I wanted to write an Octachel Beauty and the Beast AU, and got this crazy idea... Chapters!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. But Octavian is basically my character, all the good I've done.
There was something horribly wrong with him. Not just horrible, but horrific, and creepy, and... Odd. Really odd.
What Hecate said? A lot of mumbo jumbo about true love-like that would happen-and something about how the form had chosen him for a reason. Ugh. Why this? How this? He moved his hand. Broken glass. His foot. Broken glass. He shook his head. Broken glass. His entire being was broken glass. Shards fell as he moved. Random pieces. Some clear and brittle like a wine glass, some harder like a window, some reflective, like mirrors, some tinted dark, like beer bottles.
Why'd he look like this?
This wasn't him. How was this him? Was this him? Was this how he looked on the inside? Sharp and jagged, painful and grotesque. He picked up a fallen shard of mirror and examined the rest of him. His eyes were glass marbles, his hair broken pieces of of stained glass windows. His face seemed whole but was covered in cracks. He tapped it with his shard fingers. He taped it again. It was like a majorly cracked fish bowl. He tapped harder. It shattered. He screamed, hitting the ground. Then he realized...
Immortality. He couldn't die.
"I should stop screaming." He muttered, realizing, also, that he could still see. He raised the shard again, twisting it around to see better. His face had reconfigured itself. It was now a mound of broken glass. He opened his mouth to speak and shuddered. It was strange.
He walked around, getting used to this new form.
What does it mean?
It was odd.
Uncomfortable.
Unfathomable.
Why this?
Why not a monster with large teeth and ugly fur?
Why not talking tea pots? That would make him crazy...
He realized that he was talking to his reflection. He was crazy.
This wasn't a disney movie! It wasn't a fairy tale.
This was ridiculous. He pumped his fist. A shard of beer bottle flew up and hit him in the glass eye. He flinched and scowled.
"WHY GLASS?" He screamed again. The screams came out garbled, and cracks formed on his skin.
"Why this glass?" He asked, a little more desperately, staring at the frustrating brown tint. In his mind he could see things.
How did his mind even work? Was it glass too? Was it even there? Huh...
He saw his dad throwing bottles at the wall.
Yelling as he cried.
Naive little brat. Crying. That's what got you into that mess.
He couldn't help crying now.
All that pain.
The memories, and the awful crunch when her moved.
Have you ever seen blown glass tear drops? Some people hang em on Christmas trees.
Several fell from his eyes now, breaking on the ground in thousands of colorful pieces.
The sight mesmerized him, and for awhile he just sat on the ground watching the moon glisten on them. As he watched, calming down some how, he tried to figure things out.
If this was him, if this was somehow him, who was he? What was he?
Magic could do strange things, but apparently, this was what he'd been all along. How?