When I was younger, I remember my mother had this mirror. We didn’t have much but we had her mirror. It was this ornate thing, the glass carved into beautiful shapes, inlaid with what looked like gold leaf but it probably wasn’t. It hadn’t cost her a credit, despite how it looked. It wasn’t worth anything in reality, but my mother she loved this mirror. It seemed that each passing day my mother revered this mirror more than the last.

When people came to visit she would show them the mirror first, as if to set the tone. Like she was saying “don’t worry about everything else going on in this house, this mirror is a reflection of it’s truth.”

I’ve never been a fan of mirrors. There’s something creepy about looking yourself in the eye and seeing yourself in the light of day, as you outwardly are. Mirrors don’t show the inside. Mirrors don’t show the real person behind that face.

I hated my mothers mirror. She quite literally put it up on a pedestal as a glorified ideal, as a token of her contribution to Arcadia, as a representation of her existence. She held it up as something more than a mirror.

People held you up too didn’t they, Arcadia? And you, Destructo. People put you on a pedestal too. Presented you as something more than human. As a representation of Arcadia. A glorified ideal. But that mirror didn’t show the real people behind those faces. They can’t show what you are inside. You looked yourself in the eyes in that mirror and you didn’t like  seeing yourself as you outwardly were.

You found it creepy, didn’t you?

When people found OSW, they’d show you first, to set the tone. As if to say “don’t worry about everything else going on in Arcadia, these two heroes are a reflection of the truth.”

It seemed that each passing day Arcadia revered you both more than the last.

Until the mirror cracked. And when a mirror cracks, it becomes something new. Something warped. Something grotesque. The cracks begin to represent the chinks in that armour. They let people see past that facade and into the REAL you. A cracked mirror does let people see the inside. It does show the real person. That perfect illusion is shattered and the real freak comes out to play.

That’s why I cracked my mothers mirror. It sold a lie. It held up my family as false idols, just as the mirror of Arcadia held you both up as heroes. But my family was no more a fancy aristocratic family than you both were heroes, and it was only right that I let out the truth of my family as you felt the need to let out the real shitbags inside yourselves.

No more lying. No more putting on that unblemished air of grace. People can finally see the real you, and I know just where the crowds will love you for it.

Welcome to the freak show! Let us show you The Way!