This face. This face is a curse. Those deep dead dark uncaring piercing eyes of mine. The fine outline of my eyebrows. The sweet curve of my lips as I'm forming a smile. My pointed nose. My flawless skin. I'm looking for any signs of imperfection in them as I stare at myself in the mirror. But I found none. They are all my curse.

I took the razor that had been lying quietly for a while now on the mirror table right in front of me. Oops have I woken it up from its' deep sleep? If I did, it should be happy now. For it is useful after all. And it begins. I pull the razor along the skin on my left cheek. I feel the sting. The excitement I've known too well. And now I'm moving to carve another wound on my right cheek. It's the same cycle.

And I wait.

The wound is now beginning to close up and reattach. The scars are diminishing second by second. All that was left now are only blood on my cheeks. I wipe them away. The pain had gone. Except for a little numbness. And I stare at my reflection. Again. That flawless skin. That beautiful face. What a curse.

It's time to use this curse for my own benefits. Victor Klaus, I'm coming for you. And you can't stop me.