March 29, 2016
Steph stared at the hair on her head and thought the term silver was a little overrated. If anything it looked like a filament of glass, clear and only standing out against the darkness of the rest of her hair. She knew some women could cultivate streaks of these locks, but she doubted she would be so lucky.
No, her mother's hair had a muddy, faded look to it when she had started to gray, and Steph was sure she would age in the same dull fashion.
It put her in a foul mood.
She looked at her reflection, meeting her own eyes and then frowned. There was a fleck in her eye. No, fleck isn't right - it was a streak that swept through her deep-brown iris. Her wide, dark eyes had always been her vanity, and now there was a pale stripe that kissed the edge of her pupil and swam through the color, and seemed to continue into the whites, though it was harder to track.
"What the hell," she muttered, leaning into the mirror, her fingers pulling the skin away, and she could see where the silvery color cut through the spidery red veins. Gingerly, she pressed her fingertip to the area, and felt nothing. As though she wasn't pressing her finger onto her eye - and when the whorls of her finger came in contact with it, it felt surprisingly cool. And hard. Like glass.
When her finger came away, the color - or lack of color - had already spread to it. She watched fascinated as her skin became at first shiny and silvery, then as though someone were showing her the meat and bone, but it all slid to transparent crystal as she watched. It crawled up to her first knuckle, and despite feeling nothing other than a faint chill, she found that once it had past the joint, she could no longer bend it. But that ceased to bother her nearly as much as her darkening vision.
She took a breath to scream, but by the time the air passed her vocal chords it just sounded like an errant breeze. She would have been impressed with how lovely the glass made her hair look.