A laboratory of invention, a home for stream of consciousness scribbles, passages of undetermined length, and discombobulated story fragments.
Updated Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
I miss the days when I looked into my polished steel mirror and saw myself. I never looked very attractive, and I was content. I had accepted that I looked like a gaunt old man even in my twenties. I came to be comfortable in my reflection, in the contours of my cheeks and nose, my deep set eyes and attenuated eyebrows and receding hairline. Those were the good days, but I didn't consider them so, back then.
I used my prowess and knowledge of alchemy to enact change. I suppose this retelling will be somewhat of a confession. With years of study and experimentation on animals, and admittedly, some people too, by slipping my compounds into their drinks my the local tavern, The Potted Jester, I perfected an antidote to metamorphose ones appearance.
The change is slow, over the course of about a year, but it is permanent. There is no return to one's previous form. The cocktail, however, can be altered, and imbibed many times over. I have changed my appearance seven times now.
Today, when I look into a polished steel mirror, I do recognise the person looking back at me.