it’s something of a cliché to say that we all think we’re monsters [pike’ahlia]
It is not so hard a thing, to see yourself reflected in the facets of others; she has seen herself in her the strained lines of her brother’s laugh and the twist of his shoulder when he throws a dagger and the roll of his silent feet upon the earth. She knows how to find her own doubt in Keyleth’s bold uncertainty, and her lingering shadows in Percy’s stalwart refusal to speak of the past, and her brimming anger in Grog’s rage-blind eyes. Even Scanlan’s gilded tongue holds slivers of her silvered speech.
For all this familiarity, rough-edged figures cut from cloth that is not the same but similar, is something different to see it in Pike.
Pike does not wear her similarities outwards; she holds them tight inside, and if it were not for Vex’s sharp eye (and that is hers; that she shares with none of them, the keen glance, the discernment, the quiet certainties about the pressing world) she would not know it. But Vex’s eyes are quick and clever, and Pike is not so good at hiding as she likes to think.