[He'd been half-expecting the answer, but he's still so pleased by it that he actually does, for a moment, smile even as he glances away. He used to be asked nightly for stories.
Not so much, anymore. But they're still his favorite part of being who he is.
Ben doesn't even have to think; he already knows what story to tell, and his voice is low but confident when he breathes out.]
There is a girl. A princess, unique among her kind because she is made of glass when those around her are made of stone, opaque and solid and unyielding. When she was born, the glass was pure, unblemished, and beautiful to look upon, but those around her felt they must be careful with her. She was precious and fragile, and as she grew she became more beautiful, but also more fragile - not because she was changing, but because less and less of the world was inclined to be careful with her.
She insisted that it was unnecessary, that she would not break, but more and more she could not look at herself and see the beauty that others saw. More and more, others did not see it, but rather the care that must be taken. What had once been precious began to be a burden.
And one day, the girl fractured, the glass of her form - the finest, the most reflective, still the purest - shattering into pieces, but she held onto them. She held tight, fiercely determined, and any who dared to threaten her tasted the razor edges she now wore like skin. She held so tightly that something strange began to happen.
The emotions that had been contained before began seeping out through the cracks, coloring the glass, each shard a different color: there was love, red as blood and the heart of the fire; there was sadness in all its shades, cerulean and indigo and nightshade; there was curiosity in a riot of greens and golds; there was happiness, bright yellow and fleeting; pain the color of fresh bruises; fear like a faded sunset; anger, burnt out like ash; hope, keeping the color out so the purity of the glass could shine through still. She held onto all of them, and when she realized she could not make the pieces fit back together perfectly again, she found a different way.
She molded them together with steel.
[Ben finally looks up again, brown eyes bright, much more relaxed despite the words themselves. It's when he's telling stories like this that Manticore's thumbprint fades, and he sounds more like a real person than ever, but this he is happy to share.]
When she had finished, the threads of new strength - stronger, even, than the stone of those that had doubted her - framed the pieces of glass in an array of color no one had ever seen before, and the princess was more beautiful than ever, and she feared nothing. No one, now, could break her.
[ Spam - Infirmary this time! ]
Not so much, anymore. But they're still his favorite part of being who he is.
Ben doesn't even have to think; he already knows what story to tell, and his voice is low but confident when he breathes out.]
There is a girl. A princess, unique among her kind because she is made of glass when those around her are made of stone, opaque and solid and unyielding. When she was born, the glass was pure, unblemished, and beautiful to look upon, but those around her felt they must be careful with her. She was precious and fragile, and as she grew she became more beautiful, but also more fragile - not because she was changing, but because less and less of the world was inclined to be careful with her.
She insisted that it was unnecessary, that she would not break, but more and more she could not look at herself and see the beauty that others saw. More and more, others did not see it, but rather the care that must be taken. What had once been precious began to be a burden.
And one day, the girl fractured, the glass of her form - the finest, the most reflective, still the purest - shattering into pieces, but she held onto them. She held tight, fiercely determined, and any who dared to threaten her tasted the razor edges she now wore like skin. She held so tightly that something strange began to happen.
The emotions that had been contained before began seeping out through the cracks, coloring the glass, each shard a different color: there was love, red as blood and the heart of the fire; there was sadness in all its shades, cerulean and indigo and nightshade; there was curiosity in a riot of greens and golds; there was happiness, bright yellow and fleeting; pain the color of fresh bruises; fear like a faded sunset; anger, burnt out like ash; hope, keeping the color out so the purity of the glass could shine through still. She held onto all of them, and when she realized she could not make the pieces fit back together perfectly again, she found a different way.
She molded them together with steel.
[Ben finally looks up again, brown eyes bright, much more relaxed despite the words themselves. It's when he's telling stories like this that Manticore's thumbprint fades, and he sounds more like a real person than ever, but this he is happy to share.]
When she had finished, the threads of new strength - stronger, even, than the stone of those that had doubted her - framed the pieces of glass in an array of color no one had ever seen before, and the princess was more beautiful than ever, and she feared nothing. No one, now, could break her.