A/N: I do not own pokemon.
Very angst-y take on beauty evolution.
Beautiful
I always wanted to be beautiful.
Trainer, I will never forget the day you saved my life, when your pokeball saved me from the jaws of a hungry carvanha. You rushed me to a nurse and promised me you didn't mind the scars I'd accumulated from the years in the wild. It never occurred to me that you'd lie.
Trainer, I will never forget how you told me that I was ugly, but would be beautiful someday. You pampered me beyond compare; you showered me with gifts; you fed me tasty, sticky treats; you taught me what a "beauty score" was. I became more and more beautiful by that score, yet you never called me anything but ugly, even when I maxed out that beauty score. Then the battles began.
I knew I would be beautiful someday.
Trainer, I will never forget the battles you put me through, the many losses and the few, sweet wins. I knew then what you truly cared about, and I was afraid of you. So great was my fear that, when it was my time to evolve, something went horribly, horribly wrong. And when I saw the scorn in your eyes, I wished I never came into existence.
I was supposed to be beautiful.
Human, I will never forget how you threw me back where I came from, shouting hate-filled words at my retreating form. You tried to get your sharpedo to kill me, but I escaped from its jagged jaws and swam to freedom, swam far away from my old home. Eventually, my attacker felt the pull of its pokeball. I no longer had such a limitation.
And I will never forget how I cried when I hauled my new, elongated body out of the water and looked down at my reflection. How I slashed at the calm surface, wishing beyond words that the creature looking up at me wasn't really me. I was a milotic, but my body was still scarred like the form I left. I wasn't beautiful.
I will never be… beautiful.