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He was hideously ugly, and the town made sure he'd never forget it. As a child, Sam lived mostly unaffected by his condition. But as he grew, and slowly integrated with society, he began to notice signs that something about him was...off. The loving smile of his mother segued into turned heads, scared eyes, and frowns of disgust of the townsfolk. Friends existed only as an abstract concept. Something he was aware of, but would always be just out of reach. His appearance was a prison of flesh; as long as he was himself, there would be no love. His place of rest and of work were the stables. The horses indifferent to his looks, they paid him no mind, though they remained in a state of constant edge around him. So Sam crept around them when he worked. His space held no mirrors, and he made sure to fill in any ruts in the paths he walked, lest rain puddles create cruel, reflective reminders of his misery. Sam often wondered why he was alive. Truly life itself was just some grand cosmic punishment for some past life transgression. But what good was punishment if he knew not what he'd done? What was the point of this? The stables themselves were owned by a man named Garrett. Garrett was old and half blind, and as such could engage Sam without too much revulsion. To call him kind would be an overstatement, but he treated Sam with an indifference that was actually appreciated. In life it's better to be disregarded than openly chastised. Sam never went into town for this reason, so it was much to his dismay when Garrett told him he needed an errand ran. He was too old to mount a horse anymore, he said, and Sam felt his heart drop. Knowing he couldn't really say no, Sam agreed and cloaked himself in his oversized, baggy hood. It had been many years since his last trip, and that particular venture had ended with a group of snarling men chasing him out, accusing him of all manner of things as they lapped at his heels. Sam had swore never again, which was what pulled a deep sigh from him now as he saw the edge of town approaching. He gripped the neck of his hood tightly. "You there, can you help me?" a voice called. "Over here," suddenly from behind him. Sam turned and was startled further by the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. His knees began to irrationally click together and he wondered if he'd even be able to stand for long. The girl, or woman maybe, was short, petite, and slender and had hair which was somehow even brighter than the noonday sun. Her skin a milky pale, the lines in her face delicate but commanding. Eyes soft and green. Sam struggled to speak, "You need. Something, from me?" "Yes, of course, I'm here because I have something for you." Sam's mind was instinctively cautious. Memories of tricks and cold games played at his expense were at fault for this. "I'm sure you do," Sam said, his knees stiffening as he dug down for as much courage as he could muster. The maiden just smiled, and Sam relented to the calm that her smile offered him. From behind her back, she pulled a large hand mirror. Sam instantly recoiled, his head shaking from left to right rapidly. "No, OK, I see what this is. This is how I look, OK? I know what I am, I don't need a reminder." Sam stepped forward, getting a closer look, hands gripping the edges of the mirror. "What is this?" "This is you, Sam," she said. Sam gulped, though his mouth was dry. The face in the mirror was not his, this face was...normal. Perfectly normal. A face that a human would have. A face that would be accepted. A face that would fit in. If this was some secret cruelty Sam didn't care. He lost himself in this vision of what he could be, what doors would open for him, what new things he could do and experience. Everything now different, everything now changing. "Thank you, little angel" Sam said, his new eyes weeping. -GeneWeen | |