Fic: If Thine Eye Offends
Title: If Thine Eye Offends
Author: theladyfeylene
Word Count: 1210
Spoilers: Spoilers for episodes 35, 36, 44+
Rating: R
Summary: Dante couldn't stand to look at him; she hated his face.
Warnings: Violence, self mutilation.
“Mother…”
“Don’t call me that.” Dante’s lips curled, revulsion clear in her face. She hated the thing. It looked like her son, it spoke like her son but it wasn’t her son. It was an abomination. It sickened her.
“Sorry.”
It stood in the doorway, head bowed. It was uncanny, how human it looked. Dante watched it and her body recoiled away from it. She doubted anyone who didn’t know would be able to tell it wasn’t human. What had gone wrong? She could still see it, when it had first come into being, a writhing collection of organs and limbs, screaming and wailing. They should have just destroyed it then.
It didn’t help that it remembered. That it thought of itself as her son. It called her ‘mother’, it answered to her son’s name, it spoke of him as ‘father’. And he had left her with it, running in the night like a coward. She had thought if they could bring back their son, he would stay. How foolish she’d been.
And it looked like him. It had his eyes, his strong chin, his height, his strong shoulders. It was a constant reminder. It lifted its face, golden hair falling around its fine boned face.
“Get away from me!” she shrieked, twisting her head away. “I don’t want to look at you. I can‘t stand your face!”
It didn’t say anything. It dropped its gaze again and turned away. What was she going to do with it? She supposed she could destroy it. Stop feeding it and simply decompose it, sending it back to wherever it came from.
But it would look at her. With those eyes. Her son’s eyes, amber and expressive and warm. And it would call her ‘mother’. She wished it would leave, leave like he had.
“You hate me.”
It was still in the doorway.
“If it weren’t for you,” Dante snapped, “he wouldn’t have left. And now I have to look at you, every day. You wear his face. I can’t look at you without thinking of him.”
“He hated me, too.”
“Of course he did.” Dante stood up, her eyes narrowed. “You’re a failed attempt. We wanted our son, not you.”
“I am your son!” He turned quickly then, and there was no meek subservience in his expression now. His amber eyes blazed and his lips were twisted in a hateful snarl. In that moment, he frightened her.
“No.” Dante shook her head, backing away from him. “No, you aren’t. Now go! Get away! I don‘t want to see you! I don‘t want to look at you!”
He snarled and stalked out of the room, punching at the wall as he did so. What a horrible, angry creature!
***
She didn’t see it for days. It stayed in its room, the room that had been her son’s. She was thankful for its absence. It made her sick. She couldn’t think on it without shuddering. She needed to feed it but she didn’t want to. She wanted to let it starve. So why didn’t she?
She stood outside of its room, a pouch of red stones grasped in her hand. She didn’t want to look on it. She hoped it would keep its back to her. She didn’t want to see its face, it’s handsome young face that mocked her by simply existing.
“Here.” She opened the door, her jaw already set. It was standing facing away from her, its hands over its face. It didn’t turn, or acknowledge her presence.
“I said ‘here’,” Dante repeated, and tossed the pouch onto the bed.
“Go away,” it said, its voice muffled.
“You’re telling me to leave?” Dante laughed.
“You don’t want to look at me, so just get the hell away from me!” It sounded pained. And angry. Only then did Dante notice the blood.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, mildly. It laughed. It was a chilling sound, high and shrill and mad. Dante stepped back, a shiver of fear uncurling inside of her. It turned, slowly, hands coming away from its face. Dante gasped.
Its face was torn and bleeding, great furrows of rent flesh stabbing angrily across its cheeks and forehead. Blood clung to its fingers, black and thick and sickening. It had done this to itself. As Dante watched, the wounds sealed themselves up, leaving only splashes of blood behind. Its hands came up to its face once more, fingernails gouging at its skin once more, tearing it open.
“Now you don’t have to look at my awful face!” it screamed, blood dripping down its neck.
“Stop that.” Dante spoke softly, and reached up to pull its hands away from its face. “You’re ruining the carpet.”
She hadn’t expected this. Did it wish to please her that badly, that it would destroy its own face? She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped at the blood on its skin, cleaning it without a word.
“There.” Dante sighed and tossed aside the dirty scarp of cloth. God, why did it have to look so much like her son? It placed its hands over its face, as though hiding it. Dante bit her lip, waiting for it to scour its skin once more. It didn’t.
“I’d get rid of it, if I could,” it snarled.
“Stop this.” Dante would have no dramatics, she couldn’t tolerate them. She pulled at its hands, pulling them down from its face.
“You’re the one who hates it so much,” it said. As its hands came away, Dante frowned. Its face glowed, a faint blue light surrounded its features. Its face shifted.
“What are you doing?”
“What?”
“Look.” Dante pulled a compact mirror from her pocket and offered it up, showing the thing its face. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” It shrugged and looked at itself. Its features had softened, the strong jaw narrowing and the strong features weakening. “I don’t know what I did.”
“Try it again.” It couldn’t do alchemy. What was this power that it had? She watched as it shifted its features back to those of her son’s.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. It frowned and looked away. And then it looked straight at her, and in a moment Dante found herself looking at a parody of her own features.
“How…?”
“You tell me.” It touched its face, feeling as its features changed and flowed. It settled on that strange sexless face it had first changed to, its hair darkening to something almost black. It held no resemblance now to either her son or him. What a fascinating talent it had.
“Eat,” Dante said, frowning thoughtfully. It threw itself down on the bed and popped a stone into its mouth, not looking at her. She didn’t find it quite so offensive now. And perhaps, with its strange talent, it could be useful to her. If it could mimic her face, who else could it mimic?
“Happy now?” it snarled, watching her from the bed. She only looked away, not wanting to talk to it. She’d bother it later, put it through its paces and test the limits of its ability.
For now, Dante was simply relieved that she could look at it without seeing her son or the man who had abandoned her.
Author: theladyfeylene
Word Count: 1210
Spoilers: Spoilers for episodes 35, 36, 44+
Rating: R
Summary: Dante couldn't stand to look at him; she hated his face.
Warnings: Violence, self mutilation.
“Mother…”
“Don’t call me that.” Dante’s lips curled, revulsion clear in her face. She hated the thing. It looked like her son, it spoke like her son but it wasn’t her son. It was an abomination. It sickened her.
“Sorry.”
It stood in the doorway, head bowed. It was uncanny, how human it looked. Dante watched it and her body recoiled away from it. She doubted anyone who didn’t know would be able to tell it wasn’t human. What had gone wrong? She could still see it, when it had first come into being, a writhing collection of organs and limbs, screaming and wailing. They should have just destroyed it then.
It didn’t help that it remembered. That it thought of itself as her son. It called her ‘mother’, it answered to her son’s name, it spoke of him as ‘father’. And he had left her with it, running in the night like a coward. She had thought if they could bring back their son, he would stay. How foolish she’d been.
And it looked like him. It had his eyes, his strong chin, his height, his strong shoulders. It was a constant reminder. It lifted its face, golden hair falling around its fine boned face.
“Get away from me!” she shrieked, twisting her head away. “I don’t want to look at you. I can‘t stand your face!”
It didn’t say anything. It dropped its gaze again and turned away. What was she going to do with it? She supposed she could destroy it. Stop feeding it and simply decompose it, sending it back to wherever it came from.
But it would look at her. With those eyes. Her son’s eyes, amber and expressive and warm. And it would call her ‘mother’. She wished it would leave, leave like he had.
“You hate me.”
It was still in the doorway.
“If it weren’t for you,” Dante snapped, “he wouldn’t have left. And now I have to look at you, every day. You wear his face. I can’t look at you without thinking of him.”
“He hated me, too.”
“Of course he did.” Dante stood up, her eyes narrowed. “You’re a failed attempt. We wanted our son, not you.”
“I am your son!” He turned quickly then, and there was no meek subservience in his expression now. His amber eyes blazed and his lips were twisted in a hateful snarl. In that moment, he frightened her.
“No.” Dante shook her head, backing away from him. “No, you aren’t. Now go! Get away! I don‘t want to see you! I don‘t want to look at you!”
He snarled and stalked out of the room, punching at the wall as he did so. What a horrible, angry creature!
***
She didn’t see it for days. It stayed in its room, the room that had been her son’s. She was thankful for its absence. It made her sick. She couldn’t think on it without shuddering. She needed to feed it but she didn’t want to. She wanted to let it starve. So why didn’t she?
She stood outside of its room, a pouch of red stones grasped in her hand. She didn’t want to look on it. She hoped it would keep its back to her. She didn’t want to see its face, it’s handsome young face that mocked her by simply existing.
“Here.” She opened the door, her jaw already set. It was standing facing away from her, its hands over its face. It didn’t turn, or acknowledge her presence.
“I said ‘here’,” Dante repeated, and tossed the pouch onto the bed.
“Go away,” it said, its voice muffled.
“You’re telling me to leave?” Dante laughed.
“You don’t want to look at me, so just get the hell away from me!” It sounded pained. And angry. Only then did Dante notice the blood.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, mildly. It laughed. It was a chilling sound, high and shrill and mad. Dante stepped back, a shiver of fear uncurling inside of her. It turned, slowly, hands coming away from its face. Dante gasped.
Its face was torn and bleeding, great furrows of rent flesh stabbing angrily across its cheeks and forehead. Blood clung to its fingers, black and thick and sickening. It had done this to itself. As Dante watched, the wounds sealed themselves up, leaving only splashes of blood behind. Its hands came up to its face once more, fingernails gouging at its skin once more, tearing it open.
“Now you don’t have to look at my awful face!” it screamed, blood dripping down its neck.
“Stop that.” Dante spoke softly, and reached up to pull its hands away from its face. “You’re ruining the carpet.”
She hadn’t expected this. Did it wish to please her that badly, that it would destroy its own face? She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped at the blood on its skin, cleaning it without a word.
“There.” Dante sighed and tossed aside the dirty scarp of cloth. God, why did it have to look so much like her son? It placed its hands over its face, as though hiding it. Dante bit her lip, waiting for it to scour its skin once more. It didn’t.
“I’d get rid of it, if I could,” it snarled.
“Stop this.” Dante would have no dramatics, she couldn’t tolerate them. She pulled at its hands, pulling them down from its face.
“You’re the one who hates it so much,” it said. As its hands came away, Dante frowned. Its face glowed, a faint blue light surrounded its features. Its face shifted.
“What are you doing?”
“What?”
“Look.” Dante pulled a compact mirror from her pocket and offered it up, showing the thing its face. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” It shrugged and looked at itself. Its features had softened, the strong jaw narrowing and the strong features weakening. “I don’t know what I did.”
“Try it again.” It couldn’t do alchemy. What was this power that it had? She watched as it shifted its features back to those of her son’s.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. It frowned and looked away. And then it looked straight at her, and in a moment Dante found herself looking at a parody of her own features.
“How…?”
“You tell me.” It touched its face, feeling as its features changed and flowed. It settled on that strange sexless face it had first changed to, its hair darkening to something almost black. It held no resemblance now to either her son or him. What a fascinating talent it had.
“Eat,” Dante said, frowning thoughtfully. It threw itself down on the bed and popped a stone into its mouth, not looking at her. She didn’t find it quite so offensive now. And perhaps, with its strange talent, it could be useful to her. If it could mimic her face, who else could it mimic?
“Happy now?” it snarled, watching her from the bed. She only looked away, not wanting to talk to it. She’d bother it later, put it through its paces and test the limits of its ability.
For now, Dante was simply relieved that she could look at it without seeing her son or the man who had abandoned her.