Warm, autumn-brown eyes met Mirdoll’s. The elf in front of him let his robe fall to his elbows, showing off more of his pale and slender body. A small blush always appeared on his face when he undressed, even though they’d done this twice a week for three months. Phoebus—that name fit him so well—bit his lip and tucked a few strands of fire-red hair behind his ear. An obvious attempt at seduction, the elf still too young to have learned subtlety.
Mirdoll saw Phoebus’s lips move, but it took a moment of silence for him to realize he’d been spoken to. He straightened his back, suddenly aware of his own posture. Taking the paintbrush out of his mouth, he answered, “What?”
“You’re staring,” Phoebus repeated. The robe slid off his arms and down to the floor, leaving the young elf completely naked.
“Can’t help myself. You look absolutely ravishing.”
Phoebus giggled but said nothing more before he began to recreate the pose he’d held the last time they’d met. He used his hands to frame his face as if in the middle of caressing his own cheek. Those beautiful brown eyes went to the ceiling, staring longingly at nothing. Then he lifted his left foot just a little, which Mirdoll had told him to do, to give the painting some dynamism.
Mirdoll looked to his painting. Phoebus had posed correctly—unfortunately leaving Mirdoll with no valid reason to approach and correct the stance, to touch the elf’s warm skin and inhale the smell of lavender. Phoebus always smelled of lavender.
He dipped the brush into the paint, and the evening’s first brushstroke landed on the canvas. Mirdoll’s gaze went back and forth between his model and the picture. He wanted to—needed to—paint every scar, beauty mark, and freckle.
“Mirdoll?” Phoebus asked after a ten-minute silence. “What do you think about when you look at me?”
When Mirdoll lifted his head to look at the gorgeous man once again, his muse was no longer holding the pose. Phoebus tilted his head to the side.
“I think about how beautiful you are,” Mirdoll answered. It was the truth, but he also thought about long, warm summer days. He thought about beating hearts and heavy breathing. About empty words and broken promises. “You remind me of someone I knew when I was younger.”
“Younger? Aren’t you still young?” Phoebus pointed out.
Mirdoll caught himself. He did appear young, though he was more than twice the age of the man before him.
“A lover?” Phoebus toed the distance between them, sitting down beside him.
“I’m not done painting,” Mirdoll stated, hoping Phoebus would return to his pose. Instead, his muse leaned over him to peek at the canvas.
“So that’s what I look like from the front.” Phoebus grabbed a lock of his own hair to compare the color to the one in the painting—Mirdoll had worked hard to make it completely indistinguishable.
“Yes, Phoebus, that is what”—he quickly grabbed the elf’s hand, inches from touching the wet paint—“you look like.” He let out a deep sigh. “It’s not dry yet. Please, pose for five more minutes. I’m only missing a few details.”
“Answer my question first,” Phoebus said, softly pushing his nose against Mirdoll’s. “Was he your lover? The man I remind you of.”
“Yes. He was.”
“What was his name?” The way Phoebus smiled told Mirdoll that he was only teasing him. The playfulness was another reminder of the love he’d once known. The love he had lost.
“His name was Get-back-up-there-and-pose.” Mirdoll forced a chuckle as he gently tried to push the elf away so he would do as he was told.
Tender lips met Mirdoll’s for a chaste kiss before Phoebus stood up and went back to looking like an angelic statue. Mirdoll felt guilty for wanting more than that single kiss, for the lust he felt at the pit of his stomach. Phoebus confused him. Made him doubt. He pushed the feeling to the back of his mind as he continued to paint.
He remembered the first time he’d met Phoebus, how he’d had to look at him twice—how he’d hoped that red hair and freckled face had belonged to someone else. He was the mirror image of his past love, and the young elf had made Mirdoll’s heart beat anew. That was why he’d had to paint him: to not lose sight of such perfection once again. To keep him close. For a second chance.
Just as Phoebus started to become impatient, and perhaps a bit tired, Mirdoll finished the piece by adding the beauty mark that enhanced Phoebus’s cheekbones, right beneath his left eye. Mirdoll smiled, happy to finally be done.
“Phoebus, come here. Tell me what you think.”
The young man put his robe on before he came running. He smiled brightly as he laid eyes upon the artwork.
“You made me look absolutely stunning. Thank you, Mirdoll.” He folded his hands, admiring his own beauty. “I look a little bit like my father,” he added with a chuckle. A small pause, and his demeanor suddenly turned serious. “On that note.… Would you like to come over for dinner one day? I’d love for you to meet my parents.”
Mirdoll’s body stiffened as he realized it was over. It had gone too far. His heart hammered beneath his ribs as he understood what he had to do. This desire would be nothing but a distraction from his real goal. There was too much at stake. He couldn’t let Phoebus infect his life—the boy was an imposter, nothing more.
“I’d love to see Darion again,” he said quietly.
“What?” Phoebus said, about to turn around.
Mirdoll glimpsed a smile on the naive elf’s lips. It swiftly disappeared as the bullet pierced his head. The pistol deafened Mirdoll for a second, leaving a ringing sound in his ears.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he lowered the gun.
He noticed the wounded man struggle for his breath, even though he lay still, his blood pooling on the floor. Mirdoll fell to his knees. Phoebus’s eyes didn’t follow his movement—he was still alive, but not present.
“I can’t fall in love with you. You’re not him,” Mirdoll said, a twinge of guilt tugging at his heart. Turning the pistol in his hand, getting ready to strike with the butt, he spoke to the dying man one last time. “I’d give anything to be as beautiful as you, Phoebus. Beauty means happiness; only ugly people suffer. Leave this world knowing that I have shared with you the only lesson life has taught me.”
Those autumn-brown eyes met his one last time, right before he slammed the cold metal into Phoebus’s head.
Mirdoll sat in silence for a moment. He could barely breathe as he listened for someone outside the tenement. Voices. Screaming. Running. The door being knocked down. But there was no sound. Had no one heard the gunshot?
As he realized that no one would barge in and arrest him, his heart started hammering for a completely different reason. Phoebus was dead. What was he supposed to do now? Another chance at love lost—the last bridge set ablaze.
He cursed under his breath at his own stupidity. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he mumbled to himself, “Think, Doll. Think….”
An idea.
His mourning ended as he got to his feet. Grabbing the canvas by the edges as to not smear any of the paint, he headed over to a full-length mirror in the corner of the room. After putting the painting against the wall, he looked into his own pale-sapphire eyes—the only authentic part of his body right now.
A glance at the painting was all he needed. When he looked again into the mirror, Phoebus stared back. Not all hope was lost; rather, it seemed like his impulsivity could lead him down a similar path to the one he had been frantically searching for. Darion would hold him again. Not as a lover this time, but as a son.
Twenty years earlier
Two huge hands covered his eyes. A shadow had approached from behind, then blinded him. The lavender scent filled his nostrils, and he smiled. A nibble on his earlobe made his knees crumble as desire consumed his thoughts.
Darion breathed into his ear, “I love you, Doll.”
“Forever?” Mirdoll asked, his heart beating so hard he thought maybe Darion could hear the drumming sound.
“Forever and always. To the ends of the Eternal Chaos itself, and back. No one will ever come between us.” Gently, Darion removed his hands.
Mirdoll turned around, looking straight into the golden-brown eyes of his beloved. He reached for the fiery hair that hung in front of Darion’s face, pushing it behind his ear to get a better view of his beautifully freckled features.
It was without a doubt Darion’s attractiveness that had drawn Mirdoll to him at first, the thought of them as the most perfect couple—both of them the epitome of beauty, sculpted and handsome. Anyone who passed them on the street would either want to be them or be with them. But even after he had conquered Darion’s affections, and the unobtainable had been obtained, Mirdoll’s heart had refused to let go. No one had ever made him feel so safe just by holding him or made him feel so incredibly loved just by kissing his cheek.
Darion would be his.
Forever.
The constable led him down a long hallway.
“I hope you understand the severity of what you’ve done, young man,” he said, his face stern. “Your parents have been worried sick.”
“Yes, officer,” Mirdoll answered meekly. He’d kept away for a week, to make it look like Phoebus had run away. It would make any differences in behavior seem less suspicious—they’d just be happy that he was back.
When they reached the end of the corridor, the constable opened the door leading out of the station.
Mirdoll’s gaze went straight to Darion’s, and before he’d realized what was happening, he was surrounded by strong arms. He hugged his beloved back. It had been such a long time. Years had passed, but his embrace still felt the same. Pure bliss surged through Mirdoll’s body. The hug ended too quickly for his taste, but when Darion pulled away and their eyes met once more, he forgot his discontent.
“We’ve been so worried. You can’t just run off like that,” his love said, brows meeting in a frown. “What were you thinking?” Warm hands touched Mirdoll’s cheeks, caressing lightly.
Mirdoll didn’t answer. He had Phoebus’s appearance, not his voice.
“My dear. I’m so happy you’re alright,” a woman’s voice called out. “Oh, Phoebus, my boy.”
Smaller arms clung to him, and that was when he remembered. That temptress and thief—the elf woman who had seduced his Darion. He had never laid eyes on her; Darion had only told Mirdoll that he’d met her, how great she was, and had even dared speak her cursed name. A name Mirdoll wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of ever uttering in either thought or word. This was the first time he’d seen her blonde hair. Her pink lips. Her beautiful green eyes. He was certain her eyes were the feature that had lured Darion to her. Those eyes had smiled at his beloved, and he had been unable to resist.
Mirdoll had to pull away from her; the embrace made him doubt himself.
She looked surprised. “What’s wrong, love?”
The softness of her voice. The way she spoke that word. Love. That was how she spoke to Darion.
That voice had stolen everything from him. Everything was wrong. She seemed so oblivious to the crime she’d committed against him.
“Are you okay, Son?” Darion spoke this time.
That dark voice seemed so familiar, yet there was a strangeness to it. Mirdoll gazed at Darion once more, for a moment hoping the man he loved would recognize him through his magical disguise. He wanted Darion to look into the fake brown eyes and see the pale blue ones of someone who had never stopped loving him.
“Let’s go home, eh? You need some rest.” Darion gave the woman an apologetic look before putting one strong arm over Mirdoll’s shoulders. Mirdoll basked in the feeling of Darion’s touch, however fatherly it was. He felt protected and loved.
The carriage ride felt like it lasted forever. No one spoke, only glances were exchanged. The woman tried to smile at him, but he turned away every time. He didn’t want to look at her, scared of noticing how perfect she actually was.
Walking into the mansion, Darion ordered his kitchen staff to prepare Phoebus’s favorite dish. Apparently, he wanted them all to have a nice family dinner. Mirdoll was then ordered to go take a bath before the meal. Finding the bathroom took some time, but in the end, he lay soaking in the tub.
He closed his eyes and let the water consume him. Sinking into the dark depths of his own mind, he wondered—for the hundredth time—how he wanted this to play out. Getting that woman out of the picture, that was what he wished for. Back to the blissful days where Darion lusted only for him, that was where he wanted to go. Mirdoll felt a sting behind his eyes, and he wondered if it was possible to cry whilst underwater.
This couldn’t be right—it was supposed to be a perfect summer day. Just the two of them, sitting in the meadow of tall grass and colorful flowers. The sun would shine upon them, highlight their hair. Make them squint as they looked at each other. Warm their cheeks. Then they’d embrace, and Darion would place small kisses down his neck, bruising his flawless skin.
It was all completely wrong.
“A shapeshifter? Mirdoll, are you serious?” Darion yelled at him. Never had he heard such heartbreak in his beloved’s voice. “You can’t keep that a secret from someone.”
Mirdoll’s whole body shook as he held himself, trying to compensate for the touch Darion now starved him of. How could he have been so careless as to drink that concoction Darion had given him? The funny smell should have been a sign. He should have known.
His glowing fair skin had turned the treacherous deep blue he’d been born with. His hair was now black instead of the blond that had turned Darion’s head the first time they’d met. Looking like his true self, he felt naked and exposed.
His beloved could never love anyone so flawed. So ugly.
“Dar, it doesn’t matter. I’m still me, I’m the same. Nothing has to change,” Mirdoll tried to reassure him, but even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
As he walked closer, Darion moved away.
“You lied to me. You made me believe you were an elf.”
“You told me I was beautiful inside and out!”
“That is not the point. Doll…” Darion trailed off. For a silent moment, his gaze lingered on Mirdoll, and tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
“Who told you?” Mirdoll asked, breaking the silence between them. He had to know who had set his beloved against him. “Who made you doubt me?”
Darion seemed to think. Then he opened his mouth, and Mirdoll’s heart sank. “You did. No one is this perfect.”
Mirdoll’s head resurfaced as he sat up. Water dripped onto his pale skin—Phoebus’s skin. He was certain a life lived as Darion’s son was not an option; that was not the love he searched for. Nor was killing Darion’s woman and taking her place—Darion’s love would still not belong to him.
Mirdoll would have to reveal himself. Maybe Darion would be happy to see him again? Maybe he’d regretted marrying that woman and would want him back? Mirdoll smiled at the thought.
He imagined Darion laying eyes on him again after such a long time. Without hesitation, he’d turn from the woman to pull Mirdoll into a loving embrace. In a moment, Darion would realize the love he thought he felt for that whore had never been real, and that anger had clouded his judgment all those years ago. They’d kiss, and Mirdoll would once again have conquered Darion’s love.
He stepped out of the tub, got dressed, then headed out into the hallway. A few turns around corners and peeks into a couple of rooms later, he was lost. Darion’s mansion was so huge it felt like a labyrinth. He opened another door and looked into the darkness. No one was there either. Mirdoll sighed as he closed the door. Turning around, he almost walked straight into one of the servants.
“Looking for something, Master Phoebus?”
Mirdoll nodded, at first hoping he could avoid speaking. If the servants remembered their young master’s voice too well, it could pose a problem. But he knew he would have to tell the servant what he was looking for in the end, so he cleared his throat before saying, “Father.”
“He is in his study. Naturally. You’ll see him at dinner.” The servant smiled.
“Bring me to him, please,” Mirdoll said quietly.
“He would probably not like to be disturbed, Master—”
“Please.”
The servant was still reluctant but ushered him along anyway. After what seemed like a five-minute walk, they stopped outside a door identical to all the others. The servant knocked rhythmically, as if he was delivering a secret watchword.
“Sir, Master Phoebus would like to speak with you.”
A faint sound came from the other side of the door, and the servant opened it for Mirdoll to enter. After treading over the threshold, the door was closed behind him. Now, he was all alone with Darion, who was sitting in a large leather chair with his hands full of papers.
“Son.” Darion’s voice was as dark and smooth as ever. He got up and approached Mirdoll. His arms wrapped around him and held him close. “I’m so glad you’re safe. I was so worried. You mean everything to me.”
And just like that, Mirdoll changed his mind. His beloved was holding him so close, keeping him so warm. He wanted Darion to hold him like that, but there was no guarantee that he would, and now that Mirdoll—in a strange way—had what he wanted, he did not want to risk losing it that quickly. One day, he would find a perfect moment to tell his love who he really was, but for now he just wanted to enjoy the attention. He relaxed into the hug, savoring the moment and the smell of lavender that surrounded him.
Mirdoll would have recognized that gorgeous face anywhere. Darion stood only steps away, studying a bottle of perfume. He approached the man he hadn’t seen in weeks. Oh, how he had missed the warmth from those golden-brown eyes gazing at him through the bed’s mesh canopy. The electricity that had sparked between them every time they touched. He’d been so lonely without Darion’s arms holding him close.
“You don’t need any perfume, Dar. You always smell great.” Mirdoll smiled.
Darion jumped, a little startled.
“Doll. Hi. It’s not for me.” Was Darion trying to hide the pink bottle in his hand? “What are you doing here?”
“I was just passing through when I saw you.” A quick glance at the perfume Darion was holding, then Mirdoll turned his gaze back to the beautiful man before him. “You remembered that I prefer floral scents.” Mirdoll giggled. “You don’t have to buy me anything, Dar. I forgive you.”
“Forgive me?” Darion lifted his brow.
“Yes. For overreacting. I love you, and I want to be with you.”
His beloved looked away from him. “Doll…. I’ve found someone else.”
That made Mirdoll pause. It had just been a few weeks, and Darion was already buying gifts for someone else? What could this person have that Mirdoll didn’t? His heart started to race as he silently panicked. What was he lacking? What could he be lacking? Except true elf ancestry.
“Just an infatuation, I’m sure,” Mirdoll said, keeping his perfect composure. “Describe him to me, I’ll give you what you’re lusting for.”
Darion scoffed. “Why would you assume such a thing? Beauty is not the only thing I care about. You could look like her all you want, but you still wouldn’t be her.”
“Dar—” Mirdoll began, but Darion interrupted.
“I’ve realized that all you have ever done is make me feel inferior. You’ve held me to an impossible standard, and I’m tired of you only acknowledging my looks. You’re so shallow. When I’m with Mirabell, I can be myself—I can be imperfect.”
Five weeks passed. Most days it rained, which meant the family stayed inside the mansion. Mirdoll didn’t mind; it gave him the opportunity to spend time with Darion. Some days they played chess or backgammon, other days they just sat beside each other and read.
Darion laughed with him and smiled when they had fun together, even though he seemed worried that his son had turned mute. It had been hard not to speak; there was so much Mirdoll wanted to tell Darion. He wanted to tell him about how he’d followed his dream to become a painter, and that he carried a small vial of lavender oil next to his heart everywhere he went, because nothing inspired him more than the thought of his beloved.
The woman barely left them alone on those rainy days, and sometimes Mirdoll found it hard to hide his contempt for her. Nothing dampened his mood more than seeing her kiss his man, and seeing Darion smile at her right after. Had his beloved forgotten how good they’d had it without her?
When the sun shone again on day thirty-seven, the woman finally decided to spend the afternoon in town. Mirdoll joined Darion outside to wave her off as the horses trotted away.
“Now that we’re alone, how do you think we should spend the day?” Darion asked. “What about croquet?”
Mirdoll nodded, then pointed to his clothes to hint that he wanted to dress for the occasion. Darion seemed to understand, giving him a smile.
“Sure. I’ll set it up,” his beloved said before leaving for the garden.
When he got to Phoebus’s bedroom, Mirdoll’s whole body started to shiver. This was his best chance to reveal who he really was, now that they were alone—and would be for several hours. His heart hammered beneath his ribs, and even though he sweated, his body felt cold.
It was now or never.
Walking toward the garden, Mirdoll played out every scenario he could imagine in his mind. He imagined Darion mad, sad, neutral, and happy. He tried to plan what the first thing he said should be. Nothing felt right.
When he reached the door leading out to the green-grassed lawn surrounded by all sorts of beautifully colored flowers, he looked around, making sure he was alone. Certain that no one could see him, he changed. The red hair that had once belonged to Phoebus turned a bright, golden color. His eyes returned to their natural pale blue, and his skin darkened slightly. He still looked elven, just like when he and Darion had first met.
He headed outside with all the confidence he could muster. Darion didn’t notice him at first, still busy setting up the croquet course. Mirdoll stopped a few steps away, unable to keep from smiling at the sight of the happy man in front of him.
“Darion,” he said.
“Yes?” Darion answered, not turning to look at first.
Then his shoulders stiffened, and for the first time in twenty years, Darion’s brown eyes met Mirdoll’s blue ones. “Doll?” he whispered in obvious disbelief. He looked like he wanted to ask a million questions at once. In the end, all he said was, “How did you find me?”
“It wasn’t that difficult,” Mirdoll answered, hoping to avoid going into details. “I’ve missed you, Dar.”
“I’ve missed you too, Doll. But why are you still pretending to be someone you’re not?” Darion walked over and gently touched Mirdoll’s golden hair, then his pointy elven ears. “This isn’t you.”
“It’s the me you fell in love with, Dar. The me you promised to love forever,” Mirdoll retorted, a sudden bitter taste in his mouth. “You promised.”
“You are not entitled to my love. You lied to me. Broke my trust. Do you think love can withstand deceit just because it was promised to you?”
“Everything we experienced together, everything I said, was not a lie—that was real, and it was love. Does it matter what I look like?” Mirdoll could not resist holding Darion’s face between his hands, caressing those soft cheeks with his thumbs.
“I don’t care what you look like. I care that I never knew who you really were, and that you, in your search for perfection, lost your individuality. You were never truly yourself when we were together; therefore, I made no promise to you. You don’t exist.” Taking ahold of Mirdoll’s wrists, Darion pried the hands from his face.
“Make the promise to the real me then.”
Again, he changed. Blond hair turned black, and his skin went from fair to blue. His face became his own. Only his eyes stayed the same—the eyes he’d always looked upon Darion with.
Darion studied him in silence. The world seemed to complete a full turn around the sun before he spoke up again. “It’s too late, Doll. I have a life of my own, and it’s about time that you get one yourself. You’ll find someone who can love you better than I can. Just…be yourself from the beginning, okay?”
The world had circled the sun in vain. Moments later, it shattered. For five whole weeks, Mirdoll had watched Darion treat someone else the way he’d promised he would treat him. He had watched the love of his life kiss and caress someone else the way he had kissed and caressed him. Deep down, he’d known Darion was happy with the person he’d chosen, but it crushed Mirdoll to admit it to himself.
“Doll, please leave. My son will be down here any second now. I don’t want him to meet you,” Darion said, looking away.
“Of course, Dar.” Mirdoll swallowed. “I still love you. I’d do anything to make you happy.”
“I appreciate it.”
Darion turned his back to Mirdoll and continued preparing the course. Mirdoll turned away, too, walking slowly back to the door. A sudden awareness of one of the croquet clubs lying in the grass made him think. Phoebus wasn’t here anymore. In a few minutes, Darion would notice. He’d go upstairs and find no one. Later, he would realize that his son had never been found and that he’d been the victim of another lie. Darion would not be happy; his heart would be broken, and he would grieve.
The thought that Darion, in the end, would feel anger and resentment toward him—instead of the small fraction of love he was certain was still there—made Mirdoll nauseous. Unable to breathe. He’d rather it all ended here, where there still was some understanding between them.
He silently picked up the club. It was heavier than he’d thought. It weighed on his heart and conscience, yet he felt it the better option.
Walking slowly back toward Darion, he lifted the club up over his head.