Where… Who… No, what. What am I? What happened… Oh right, the fire. Those bullies. I know what I am. Beautiful. My old face was average. That isn't me. My new face is beautiful. She lied. She lied. Kill. Go to sleep. Go to…

"…sleep" Jeff whispered. He absently pushed Giszelle aside and stood up, walking toward the kitchen.

She kneeled on the couch, looking over the back of it to watch Jeff. "Are you okay?" she asked cautiously, a bit worried about him.

He did not respond. He walked slowly into the kitchen, opened a drawer, and pulled out a steak knife. After turning the blade over in his hands a few times, he nodded, smiling. He held the knife in his right hand, using his left index finger to trace the scars from his previously ever-present carved smile. Letting his hand fall to his side, he stared at the blade.

Giszelle jumped back as Jeff spun in place and walked toward her. However, rather than approaching er, he turned toward the downstairs bathroom. He switched the overhead light on as he entered, and turned to face the mirror that took up the wall above the sink. What he saw flickered back and forth between what he looked like before what had happened nine years in the past. And what he had looked like ever since.

This was too much. He picked up a ceramic soap dish and struck the mirror with it. The glass did not shatter; instead, a spider web of cracks covered the entirety of it, the impact point at the center of the glass web. Jeff's broken reflection had stopped flickering, at least. He used a larger section of the broken mirror to see what he was doing, and traced his scars with the steak knife. After a minute the sink was splattered with blood, as well as the front of his hoodie. He laughed. His smile was once again unable to fade.

He turned toward the door. His laughter died as he caught sight of Giszelle in the doorway. Pulling his hood up in such a way that it shadowed his black eyes, he frowned to the best of his ability. He looked into her wide, blue, worry-filled eyes for a moment, then shoved her aside and left the room. He growled "Get out of here!" over his shoulder and walked quickly out into the living room.

Despite Jeff's warning, Giszelle followed him. She stepped in front of him. "Tell me what's wrong, Jeff!"

He looked into her eyes once more. Instead of the woman he loved, however, he saw his old self; the only similarity was her hair color, but that was enough. His knife hand twitched, and he shoved her back with his other hand. She stumbled from the force behind the push, and fell over onto her back. She realized then that Jeff was no longer the Jeff she knew, but she still loved him, and wanted to try to help him. Propping herself up on her elbows, Giszelle opened her mouth to speak. Jeff put his index finger up to his lips to shush her, and then half-jumped onto her, pinning her arms against her sides with his knees.

"You can't come back," he said matter-of-factly.

"Jeff…" Giszelle whispered, almost pleadingly.

He held the index finger of his knife hand up to his lips. His hood had fallen back, his eyes were wide, and he had a mad grin on his face. "Shh…" He slowly lifted his knife to her face. She struggled, turning her head away. He held her head in place with his free hand. She was terrified; she could not make a sound, and did not even notice the pain when he began slowly and carefully carving a smile onto her flawless face. Her mind caught up as he finished making her smile look identical to his own, and she let out a terrified whimper. He chuckled darkly, positioning the knife carefully so it was directly over her heart. "Just… Go… To… Sleep…" Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in a silent scream, as Jeff's knife pierced her heart.