[Requiem] [William] Such a pretty face

[yoda-ic.livejournal.com]

He'd had such a pretty face when he'd met her. Hardly a darling or a nancy, but that abstract natural beauty some men had. Just a hint, the way his eyes looked at you, the shape of his mouth - he stood out just a bit above the norm.

For over three hundred and thirty years he'd borne the same face, never-changing. Every rent, tear and scar dissolved back into its perfect form each evening as he awoke.

Perhaps it was a story similar to his that inspired Oscar Wilde to write of Dorian Gray. But he was not Dorian, his beauty was not so sublime. It was subtle, depicted through his form.

And yet, he despised it. What use was it to look pretty? Who would be there to care? He'd lost almost all he cared about in the last year.

He touched his face, felt the scars - the horrible rents left by the nomad's claws. They would suffice. He would change. By his own will and mind.

William stood, focusing his will on the ragged claw marks on his face. Soon he would show the world his new face. His true face.

Beauty didn't matter, it had never mattered. And now he will tell the world that. He will rip asunder their assumptions, their presumptions. It is past time for the price to be paid.