Book 1: Jake Earth’s Transmission
When it mimics you, the experience a Mimik creates is perfectly corrupted. A Mimik knows your world and keeps current with it, a constant state of adjustion, its innovation effortless and innate. An evil reflection, seductive and believable. The small company of us who have encountered several Mimiks agree that there’s a certain feel to every one of them, like the hand of a thief. We’re called Great Spirited, and our enemy is the Queen. She’s there constantly. It was a poor copy of my dead Mother standing there, and she was vicious and mean, but it was the Queen who held my gaze. Not that I knew it then.
I jolted half upright back against the headboard and wall. I jumped right out of my skin.
There was that promise of relief, that if I just fell before it, groveling, the feeling and the fear would be gone, anything for that! But there was also anger. My Mother stood watching me. Mimiks are silent. They can’t talk any better than your cat would. Or the spider your cat captures and eats.
I choked quietly, nearly vomiting words. My heart was racing with an icy hand gripping it, a cold sweat and tingling felt over my body. The walls around us stretched into colours reaching infinitely above us to blackness. I lay on my bed, sliding fast sideways endlessly across it, but it was moving and I wasn’t. The Black Despair was set upon me and around me. The Black Hope drove into me, pressing against me from all angles, hollowing me, promising sanctuary. It’s a lie of course. Betrayers drown in the Terror, and live in anguish.
The Mimik studied me, my experience known to it. It was still like a sentinel, or a long-limbed spider standing tall with legs drawn close. All felt in the Mimik’s presence, seen in my Mother’s dead eyes. I was smothered before it, blown away backwards, immobilized. Every grievance I ever had with my Mom was painted in her nature, and I felt incredible embarrassment. The Mimik walked toward me, coming around the side of my bed. I couldn’t move. I felt aroused in the presence of an aroused woman, her clothes falling from her. I felt guilty and sheepish, drunk. The Black Hope smiled kindly and caressed me. But the anger. The minotaur inside of me, stock still, was locked in direct eye contact with the Queen. It struck.