The sharp things that grow around him in the dark look beautiful on his glass skin. He does not know they grow there, sinking their rancid ice teeth into his transparent flesh. It cracks, but don't worry. The curling tendrils cover the lacey lines of death. He is completely covered and people love him. They don't notice him though, just the rude roses sprouting from his vines. He smiles often, unaware of this. His glass inside is gone now, replaced by the ice of the cruel plant. It doesn't matter who he is, he thinks, as long as he is pretty.
Ice melts and plants die.