#i also. hope its not one of those situations where someone reposts art and refuses to take it down.

[theokusgallery]

hi idk if you remember this but you know that coffin crossover you reblogged? That was reposted from reddit without my permission. im the artist of the second edit, my friend did the first and third one. just saying. we're kinda annoyed that it was posted, just telling u bc ur a decent sized blog

HUH. I deleted that reblog, I'm so sorry that happened to you, that really sucks

I can't report it on your behalf but I. hope that whoever reposted it takes it down, that's so shitty

[kenthenugget]

I hate Spiteful Artists (RANT)

The following is a slightly retooled repost of a post I made to the Tapas Forums over a year ago, and I wanted to share it here because I feel its an important message to get across.

As artists, we all have shitty days. Sometimes we have moments where he hate our artwork and might compare ourselves to others. This is natural and there's nothing wrong with that. As long as you're able to calm yourself down and don't let your negative emotions control you and your way of thinking, you'll be okay. 

However, I draw the line at people who constantly bitch and moan about it, ignore any advice and lash out those they're jealous of.

I had a friend back in 2019 to mid 2021 (for the sake of simplicity, I’ll refer to him by the name ‘Jay’. Its not his real name but as he includes his name in is social media branding, I dont want people sending hate his way since I dont want anything to do with him. I would say I also wouldnt want him finding this rant which I was admittedly afraid of but at this point, I don't really care) who felt insecure about his art and would show signs of jealousy towards those he thought were better than him. And often times, the targets of Jay’s jealousy would be his friends. The first few times it happened, I refuted his negative thinking and tried to encourage him. He would calm down and be like "you're right", only for it to happen again. Eventually, this habit of getting jealous of his friends and lashing out at them would be turned over to me. Jay wanted to draw in the Disney style and didn't like his current style and thought it was, in his words, "shit". So when someone like me, who's style was closer to replicating Disney's, who was an earshot away.... you can guess where I'm going with this.

I cant count the many times he would lash out at me, or delete art I'd post in a server we were in because he felt insecure, or give me the cold shoulder out of nowhere when I wanted to share a drawing. I'm not going to sit here and say that there was nothing wrong with our friendship prior and that both of us weren't guilty (In hindsight, I realize there was a lot wrong with Jay that I, for the most part, looked over because we were friends, and which went beyond jealousy but I wont go into those details), but I can safely say that this aspect of his and the moment he turned his aggression onto me was beginning of the end of our friendship. I slowly became fed up with Jay’s behavior but I held out hoping it could get better, because I was the type of bastard who thought deep down everyone had some good in them (Note: I still do despite this situation. I just know now that sometimes, people just refuse to change). It never did, and we stopped being friends come May. In all honesty, I'm surprised I lasted that long but I should've left earlier when I had the chance.

Like I said, there were moments where he stopped this bullshit by calming down, drawing ocs and then he was back to liking his art again. But that wouldn't last for long and he'd usually be back to hating his art and lashing out people again in a few weeks or so. Sometimes days. Again, I'm not saying that jealousy isn't normal and if you get jealous your a bad person. It's a natural thing to experience it and heck I've been had bits of jealousy countless times. But you can't let it control you, that's the thing. You shouldn't let it control your way of thinking and led cloud your judgement. And you can absolutely the fuck not lash out at people because your mind told you they did you wrong for being better than your or some shit, especially to your friends! Yes, there will be times where you slip up but its on you to not let that shit happen again. That's what it means to say sorry. It's "not a get out of jail" free card! You have to actually mean it! You shouldn't expect your friends to deal with your toxic behavior, because you're eventually going to push them away. People have breaking points and no one's going to help you if you're unwilling to help yourself.

Also if you dont feel your artwork is good enough, spewing your toxic bullshit at people isnt going to help. If you want to be good at anything, you have to put in the effort and work hard at it! You wont get good by being a whiny little shit. I wasn't going to get anywhere that attitude when I was 14. I wanted to a be a good artist but I wasn't good drawing. So I spent the past 5 plus years practicing and drawing everyday and it's payed off. Sure, I'm not perfect and there are people out there who are better artists than me. But I cant let that fact detour me and neither should you. You need to have a positive mindset of wanting improve, wanting to get better at something, wanting to become stronger than you are now. No one's telling you can't do it. The only one that's telling you that you're not good and that you'll never improve is you.

And, this may sounds cold, but if you don't see any improvement despite drawing everyday and get angry about, you should just quit. If drawing art makes you so mad that you lash out at others and tell them to "fuck off" (something he actually said to me during one his episodes) when they genuinely want to help you out, why are you still drawing? Try another hobby that you're passionate about. If you're going to have this attitude about drawing, maybe you shouldn't have started drawing in the first place.

And you know what's the funny thing about all of this? Jay wasn't a bad artist. His art was a okay, not terrible nor great, but there was room for improvement. As long as he studied anatomy, perspective, flow, composition, etc, he'll be a damn good artist. He most likely wont able to draw in the Disney style but that's something he has to deal with. However, I don't think that will happen if he doesn't stop the cycle of inferiority, jealousy, and feeling better by drawing ocs, he's not going anywhere. I told him something akin to this but I don't think he listened, so I dont think he will change his ways (I could be, and I hope, Im wrong). If he doesn't get his behavior under control, its going to catch up with him in a really bad way. At some point, Jay's going to hit a brick wall and push away all of the remaining people who got fed up with his bullshit. And by that point, drawing his ocs wont save him this time.

The inspiration of this rant came from a situation that happened shortly before the tapas forum post in September 2021. I encountered someone similar to Jay on a discord server who basically had a meltdown about how much his art sucked and lashed out anyone who tried to help.  They ended up getting banned for toxic behavior and rightfully so.

I feel like I sorta went off the deep end with this discussion but I think you should take this lesson from it. If you're feeling self conscious about your artwork, don't let your insecurities take hold of you and lash out at your piers. I believe that everyone has the protentional to do be great, not just in art, but in general. But are you going to strive to be better or are you going to wallow in negativity and let that hatred turn you into a monster?

[purplezebraproductions]

The Alters: Page 4

Chapter 1: Coming to the Void (cont. under the cut)

[Please do not repost my art!]

There was an incessant pounding in Dinn’s head as he awoke. All around him he could see nothing but white, and for a moment he thought his vision had faltered. Shifting his head to look around he caught sight of Creed lying just a few paces to his right. His body was unnervingly still and Dinn’s heart dropped. With great effort Dinn attempted to stand, still extremely dizzy and slightly battered from the fall. Carefully he made his way over to Creed. As he got closer Creed’s body finally shifted only slightly. He was alive. Dinn sighed in relief, letting out what he didn’t realize he’d been keeping in. Dinn had only seen Creed as still as a corpse one other time and he wasn’t one to relive horrible memories. “Creed?” Dinn called out softly as he came closer. Supporting his weight on his elbows Creed looked over to see Dinn kneel just beside him. “Dinn? Where are we?” He asked shifting around to sit up properly. Dinn could see Creed’s eyes were still blown out, an indicator that he was still terrified. Understandable considering the world around them had morphed into a vast plain of white. No shadows, no walls, no sky, no evidence that they were still in the world of the living. Helping Creed to his feet Dinn responded. “I don’t know. The last thing I remember was getting pulled through that portal.” “Right…but why?” Creed asked the open air. It was clear that he was distracted by his own thoughts than actually directing his attention toward Dinn or his answers. Dinn gripped tightly onto Creed’s elbow, something he did regularly back when they were fighting on the same side. He had just found the physical contact somewhat comforting. As if it meant that he was truly still alive and that someone took notice of his existence. But now, he wasn’t sure. Sure, Creed was standing right next to him, but he was in the same situation. Who’s to say Creed wasn’t dead too? Suddenly the pair heard a loud screeching sound from behind them. As if someone was dragging an iron nail over glass. Dinn and Creed both covered their ears tightly, feeling as though their heads would pop off as the sound grew in intensity. They quickly ducked down to the ground fearing some sort of bombardment or attack from a force they couldn’t see. The sound was now ear piercingly loud and they could do nothing to stop it. Just then a voice broke through the piercing sound. It spoke in a brassy raspy voice, as if it hadn’t been used for many years. “Do not be afraid.” It said. Though the voice was calm, its booming intensity instantly made the pair pause and look up in abject horror at what they saw. What was staring back at them could not be described so easily. It looked down on them with its many eyes and spoke with its many mouths. “Do not be afraid I said. I am not here to hurt you.” But the rings of fire that surrounded its form spoke a different story. The form was moving, ever changing the more it was observed; as if it had no literal form on its own. Its body would shift with spikes and rings and mouths and hands. Great wings would drip and morph through all stages of life and all varieties of winged creatures. The fire would quell and grow and rotate and shift of its own desire. And the eyes, oh the eyes. They’d close and open always in different places, but always with the same unsettling stare directed at the pair. “Who are you?” Dinn asked finding his voice again. “Who I am is not important. Who you are is much more meaningful.” It said. Dinn looked over at Creed hoping to catch his eyes, but Dinn only saw terror etched across his face. His knees were bent, making him almost as short as Dinn, his hands hovered over his ears with his fingers pressed tightly into claws scratching his skin. His eyes had not left the being since it appeared, his pupils dilated drastically. “Creed. Creed!” Dinn tried to call to him, but it was obvious his mind was anywhere but here at the moment. With a deep breath Dinn shot out his hands grabbing Creed by the shoulders. “Creed look at me!” Creed noticeably jumped in place and Dinn could feel him trembling. But luckily it seemed like he could breathe again despite himself. His breaths came out shaky, but it was more than nothing. “You are Creed. And you are Dinn.” The being spoke, gripping both men’s attention, before Dinn could say anything that might calm Creed’s nerves. “What’s it to you?” Dinn spat back. “We need your help.” Now Dinn and Creed looked at each other, their questioning gazes mirrored in each other. There were so many questions. Who is we? Why them? Why had they taken them from their world? What could they do to help this creature? But Creed could only ask one question. “Why?” He stammered. “There has been a mistake. A critical mistake that could shape the future of the worlds. This one, and all of its altered forms.” Creed and Dinn had been silenced by the beings booming voice. They didn’t understand what it was saying, but they knew they needed to heed its words if they wanted to survive. “Your counterparts’ souls have been mixed up. A green one has ended up with a red, a blue with a yellow, a purple with a white, and so on. You are one of the only pairs that have ended up in your correct spots—” “What are you saying?” Creed interrupted. “Creed just listen!” Dinn shot back in fear of angering the being. “No! I don’t understand! Altered worlds? Counterparts? Souls—What does any of this have to do with us?” He was sputtering again. The being’s words were indeed causing him to panic, but Dinn didn’t know how to calm him. He too was so utterly confused and terrified at the thought of not knowing. But the beings voice didn’t waver. “You are Creed. And you are Dinn. The correct ones in your world. The correct ones for each other.” It said shifting its many eyes between the pair. “Think of it as if you’re sorting marbles. You are both cat’s eyes, therefore you are in your correct spot in your box together. But in the next box there is a cat’s eye and an onionskin. And in the next box there is a pearl and a mica. And in a box a few rows down, there is a swirly and a tiger. None of those go together, and yet they were put in the same boxes for safe keeping. Isn’t that awful? To have so many mismatched marbles.” Dinn still didn’t really understand what the being was going on about, but he hazards a guess that its mistake had something to with souls in odd places. Maybe? “So, what do you want us to do about your…marbles?” He asked incredulous. “Well, they must be sorted.” “Why don’t you sort them?” He shot back. The being paused for just a moment. “Imagine, if you will, that I am newly blind.” The being emphasized this by closing all of its many eyes, finally adverting its gaze from the pair. “Maybe then you’d understand that a swirly can certainly feel like another swirly, but it can also feel like a cat’s eye. In fact, perhaps all the marbles feel exactly the same according to my hands. I would need much more time to figure out which is which. Time, we do not have due to this anomalous circumstance. But, if two sighted people were able to help me sort my collection…” “If you’re newly blind, then how do you know we’re both cat’s eyes?” The being’s eyes flung open at Creed’s question. It hadn’t been anticipating such a statement. It faltered for just a moment. “Isn’t it obvious? You two were my favorite part of the collection. My rarest two cat’s eyes! So, I brought you with me wherever I went. That is how I knew your touch.” Creed shrunk back, suddenly faced with the being’s eagerness had made him uneasy again. “But, as for the others I can’t be sure.” “I’m going to ask this again once.” Dinn stressed, his own panic forming into anger. “What. Do. You. Want. Us. To. Do?” The being stared back at the ignorant man. Realizing that his blatant emotions in protecting his Creed were overcoming his fear of the figure. It had doubted itself before, but now there was no question. These two were indeed cat’s eyes. “I have created a home for you and your altered forms wayward souls. Here, in the heart of Infinity. It is the place you see around you. This glorious white canvas that can be perfected to your liking, whatever that may be. I have opened up portals to the Infinity from each altered world and sent invitations to every Creed and Dinn I could find. If they heed my warnings, they too will be arriving here shortly in order to quell this anomaly. Your job, as Guardians of this piece of the Infinity, is to help each Creed find their true Dinn, and help each Dinn find their true Creed. That is why I have brought you here first.” That was their job? To play fucking matchmaker for a bunch of beings they had no idea existed until now?! Just because they may share their same names does not mean they’ll ever be able to recognize who goes with who. “And if we refuse?” Creed spoke up, his breaths evening out and his voice shaking a lot less. The being paused. “I have left you both a portal back to your original world. Seeing as how you are not a part of the anomaly; it would make sense that you could return home at any time. However, just know that if this anomaly continues to plague the many worlds, then it will come to affect you as well. The glitch in our system will result in the worlds attempting to tear themselves apart and attempt to fit neatly back together like a puzzle. Even for a perfect world like your own. The universe crumbling and morphing into small bite size pieces will surely tear apart humanity and everything that comes with it. To us this is no big deal. For when the worlds do piece back together life can start anew from the very beginning. But, for you, death will be slow and painful. That is, if you refuse. The choice is yours.” And with that ominous foretelling the being slowly melted away into the world around them, becoming nothing more than a streak of light that shone from the white sky. Creed and Dinn could only stare in stunned silence at the place it once was. With a large metallic sound, a singular hole opened up behind them. A swirling blue vortex stood moving rhythmically, as if calling to the two stunned men. This must be their portal home. Or maybe it was the portal that the altered forms were supposed to enter from? Or perhaps both? Creed didn’t have much time to ponder. With a sudden wave of dizziness coming over him he fell to the ground, slipping through Dinn’s numb hands.

[antihero-writings]

Her Missing Reflection—Tangled Fic for Tangledtober Prompt 24: Mirror—Vampire AU—(Full Fic)

Fic Title: Her Missing Reflection 

Fic Synopsis: Vampires can't see their reflections, and Rapunzel is no exception. What's it like being trapped in a tower for eighteen years, unable to know what you are, or what you look like?

Notes: To be honest, even though I thought it was cool, I wasn't very interested about writing something for the Tangled vampire AU before, especially when it came to Rapunzel, (it seemed to almost go against her character). But when i saw chamiryokuroi’s art it made me think of her in her tower as a vampire...and I found that more interesting than during Tangled: The Series. The vampire AU could add an intriguing twist to the original movie storyline, and I enjoyed writing something for it, especially because I got to use one of the Tangledtober prompts! I used prompt 24: Mirror. Please forgive any silly grammar/consistency errors! I wrote this rather quickly and didn't have a whole lot of time to edit.

P.S. This is a repost of an old fic!

Fic: 

She does not know what she is.

No one has ever told her, and the mirrors never show her.

Though they show the room, Mother, and Pascal, the mirrors refuse to show Rapunzel. As if she’s a forbidden word they cannot speak, a creed they cannot break, and showing her would betray the trust of the gods.

She begs the one in the middle of the main, circular room to tell her its secrets.

It never complies.

Well, it isn’t really a secret, is it? Not to anyone else. Just to her. Just to the one who needs to know it most. Or, at least, the one it’s about.

Maybe that means she needs to know it least of all. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe we aren’t supposed to see ourselves, or know what the mirrors say behind our backs.

The only other person here is Mother. The girl has often asked why the people in her books don’t, why Mother herself doesn’t, drink blood. She laughs and says that though she is her mother, and though they in the books are people too, they are not quite the same kind.

Rapunzel doesn’t quite know what that means, but Mother doesn’t explain.

She has never minded being different, she has never had any reason to. But when she asks to go outside, Mother says they will hate her out there, that they will call her monster, that the men will not have pointy teeth like hers.

So she stays.

Her voice frail, soft, and timid, her gaze on the ground, she often asks Mother what she looks like. Mother says she is strong, confident, and beautiful, that she has green eyes, and white teeth, and of course—she runs her hands through it—golden hair. She kisses her head and says she shouldn’t worry about things like appearance.

She tries not to.

Then Rapunzel grabs her paintbrushes, and tries to draw what she thinks she looks like, sometimes in her sketchbooks, sometimes on the walls. But Pascal always shakes his head sadly, or tries to smile, though they both know she still got it wrong. And the chameleon’s own interpretations are...hard to interpret.

She tries to keep her chin up, to believe that one day she will know. She should after all. One day she’ll get it right—she tells herself—one day a mirror will be kind to her.

It’s not all bad. She can have fun with her lack of a reflection; some of the many games she plays up in her tower are with her empty space; one of which is making objects—pots and pans, books and plants—and Pascal float.

She asks Mother to bring her back things like antique mirrors, and old dishes, and things that could, and should, reflect her. Mother sighs, but brings them to her anyway.

Maybe, just maybe, the girl thinks, this one will like her.

They never do.

So Mother tells her, again, not to dwell on them.

She throws them out the window.

The girl never sees the pile of shattered glass they make below; daring any intruder to come and face something that doesn’t like to see its own reflection.

Or face themselves.

Sometimes she saves one of the mirrors, and paints on the metal itself, sometimes tracing herself, creating an outline she can step into, she can see herself in. Sometimes she keeps one of her favorites in her room, just so she can see a smile in it every day.

Mother tells her she shouldn’t ask for the mirrors, that maybe they shouldn’t even keep any mirrors in the tower at all. She even tries to break the one in the main room, but when Rapunzel finds her, she shouts, and begs her to stop, and makes her promise to leave it alone.

For some reason, Rapunzel likes that one; talking to it, playing games, thinking maybe today you will show me. It’s like a stubborn friend to her.

She doesn’t want to give up hope that she will one day know herself.

Often, days go by when she doesn’t much care, when it doesn’t matter if she knows what she looks like or not. It’s not like she needs it for everyday life, or that there’s anyone else here to look pretty for. She has other things to do, other games to play, other books to read, other muses to paint.

But other days she wonders. Other days the blank space, the emptiness where I should be gnaws away at her, like moths at clothing. Days go by when she paints a smile on those empty mirrors, and leans her forehead onto the cold metal, and does anything but smile; she whispers her pleas this time, (she doesn’t ask them loudly, or optimistically), tears forming in her eyes, spilling, smudging the paint. There are days when she can’t take it anymore, when she screams, and cries, and rips into pieces the pages of her journals where she drew a girl who is beautiful, and confident, and strong, who has green eyes, and white teeth, and golden hair, and who is not her.

One day she will know. One day she will meet someone who wants her to know just how beautiful she is. Who will not tell her that appearance doesn’t matter, and that she shouldn’t care. Someone who knows how much it means to her, someone who will spend his money (stolen or earned, they can’t tell the difference) on something other than himself, and it will be so she can be painted in living color.

And on that same day she will see a lost princess painted on the wall—a girl who has green eyes, and white teeth, and golden hair—and she will wonder for a second that maybe, just maybe—

Is that me?

*****

She does not know what she is.

Quite frankly, neither does Eugene. And he’s comfortable with that. The fangs, and the thing about blood, and the whole locked-in-a-tower situation.... he tries not to think of stories, or let the word vampire comes to mind.

Because she is something else. The hair, and the bright eyes, the smile, the songs, and the…ahem…frying pan… she is not those stories. The dark legends. She is the brightest thing he has ever met.

And you’d think it’d matter that this girl he…well, he isn’t really quite sure how he feels…you really would think it would matter if she was, well…you know. But somehow it doesn’t. Or maybe it does, but somehow she is more important than that.

He doesn’t remember what he first says when she tells him that she’s never seen her reflection—(yeah, that’s not a red flag at all, Eugene). Probably something along the lines of “What? I mean everyone has a—” and she steps in front of a shop window, and he probably says, “Oh, yeah, you…you don’t have a reflection. That’s…I’m not freaking out!”

And he realizes…he wants her to know what she looks like.

He wants her to know the way her hair shimmers in the sunlight, he wants her to count her freckles—(what, no! He hasn’t done that!)—he wants her to see how her dimples tug at the corners of her mouth when she smiles, and how her pointy teeth are actually—(he won’t admit it)—kinda cute—(no, they’re not scary, like one of the thugs at the Snuggly Duckling said)—the way her eyes seem to hold all the green in the entire world, all the green she never saw, and it didn’t matter if she saw it, because her world was green because her eyes were the ones that saw it, and painted over the darkened corners. And now her eyes are in his world too.

He tries to draw her, actually—on the back of one of his own botched wanted posters. But it…doesn’t exactly work well—(when she comes and asks him what he’s working on, he crumples it up and shoves it into his pocket).

As he does so, his fingers find the coins in his pocket (he doesn’t remember where he got them from, probably a heist of some sort).

He asks the old artist in the town square how-much-for-a-painting, and can, uh, can-he-get-it-for-less, or do-you-take-apples-as-payment? He also asks if he can capture her appearance from here, perhaps while this whole dance-thing is going on in the town square, so he can keep it a secret.

He’s a picky customer, but luckily the painter is old and kind, willing to do this for the sake of a girl who doesn’t know herself. Though he mentions something about love, and Eugene brushes it off.

It’s all worth it when she sees it. When they’re out on the boat before the lanterns arrive, and she gives him a crown, and he gives her her reflection. Her face lights up, and she says his name, hugs him, and and holds it up at different angles.

But then she stops, runs her fingers along the canvas with one hand, and along her own cheek with the other.

“D-Do you like it?”

She looks up at him as if pulled from a reverie, then back down at the painting, and pushes her hair behind her ear.

“To be honest,” she laughs a little, “I’m not quite sure.”

“Something…wrong with it?”

“Oh, no! Nothing’s wrong with I just…” she pauses, looking out across the water, at the castle, and the sunset, then down at the still water that holds…nothing of her. “I’ve spent my whole life wondering, and now that I know…I don’t know what to feel.”

He wishes he knew what to say. There isn’t exactly a manual for vampire-girl-sees-herself-for-the-first-time. Not that he would read it if there was one. He was always more a fan of fairy tales than instruction manuals.

“Well…that’s good!” he blurts out.

“I-It is?”

Crap. Now it’s on him to say something inspirational. Don’t screw this up Fitzherbert.

He clears his throat. “Well…uh…not knowing what to feel...” he looks away too, as if he’ll find wise words in the sky, “it’s good because…” he looks back at her, “because,” he gets an idea, “That just means you get to decide how you feel.”

She looks at the painting again, and runs her hand through her hair.

“Well then…” there’s a second she takes to decide, “I love it!” she grins.

He beams back. “Good! Looks like my work is done here!”

In truth he didn’t know what to feel either, but he thinks he’s starting to decide too.

*****

Rapunzel carries the painting back to her tower home like it’s as breakable as a mirror itself. Like it’s made of glass and gold. She tried to hide it from Mother. When Mother sees it, anger and shock mix behind her eyes. Though she takes the flowers from her hair, and looks at the painting in disdain, she still speaks kindly.

Until Rapunzel realizes. Until she realizes that that girl she saw on the wall was her, that she is not just a pretty girl, nor is she a monster…she is a princess. And she has been lost for far too long.

And gone is Mother’s kind tone.

The first thing Mother does after chaining her, is take out her knife, and rip the painting in half. She repeats her words from before, that once sounded so motherly, that she shouldn’t bother thinking about appearance, and her smile is sly, broad and wicked. Gothel says that the artist didn’t even capture her, that she’s too pretty, the smile’s too wide, the eyes are too green, that she looks too human.

The Lost Princess could never be a vampire.

And the word physically knocks her back, but it hammers against the walls in her head too; it echoes until the sound fills the chamber.

Because she knows the stories. Mother never told her what she was, but she did find a book once, a legend or two, and wondered. And Mother neglected to say the myths were about her. Rapunzel knew now she was keeping that information until the proper moment, the moment when it would hurt. She didn’t intend to make her comfortable with what she was, to tell her she wasn’t a monster, she intended to keep it secret until the word was a blade.

And it was. The word was just one of the many weapons in her arsenal. It was the sharpest today, it and the real blade that severed her reflection, and the heart of the man she had been learning to love.

And later, that mirror Rapunzel had once protected reveals itself to be her friend after all—just not in the way she thought it would. Gothel knocks it over, it shatters, Eugene slices a piece of it through her hair, and it shows Gothel for the monster she is, and she falls into the shattered heap of its fallen brothers below.

With the princess’ tears one of blades’ affects are rewritten.

But not the other’s.

After they both regain some semblance of peace, when she tells him she’s the Lost Princess, and he replies that they should tell someone—her real parents probably—she falls to tears again and says, even now, she still can’t leave.

Eugene takes the time to tell her she is not a monster. He strings the words together, and he is eloquent in his own little way, and he pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket to show he tried to draw her first. He tells her this is what I see.

He is not an artist. He has not spent eighteen years becoming friends with brushes, paints, and paper. Her own half-correct sketches look better than his.

Still, she likes his better. Not because it’s more accurate, but because the crude excuse for a girl has the brightest smile, with adorable fangs, scribbled hair, that’s probably less exaggerated as it seems, and eyes that he obviously tried to draw multiple times, trying to make them just right. This is his heart. It is her reflection in his eyes.

There will come a time where there will be many paintings of her, when her parents, (her real ones), will want to fill the castle with the words you’re beautiful.

But it is Eugene’s picture she keeps in her room. She puts it on the vanity that still refuses to show her—the mirrors here are unkind as ever. But this is all she needs.

It is not what all those stuck-up artists think of her, nor is it some perfect recreation of reality. It is what he thinks of her. It is her reflection; he is the mirror who finally spoke back.

Because she learns when people look in the mirror, they don’t see themselves as they are. Reflections live, and change, and when people look into them, they see their mistakes, and their flaws, they overlook certain things, and see other things about them accented.

So this is truer as a mirror than the most perfect picture. This is all she needs to know.

Because when she sees it, she knows what she is.