Once she had been soft, happy, carefree. She didn't know how it had come to this. She held her hand out before her face, and taking in its delicate shine, gave a rattling sigh. There had to be a way to fix this, to undo this— curse, as she thought it was.
Had she done this to herself or had people done this to her? She didn't know, couldn't tell, everything about her had been turned to glass, jagged and chipped at, foggy and scratched. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, but then she supposed glass objects didn't need to— but was that what she was? Just an object now? A figurine come to life?
No. She was still a person, maybe. A what? Her thoughts kept disappearing. Sometimes they were clear like the glass of a vase, though she didn't have many clear pieces about her, and so mostly they were muddled. But she struggled and struggled and finally she recovered her train of thought, and convinced herself that, yes, somewhere, some part of her was still a normal being.
As she was mulling it over, she felt a sudden shock of pain in her body, though she couldn't tell where, and as the pain subsided she realized she'd become just a little less human and a little more glass, and that if she continued on this way, her mortality— and her sanity with it— would be lost.
And so began her quest to end the trauma before it ended her.
She started at the glass shop— perhaps the glass could be heated and melted away? But it couldn't be done, not without maiming her in the process. She couldn't take the risk that her life could simply melt away too. She went next to a church, but the priest refused to see her. She didn't blame him for thinking of her as some sort of a demon. She often wondered the same herself.
Carefully she hobbled away from the holy place, trying desperately to think of ideas, but her thoughts had gone cloudy again, and she simply couldn't do it. She gave up for the day.
The following day was a new adventure, as she attempted to partake in old habits to regain her sense of self. She traveled slowly, carefully, trying not to break, and as she walked, she felt yet another jolt of pain, and winced as she made her way toward her destination. She thought it was a random happening, but as the small sharp pangs came more and more frequently, she halted her walking to gaze down at her feet, horror coursing through her hardened veins as she saw they were breaking as she walked, sending the shards ever deeper into her body. If she could have, the girl would have cried. Being made of glass was awful enough—why did she have to fall apart?
Deciding to ignore the pain in her feet, she resumed walking aimlessly, as she had once loved to do, and allowed her distorted mind to take her wherever it saw fit.
After what seemed to be hours, she arrived at a beach, though she couldn't fathom why. She had always hated beaches and the mess of the sand, but she guessed that didn't matter so much now— she had much bigger problems.
She was pleased to find that the sand soothed the ache that had traveled up to her shins as her skin cracked under the pressure of her own weight as she tried only to live. She laid down in the soft pile of grit and grain, sighing as she found comfort for what seemed like the first time in years. Had she really been made of glass for so long? She didn't believe so, but she could never tell. She laid on the beach until the moon pulled a blanket of water over the girl in a soft caress, and even then she remained as the tides fell into peaceful slumber. Eventually, the girl of glass decided she had to leave— she couldn't lay stagnant forever. That was as good as dying, which she was determined to evade.
Standing carefully, she was shocked to see the the water the sea had spread over her had taken with it the fog that had so often clouded her appearance, leaving her clear and smooth to the unfocused eye, enabling her to think freely and clearly as she once had.
She turned in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings, and spotted an abandoned home that had been taken over by a sand dune, or what would become one. It was perfect, she thought, and she started to skitter in its direction. She never wanted to leave this place, and this house, it was a place she could stay!
When she entered the home, she was glad to see that a thick layer of the healing sand she now adored covered every floor, and most other surfaces too, and she laughed, a hollow sound, as she toured the home through.
She fell upon a bathroom, empty of everything except— there it was, on a wall. An old mirror, shockingly clear, hung before her, beckoning her to admire herself, calling her by name. And the girl of glass, she saw herself, clear, and polished, and so much different than before. It was as though she had undergone a transformation of sorts, and as she took herself in, she saw beauty in her existence. She was a work of art, if nothing else, and as she met her own stare in the silver frame, she began to think that perhaps a glass girl wasn't such a terrible thing to be.
And as she turned from the bathroom, she made her way towards the stairs, where she climbed, and she tripped, and the glass fell free.