The mimic is a young one, and you knew that from the moment you laid eyes on it. It was disguised as a crate, but the angles werenāt quite right. The corners were a little lopsided, and if you looked hard enough you could make out the creatureās mouth.
A sigh escapes you as you toss over the last of your rations, not even bothering to stand up as you do so. Whatās the point? You think. Iāve been trapped in this cave for days, nobody is looking for me, and the monsters are closing in. Why should I bother even trying? I could just fall asleep now, and let this little mimic eat me too.
The thing isā¦ it doesnāt. It eats your rations, but when you lay down and try to sleep, it doesnāt attack. You do hear it move closer, but you donāt open your eyes until you feel something nudge your hand. As you barely open your eyes, you can see that the mimic has morphed itself into a crude sword. You canāt help but chuckle.
āYouāre cute, but I donāt have anything left to give you.ā You donāt have anything left to give for yourself either, but you donāt say so.
The mimic doesnāt seem to take no for an answer. It becomes a dagger, then an axe, then a staff, as though itās trying to determine what your preffered weapon is.
āListen, I donāt know what youāre trying to do, but itās not working. Iām not going to pick you up and take you into some other part of this stupid cave system. Nice try, though.ā
You turn away from it and attempt to sleep again. As you do so, you find yourself shivering. You really wish, as you doze off, that you had a blanket.
When you wake, much later, youāre surprised to find yourself covered with the warmest blanket youāve ever had. You quickly sit up, eagerly hoping that someone had cone for you, but the cave is empty. When you look at the blanket, you notice the imperfect edges and the janky seam across the middle.
āā¦why havenāt you eaten me yet?ā You ask the little mimic thatās now laying on top of you. āWhatās wrong with you?ā
The mimic, still in the form of the blanket, slithers off of you, but it does not respond. Instead, it begins taking the form of weapons again. When it turns into a crooked staff, you reach out, despite yourself. Your fingers wrap around it and you use it to haul your aching, injured body to your feet. āI guess there are probably nicer places to die.ā
You know you wonāt get far. And you donāt. Especially not without light. The mimic doesnāt seem too bothered, though. When you collapse again, it scuttles off. Perhaps this was simply where it wanted you to take it. Perhaps now you can finally succumb to your exhaustion.
Then, a few minutes later, a misshapen clay cup bumps against your hand. Itās full of water, and thereās a crack in the middle like a jagged mouth. You pick up the cup and you drink, telling yourself itās only out of desperation. When you set the cup down, that little cracked mouth seems to smile.
This goes on for what feels like days. The mimic helps you limp along through the tunnels, transforming into whatever you may need at any given time. Every time you fall asleep, you expect not to wake up. Yet, you do, usually with a mimic blanket wrapped around you. It brings you food and water when you can.
The biggest surprise comes when one morning, you find youāre pleased to have survived another night. Youāre happy to have the mimic keeping you warm. Itās a new feeling, and a confusing one, but itās not unpleasant.
The other monsters that you know are down here seem to leave you alone for the most part. You arenāt sure why. It crosses your mind that maybe it has something to do with the mimic. Then again, maybe theyāre just waiting for you to die. Death is gradually beginning to sound less and less appealing.
The day you catch a glimpse of sunlight down a long and narrow tunnel is the first day you finally feel like your old self again. Your pace quickens, and you donāt need to lean on the mimicās staff form quite so much. The illusion shatters when you reach the lightās source. A small gap, high above. You curl up on the floor and cry. When you finally have the strength to look up again, your mimic has become a ladder.
Getting up is hard, in your state. Climbing, even more so. But the ladder is the biggest and best transformation the mimic has done so far, and if it wants you to get out, then you canāt let it down.
You feel it push up under you when you reach the gap. It helps you squeeze through, and thenā¦ freedom. Fresh air, and sunlight. You lay on your back on the stone, and you pass out.
You wake up at sunset, with a blanket draoed over you. A blanket with a jagged seam down the middle.
