Chapter Text
He was not self-centered, thank you. He was simply…
A man of perfection.
Well, he wanted to be. He wasn't, though, and that needed to change.
He needed perfection.
A perfect face.
A perfect body.
A perfect life.
He had none of those, however.
That was going to change.
That was what the mirrors were for. Two angled at his eyes, another four at all angles of his chin, three at his nose, about six different mirrors for his cheekbones and jaw.
He needed it to, or else he would be driven insane.
He had no room to doubt his methods now.
Not with all the money spent on tweezers, and makeup, and
pliers, and
scalpels. So many scalpels.
He was lucky to never scar.
He was too perfect for scars.
His wife would not love him if he were not perfect.
His daughter would not adore him if he were not perfect.
His father-in-law, though…
That man would love no one. Not ever, he was sure.
But he was different. For he was as perfect as perfect could get in this house.
He just needed to watch his weight,
and his features,
his attitude.
He could do that. For now, however, he would work on it. He would work harder for the love of his two girls.
Whom he has not seen for a while now.
Would his daughter still recognize him, he wondered?
Why wouldn't she? He is her father. She should always recognize her father, just as he would always recognize her.
He'd need to pretty her up a bit, though. Last he'd seen her, she had her mother's ugly chin.
And her arms were just too boney, he swore! She needed some weight to her size. She seemed far too small.
He could fix that, just as he could fix himself.
Where was she now? Her bedroom was in the attic, wasn't it? Spoiled little girl, getting a whole room to herself. An entire floor! She deserved it, however. Anyone with his genes deserved the world. Just like him.
He'd been staring at himself for too long again by the time he shook himself out of his thoughts.
He went down the list of his reminders—
-His name was Morgan (Mason? No no, Morgan. His wife called him that constantly. Always shouting.)
-His wife's name was Hope
-His father-in-law was a dick and named as such. Fucking Richards.
Morgan took a deep breath, reminded himself that he as perfect as perfect could get, and turned toward the bathroom door.
Would his daughter want to see him now? When he was still too imperfect?
She should, for she is his daughter.
She should love him just as he loves her.
But still, he hesitated.
This bathroom was his safe space, with all his tools and his mirrors.
It was his bubble of perfection-making.
But his daughter, his darling daughter was outside this bubble.
She shouldn't be, though.
She needed to be perfected, too, didn't she know? Did she even care about her looks? Of course not, she was…
Seven?
Eight?
…F—ive?
She was far too young to be worrying about such things. She would be taught perfection when she grew older. When she should be looked at.
Around twenty, maybe? No, no, she'd have to be taught the basics earlier than that! Maybe seventeen or so. That was when he'd begun teaching himself, and look at him now!
As perfect as perfect could get.