Barns stares at his reflection. It's him, but it's wrong. The fact that it just walked out of a mirror seconds ago all but proves that.
Compared to the real Barns, its shoulders are broader, its arms thicker with segmented chitin, and its fingers are tipped with jagged pincers. Speckled flecks glint across its skin, scattered like barnacles on a shipwreck. A fitting detail.
What interests Barns most about the figure is its pendant. Hanging from its thick neck is the object of his trial - a glowing, cursed gold medallion.
"Hello, BARNACLES."
Its voice is his, but not quite. There's a deeper, gravelly resonance, an echo of something both familiar and alien. And crabby.
"Is this one of those 'defeat yourself to grow stronger' moments?" Barns smirks. "Can't we talk it out? You're me, right? So you should appreciate a good pow-wow."
