The creature nodded back and gestured again with its hand. A new silhouette started to form behind him. This time it was a man, so similar to himself. He did not turn at first. Gathering the courage even against this copy of the person. But he did have to face him as well.

  'It was yours too, Father,' he finally turned to the figure. 'You and your behavior. You and I, we never were close. You were always closed to me emotionally. Never let me close, although I guess when I got to some parts of my life, you kind of tried to use them to connect. Making yourself "useful.". Like when I got my first tools home for some crafting projects. You suddenly took great interest in what I was doing. Otherwise, there was not much that you would show me about yourself. Well, except of course,' he drew Anger from its sheath. The vines started crawling upwards on his skin.

  'This. You never told me how you got this blade. Was it a family heirloom? Was it something that was given out by your own father? You created it? I do not know, and it does not matter now. Wolf told me something back then: "It may have been your father's, but it's yours now." He was right. This curse of yours is now mine to bear.' He squeezed the hilt of the blade hard as he remembered how his father "wielded" it. He pointed to the figure with the sword.

  'Honestly? With Mother, my problems are complicated. I could go on for hours about what hurt me. How did those things shape me, but you?' He chuckled sourly. 'With you, it is painfully simple! FEAR! That's the strongest feeling I have towards you! A father should be a point of safety in a kid's life! Tell me, how was I supposed to feel safe while I heard you shouting outside, beating her up! Tell me, how was I supposed to feel safe while I heard glass shatter, wood breaking, and hits being thrown all the while I was with my brother in his room, trying to calm him down! Tell me, does a child feel safe when he feels that he has to bring a BLUDGEON to the market, fearing that you would come after them and READYING HIMSELF TO....' He stopped. He noticed the vines crawling up too high. He closed his eyes, touching the blade's hilt. Feeling its texture. Its weight. It was a deadly instrument, but right now it was an anchor to reality. He opened his eyes and tried to notice the details in craftsmanship. After a minute, the vines slipped back on his body. Feeling in control again, he let the memories return to his mind and continued. He had to see it done.

  'Do you know how many times I cried myself to sleep? Making scenarios in my head about if you would turn your anger against me or my brother, how should I put you down? Permanently. Of course there was no real chance for you to hurt us, but tell that to that fourteen-year-old in his bed! I never felt more fearful for my life than in those times. It all changed once I became the disciple of Sir Lionel, but the damage was done! I never could look up to you as a male role model, and you were the only one close by until then. I still do not know to this day: why did you change? Was it because you realized the error in your ways, or was it because you knew that I would stand up to you now and you did not want that regardless of the outcome? Did you even knew that you were the reason I started that course?! To be able to stop you?! How messed up is that! And did you know, or ever suspect, my biggest fear?!' He took a step closer and looked into the eye of the construct.

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  'It was,' he said. 'To look into the mirror one morning and realize that I had become just like you! A hollow man, without goals, fueled only by rage and sadness!'

  The figure moved and stood beside the other one. It was surprising, but not unwelcome. For this next part, was meant for them both.

  'What a fine pair you are! One gave me mental terror; the other made me fear for my life! Never once had I felt that you were proud of me! None of you!' He stopped for a moment, thinking. Was it true? Were they not proud when he finished his studies? Or when he accomplished something on his own?

  'No, that's not the truth. Not entirely, at least. You were proud of your son. Of how good I did in my studies, how good I can take care of myself and my brother, and my goals for my future. At least for some parts of it. But the thing is, that was not me. That was the part you wanted to see. The person you wanted me to be and pushed me, almost by any means to be. The son. But everything else? The man of who I was, or what I wanted to be? You always despised that. You were always ashamed of that. Both of you always dismissed the parts you did not want to see.' He looked at the constructs with a sour face. So many things to say still, so many events that hurt him. He looked at the Hollow.

  'Here's another truth. One that I never told anyone. These feelings, whenever I think about you or my childhood. They are tearing me apart. It's like a parasite, grinding away my happiness little by little. Am I predestined to feel this way? How could I be someone better with all these memories on my mind? I mean, I do know that I should give it meaning, make it a lesson of some sort, but how? How could I move on from this? Can I be different than you? Or no matter what I do, I will end up just like you two? Will I be just another soured, sad man with goals for my future that I never even tried to make come true? A husk of a person, not realizing he ended up being one long ago? Would you have ever been proud of me, the real me, at least for a moment?'

  Tears gathered in his eyes. This was the first time he let these emotions out of himself. It was bottled up so deep, because he felt he could never show this to anyone, fearing it would be a point of ridicule for others. Just another point to laugh at. And now that they were out, he did not know what to do with them. He fell to his knees, sobbing. Like that child in his bed, the thought crossed his mind.

  The Hollow felt his despair, but it did not satisfy it. Why? It did not understand it either. Was it all suffering when it came to his parents? And if so, why did it not feel anything? It saw something else. It was the two parents, in the man's mind. Another type of memory. It brought it out. That was when the two reflections held each other's hands.