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"Sometimes, a cigar was just a cigar."
That's a quote misattributed to the human psychologist Sigmund Freud which, had the ugly duckling known it, she'd have made sure to use it often. It would have resonated: Things truly are just the way they are, sometimes. Alas, she had little interest in human psychology, psychology, or humans, for that matter. She had better things to think about. Or rather, a single better thing to think about. The reflection in the mirror. It looked back at her.
That was what she did in the many hours she had to herself, when she wasn't wallowing in sorrow or bemoaning her lot in life. The figure beyond the glass was intoxicating. There were no other words she could've used to describe what she saw, even if she tried.
She was often miserable, or terribly melancholic, or had episodes of terrible despair. Not for any reason in particular, really. She was free to do almost anything, and the houseservants saw to all her needs and wants. It was just the way she was. But every time she looked at a reflection of herself, a huge weight was lifted off her chest. She saw something in the mirror, and everything was right in the world for just that moment, until, inevitably, she'd look away and forget what it was.
That was the routine. Her servants made sure to keep mirrors in a few rooms around the manor, to provide her with relief from her discontent, but they were covered most of the time, for she could become entranced for hours, even days once captured by her reflection. She would not starve or wither in such a state, but all agreed, it was better to keep her indulgences short: She was more lucid in her ever-rising depression than looking-glass stupor.
And in that moment, when someone turned the mirror aside or distracted her from it, her glazed eyes would fixate on them with the intensity of the sun, her attention pouring over them like a tidal wave. The complete focus of a greater being like the ugly duckling was dangerous. Sometimes, it killed. Sometimes, it turned whoever disturbed her into a foul thing.
And sometimes, it did absolutely nothing at all.
When family visited, it was always for a reason. A favour, or an obligation. Something she needed to do. She would be brought away from her home, her servants, and take a small glimpse at whatever the problem was. She couldn't deny it. She had little use otherwise, and in the hierarchy, she had gotten the short end of the stick. Sometimes she was helpful, her talent necessary, the prodigal child who was happy she could please her parents or siblings. Sometimes she was the useless bag of meat.
Recently, she had been the latter about four times as often as the former, but it wasn't always like that. Her undivided attention was something that had helped through the more troublesome years of the family business.
A stranger smoked as he looked into the horizon, at the hordes and hordes of the recently reanimated stampeding towards him. A rival group, threatening nearby operations.
The necromancy war made for chaotic times, yes, but they weren't necessarily good for her family's business. Undeath got in the way of their plans. The stranger took a drag, and then ordered.
"Do it, Shoggoth."
She looked the same direction the stranger had, squinting her eyes. Trying to get a better look.
And then, there wasn't an army anymore.
Some would mistake True Sight as an extreme act of atheism. Perhaps. It would've been paradoxical for the ugly duckling to be a atheist, though perhaps her mother would have found her more amusing if she had been. But in truth, it was a simple thing. Merely seeing things as they are.
The undead look like corpses. Therefore, they are.
She returns to staring at the mirror, warding off her own incessant thoughts. Remembering the past had its virtues, but more often than not, it would inevitably open past scars. The necromancy war was both her highest point, and lowest. Family visits stopped being as common. It was a dark day when clockworks turned from sacks of ambulating flesh to... clockworks.
She sighed, and once again, lost herself in the reflection.