Work Text:
I sit at the edge of the puddle. Frozen. Broken. Like glass on the ground. Ready to slice the unwary trespasser.
As I watch, it melts. Like faces of the phony, so beautiful, so empty. Shows a hollow face. Empty eyes stare back.
I throw a stone. Smooth to soften the pain. The face is gone. Only fragments of a broken mind reflected in the ripples.
I wait and I watch. Steam rises as the day warms. Ghosts of old souls rise and fly. I will never be one of them.