Breathe, the man told himself as he pressed through the crowded streets.

    Breathe, he thought as the other people on the street eyed him as he passed, their gaze flitting over him and then away nervously.

    Breathe, it was like some incantation that would keep him safe, and it just might, for a time. He probably had another couple months before his lungs collapsed but until then he could keep up the charade. There was little, though, that he could do about his skin or hair, and he was certain more than one passerby saw through the hair and make-up for what he really was. Months back, he himself had been one of those people, hurrying along, glancing nervously at everyone he passed, looking for the signs, for disguises. From time to time an alarm would be raised and people would hurry to watch the guards go about their work. Most of the time it was a false alarm but every once in a while…

  A metallic screech rent the air and a harsh, yellow light flooded over him. His eyes strained to adjust but didn’t quite seem able to manage it anymore. Strong hands gripped his shoulders and their fingers sank deep into the numerous layers of padding he had to use to make the clothes fit.

  Breathe, he thought, though panic was setting in and a haze began to settle on his mind, making it harder to think. He was so tired, all he wanted to do was get home. Yes, if they would only let him go home he could go to bed and wake up the next day as though none of this had ever happened.

  Those strong hands pushed him aside and he fell out of the light. It took him a moment to reorient himself, and when he finally blinked back the last of the vision spots it was already over. The guards stood over a mound of fallen clothes and a hair piece, and beneath it, he knew, was a pile of thick, greasy dust: all that remained of the poor Unfortunate.

  Such will be my end if I don’t get going, he thought to himself and hurried away.

  The rest of the trip was a blur. The fear and the haze in his mind didn’t diminished, it wouldn’t until the next day dawned, and it was all he could do just to get home and lock the door. The sun was just beginning to set.

  He welcomed the darkness of his home. Light became more and more of an annoyance with each passing day. Regardless, he lit a few two-hour candles to keep up appearances before he went downstairs. Cold earth felt good against his feet. He ran his hand along one of the walls, letting the soil run between his fingers. He breathed deep, remembering a time when he could still smell the freshness of it all.

  Barrels and crates lined the far wall, stacked on top of the other things. He didn’t dare throw them out in case they should be discovered and lead the authorities back to him. He made his way over to the small alcove set into the wall behind the barrels and crates. He checked the chains and their anchors before strapping himself in, locking the chains together with thick padlocks. Once in place he could hang freely, almost comfortably, while he waited for the insanity of night to pass. He had the keys to the locks, of course, and he could let himself out once the sun had risen. But while the insanity was upon him, he would never even think to try and unlock himself.

  He hung, swinging back and forth gently to a tune he hummed to himself while he waited for the haze in his mind to overwhelm him. It wouldn’t be long now, perhaps another minute or so.

  Someone knocked on his door.

  Panic. From time to time the guards would do night checks to make sure no one was hiding an Unfortunate relative. He had at best another five minutes of sanity. At worst he’d be able to finish unchaining himself in time for him to lose his mind. Either way if he didn’t go up and answer his door they’d know something was wrong. No one left candles burning while they were out; they were too expensive a commodity.

  Quick as he could, he undid his fetters and raced back up the stairs. The panic induced a brief moment of lucidity but it would only hasten the approach of his curse. He composed himself behind the door.

  Breathe, he thought and pulled his door open.

  A monster stood before him. Pale, almost translucent skin hung from a skeletal body. The creatures eyes were sunken and the false hair piece did little to hide the fact that the creature was completely bald.

  “Let me in,” a strangely human female voice demanded.

  He stumbled back, and as he did, he realized he was in fact looking at a mirror. The woman who had spoken lowered the mirror and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

  “I know your secret,” She said. “You will hide me or your secret stops being so.”

  True Mirrors, while extremely rare, were the only sure way to identify an Unfortunate. The secrets to crafting them were known only to a select few and fewer still could afford the expense. Mundane mirrors were common enough, though they reflected the same as what people saw. Occasionally a person could get a glimpse of a True Self through a mundane mirror, but only ever out of the corner of the eye and never on purpose.

  So, as the woman relocked the door and placed her mirror inside a satchel slung over her shoulder, he watched her with uncertain eyes. Her skin was pink and lively. Her hair was thick and flowing. He could see the pulse in her neck where her blood still flowed and her breath came in strong, steady puffs. She’d been running. From what, he could only imagine. The haze seemed to be clearing and while he knew that could not be, he also recognized what it meant moments too late.

  His body gained a stiffness it hadn’t had before. His eyes hurt from the candle light and a dull rage began to build in his mind as the flickering light tormented him. The woman tensed as he began to edge toward her. A part of him fought against it, tried to make himself go back downstairs where he could chain himself up, but night had fallen in full and its power held sway over him.

  “Get back,” She warned, though the next words she spoke fell on deaf ears as his fall into darkness became complete.

  He lunged with speed that would have been impossible for a normal human. She tried to cry out, to call for help but he was upon her. She struggled with her bag, shoving it between the two of them as they fought. His jaws gnashed at her pulsing throat, inches away, spittle flecking her face. She got one of her hands inside the bag and, with her other hand, she pushed him off of her.

  She rolled away from him, rising to her feet and planting a booted kick to his face before finally withdrawing something from her bag.

  Pain as he’d never experienced it before erupted in his head, though not from the kick. Bright as the sun, a beam of light extended from the object in her outstretched hand. Lucidity returned to his mind. He had been in the process of standing back up when the beam of light hit him and he crumpled back down to his knees.

  “Can you understand me?” She panted.

  He nodded, whimpering at the pain. It was so great he couldn’t move.

  “Speak!” She commanded.

  “Yes,” The word jumped from his mouth at the shock of being spoken to so loudly. Surely someone would have heard their fight, be coming to investigate. They should hide, soon, or they’d both be forfeit.

  “Where do you pass the nights?” She asked.

  He turned toward the basement and she motioned for him to move that way. He began to crawl. She was careful to keep the light on him. It didn’t matter if it shone in his eyes or not, the mere presence of such a bright light was enough to keep him sane for the time being.

  He led her down into the basement and she forced him into a standing position once inside the alcove. She held the light in her mouth, keeping him illuminated, while she chained him up. At last she lowered the light and the haze and the darkness crashed back down upon him. He struggled against his bonds, desperate to get at her, so close he could almost taste her. She watched him for a long time as he fought before turning and going back upstairs.