they clear her there that she will be transferred to a mental health facility. It is probably for the best.