They Called Me Cold, They Called Him a Liar

Pop tarts fix everything

Tom's eyes close with concentration, and his hands skim along the surface of my temples.

"What are you doing?" I ask, watching his face.

"Shut up, I'm trying to do something important here!" He growls, though his hands never falter. The air around us starts to shimmer, like in a heat wave.

Tom's hands reach my face, and gently close my eyelids. "This is the part where you see the truth." He whispers, stepping away. Is this cryptic stuff going to change soon? 'Cause it's a bit annoying.

I open my eyes, and gasp.

The colour is beautiful. Reds and oranges subdued, but greens blues, and oh, the blacks, they seemed to glow from within, sharper than normal.

"You like it?" He asks hesitantly.

My gaze swings over to him, and a small shriek escapes my lips.

An echo, or whisper of a shape, glowing almost, is behind him, projecting from his being.

"What-what is this?" I ask, trying to touch the figure coming from Tom's...soul?

"I forgot about that, um, Jotuns see what people really are." He mumbles, trying to escape back downstairs.

I place the pop tart on the closest table, grasping his wrist to keep him here.

I only catch glances. Each fleeting but they all make a big picture. Gold. Black hair. Green eyes. Horns. Blue. Jealousy.

Nothing makes sense, but I know he doesn't want it to be seen by the way he shrinks back.

Where my hands brush his wrist, ice shoots up his arm and he jerks it away, heading down the stairs, but stopping to watch me.

Something to my left catches my attention.

A floor length mirror stands in a corner, and in it, a stranger gazes at me. She wears my clothing, but somehow I can't see myself as her.

I have muddy brown eyes, frizzy blonde hair, sickly pale skin. I'm thin as a twig, no curves to speak of.

But she, well, the creature looks quite the opposite. Sleek black hair covers her head, and her hourglass shape is full. Blue skin covers her form, with raised patches making designs. If I try to follow the pattern it looks like I'd end up at the beginning again. She looks as if covered in a Celtic knot.

And the eyes. Blood red, ruby eyes. No pupil, no iris, just solid red, even where the whites are supposed to be.

But they suit this creature, who looks to be a creature of ice, with a cold perfection.

I look down at my hands, and stare, the Celtic knots covering my blue hands. My hands, and hers. She is me. I am her.

Black spots cover my vision, and a crazy laugh rips it's way up my throat. I see her shadow, just as I did Tom's. She's cold, well, that's what the shadow tells me. I'm cold.

The last thing I hear before blacking out, is a smooth voice talking over me. "Well," it says, warm minty breath puffing over my face. "At least she didn't vomit."

At least, indeed.

*::*

I am a monster. I am that thing in the mirror, who Tom --obviously not a normal person-- made.

I open my ruby eyes, to see Chris entering the room, and I sit up, and with a start, realize that I'm on Tom's bed.

Just as Chris approaches the end of the king size bed, I cover myself with a silken green sheet, hiding what I've become.