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Arson hopped off of his bed on all fours, roaming his room, before he sat on the ground instead. His stomach hurt, and he remembered her. Her, and everything else that made him lesser. His hand reached upwards, giving a hesitant touch to the scarring that covered half his face, stopping at the base of his horn as his left eye began to water.
He hissed and his tail flicked. That was it, the motivation. He couldn't let that fire side out, not permanently, and not after what happened that day. He shuddered and shook his head, then pushed himself to glamour. Good. That was it. When pushing away fire wasn't enough, falling into humanity was perfect. What was better than being someone entirely new?
He stretched his legs out where he sat on the ground. He'd never get used to the body shape, even though he preferred it otherwise. He stood and ran to his closet, hastily putting on a sweater. He could go now, get out, be a person for a few hours. It was better than thinking.
But it wasn't like he'd just done this, just now, only now. He'd glamoured tons in the week, tons yesterday, and he was doing it again. He hissed in pain as his body desperately began to force itself back, but he kept the glamour up regardless. So what? He wasn't a stranger to fighting himself.
He bolted to his mirror next and for once, only while he was alone, he shifted his hair to the side to look at himself. Somehow, with human skin, that scarring didn't look so vile. He didn't look so vile. And his horns weren't there at all to look so sharp and broken. No tail, no claws, no vile mixture of elements.
Until, of course, his vision blurred with a sharp pain shooting through his body. He bared his teeth and shut his eyes tightly. An involuntary hiss left him, and when he could see again, he was.. him.
His pointed ears drooped and he immediately pulled his hair back down to cover what it needed to. He hissed with blown eyes to his reflection, and stumbled tiredly to his bed. Hilarious of him to believe he'd get an outing, another good day after he'd pushed himself so hard.
He shuddered and felt a much duller pain take over his body, accompanied by an unfortunately comfortable warmth. He lost his glamour for today, and gained red fur and flame instead. He curled up without even reacting, his tail curling behind him.
"Its not even her fault. I did it to myself. She saw me do it. I remember it too." He whispered to himself. It was true. His horns had gone by his own hand. She had only ever left him with two scars. Technically. Technically it was his hand, but not his mind. Or was it? He couldn't remember. That moment in the memory was so hazy, but she told him then that it was him.
She knew better than him what happened that day. In general, too. Who didn't? It was the last of his drifting thoughts before he fell asleep, having exhausted himself far to the limit. This was the best situation anyways, considering it was the only way he managed to sleep as of recent.
Maybe tomorrow he'd feel up to it, up to disguising himself in another glamour to get away. Even in his dreams he couldn't get that freedom. So he thought, without truly thinking, and hoped tomorrow would be better. It just had to be.