Lucio Albornoz had intended to pass by the mirror with thwarted gaze, but as he drew closer to it, he seemed to discern from it a faint swahilic emanition. Appalled, his stygian eyes commenced to glaze fishily. He crossed over to the mirror in a daze, and turned to stare at his charred and withered figure in the ineptitude of his delusional revelation, his nappy hair and hooked nose brutally exposing him as a scion of the cursed hamito-semitic race. He touched his wrist, but found it cold, stiff, and without pulse. His sunken and sallow cheeks paled again, and his thick lips dropped open, disclosing the repulsively rotten fangs of his bilious cavity. Then, all at once, his horrible eyes, even swarthier than the exsiccated face in which they were set, opened wide with an uninterpretable expression. His cracked negroid lips tried to frame the dark words emitting from his twisted mouth, utterings mumbled in an oblique manner, which no mere human could fathom; still he himself was at a loss to gather the purport of his incoherent rantings. At his evident ignorance of his own illation, his nubian eyes once more flashed malevolently, until, helpless as he saw himself to be, he trembled.
 
 When his resolve returned, everything around him was ghastly dark, and his shrivelled mind, recalling what had occurred, eschewed the idea of scrutinising further; yet curiosity was his master. 
 
 `Who,' he asked himself, `was this hideous monster, and how could he have become it?'
 
 His torch flickered, the light revealing the distorted and blackened form of vxp, his eyes now closed. His fervous visage had, for a moment, expunged from his horrid eyes the hatred that had at first haunted them so, but his singularly malignant glare returned, prompted by some sub-saharan conception of Self-hood, and with a shocking sound, like the hissing of a guinea, he broke through the enchantment that had hitherto held him centred upon his own reflection, and pressed his now dying torch at the body that haunted his existence, and his rotten tunic caught fire and lit the horrid scene with a funereal glow. A shriek of horror and impotent malice emitted from his pungent gape, and he expectorated a smelly discharge that proved too much for his already weakened state. He lost grip of the torch, just as he collapsed upon the muculent floor. It is impossible to say what necrotic depth his body had attained, but soon enough his remains penetrated the floor and seeped into the ground beneath. The event, under the circumstances, was tremendous; for in the presence of a sub-terranean void, Lucio's derangements met with a terrible confirmation.
 
 Granted, there is quite an absurdity in examining the case of Lucio Albornoz; one might as well examine a non-existent thing ... which was exactly what he had become. No longer Lucio, no longer vxp, now without shape, an inverted being, a nefarious scheme of gigantic undulating masses; a sullid shimmering foam, an oozing foam of black disintegration, existing in a state of raging abject formlessness. Whereas the monster is an aberration of nature, this was an aberration of the mind ...

© 2023 acidvegas, inc • generated with stagit