STAINED GLASS ✓

III. SILVER

THE SCENT OF ALCOHOL DRIPPED ON HIS LIPS. The boy who would always be a boy to Morgana was just as smitten with the scent as she was with him. Words were wasted on him, and Morgana could do nothing but watch the boy who would always be a boy to her come at midnight, bottle clasped in hand and his eyes, of gold and light and everything pure, hold a frantic kind of gleam that was no longer for her.

Morgana had lost to the scent of alcohol, just like she'd lost to him, the boy who would always be a boy to her. But the boy was no longer a boy. Because boys looked at the edges of masterpieces with resentment. The boy was now a man. And the man didn't look at the masterpiece's edges with resentment as the boy had.

Instead, he looked at it through a lens only alcohol could provide.

And Morgana wanted nothing more to shatter it, shatter gold, shatter light, shatter him. The boy who was no longer a boy, but a man, was hers to keep and Morgana wanted the boy whose eyes were pure and gold and light to come back and enhance her with gold and dust.

But the man was not the boy of gold and dust.

The boy of gold and dust wouldn't come home at midnight.

The boy of shadow and light wouldn't have the scent of alcohol dripping of his lips.

The boy of silver wouldn't yell at her.

The boy of everything beautiful and ugly wouldn't slam her onto the wall, his breath, of alcohol and smoke, fanning her face as ihateihateihateyou roared.

The boy of gold and dust was gone, and Morgana didn't know what had replaced the boy she loved.

And suddenly, Morgana could see it. See it in his eyes, the eyes of gold and light and everything pure, hold viciousness that only a devil could have.

Ansel Griffin was a devil dressed a fool, and Morgana and gotten lost in those eyes, those eyes that held gold and dust and wore it like a masquerade, when all along it had been silver.