Edited for punctuation and minor stylistic elements. I… am not particularly happy with this. Beyond is one of the harder character types for me to write, mainly because I normally change my mind to resemble whoever I'm writing, and with Beyond… not such a good idea. Anyway, eleutheriac, here is Beyond, though you've already seen it. Hope everyone enjoys.
The world is made of glass.
Different kinds of glass, of course. But still glass. Still distorting, hiding, reflecting, tinting, changing. Beyond thinks that the glass he's made of must be unusual, have something special added to it, because he can see the reflection of people, names and lives, that must be coming from another dimension. Or perhaps other humans have all lost something.
Either way he is above them. Beyond them.
He'd love his name, if only it wasn't for the initial.
But the glass—he hates that. Deception, exception, changes, they're all just lies. His whole life has been lies. You can be L. You'll love being L. He hated being L, and then they told him he wasn't, anyway. You're not good enough to be L.
No, he thinks. I can not be L. I am already Beyond. Beyond, L. He wonders if his parents were special glass, too, with the foresight to name him what he was. They must have known or seen something, had some way to know what he was. They weren't special the way he was, he was sure; but they were special somehow.
Special or not, though, Beyond hated glass. All it did was lie. In different ways, and different amounts, but it still lied. Tinted glass like reporters and human minds, that shaded everything seen through it, until you didn't even notice the shading anymore, and believed it was true. Mirrors, that put the past in front of you and the future nowhere at all. Warped glass, like politics and media and the funhouses that Beyond had never liked, that everyone knew made things look unrecognizable, but accepted or denied anyway, just because they liked the image it showed or not. One-way glass, where one person could see through as if it was only slightly tinted, and the other saw as if it were a mirror. Even clear, unnoticeable glass, even viewing an event yourself, was still a lie. There were still flaws, it was still seen through something, faded or twisted, maybe in just the tiniest detail, but still changed, still a lie. Even Beyond's own eyes, with their own form of glass—magic glass, maybe, that showed him something that wasn't there, or a TV screen, showing him something real, but far away. Even those were glass, and even they hid and changed and lied.
Beyond hated lies.
He knew that he was better than L. He knew people said he wasn't.
He knew the glass was the source of the lies. He knew the world was made of glass.
But he also knew that glass can be broken.