In Whose Image.

I was the youngest of all of my brothers;
I was sickly and small and ill-timed.
Because I could not run so fast or think so cleverly
I was abandoned to die in the elements alone.
I reside in the darkness where I can find some shelter;
A cave of stench and stagnation and slime.
Into the pool my eyes behold a reflection
Sickly and small and ill-formed.
Skin ashen and meat clinging only loosely to bone.
In whose image was this creature forged?
Through what horror was his countenance so deformed?