In a quiet, secluded village surrounded by misty woods, there was a girl named Elara. Her beauty was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Her skin gleamed like porcelain, smooth and unblemished. Her long hair shimmered like molten silver under the sunlight, and her eyes glistened as though they held trapped starlight. Yet, despite her allure, Elara lived a lonely life. She was isolated by her parents, who constantly warned her, "Be careful with yourself, Elara. The world is fragile, and so are you."
Elara didn't understand their caution. She felt ordinary—though no one else seemed to think so. Wherever she went, strangers would stare, their expressions a mix of awe and unease. She longed to be free, to find someone who saw more than her beauty, someone who truly loved her.
One day, as she wandered near the edge of the forest, she met a boy named Cian. He was handsome, charming, and his gaze didn't linger on her face in the way others' did. For the first time, Elara felt seen, not as a vision of perfection but as a person.
Cian was captivated by her kindness, her laughter, and the way her presence seemed to light up the world around her. Days turned into weeks, and they spent every moment together. Elara felt herself falling in love. She didn't notice the way Cian's eyes lingered longer each time they met, or the way his touch became hesitant, almost reverent.
But Cian did notice something strange. One day, while holding her hand, he brushed against her skin too firmly and thought he felt a faint crack, like the sound of glass under pressure. He dismissed it as his imagination. But his curiosity grew.
One evening, under the glow of a full moon, Cian stared at Elara as she laughed, her head tilted back, her skin catching the light like a polished diamond. He couldn't deny it anymore—she was too perfect, too unreal. It was as if she had been crafted by an artisan, molded into a masterpiece.
And with that realization came an obsessive thought: What is she made of?
The next day, while they sat in a meadow, Cian brought up the subject of her unusual beauty. "Have you ever wondered why you're so... different?" he asked, his voice soft but his eyes sharp.
Elara frowned. "Different? No, I'm just me. My parents said I'm delicate, but I don't know what they meant."
"Delicate," Cian echoed, his curiosity now burning. He reached out and pressed his fingers gently against her wrist. Elara winced, pulling away. The sound came again—like glass strained to its limit.
Something inside Cian snapped. He couldn't stop himself. That night, he invited Elara to an abandoned chapel on the edge of the forest, claiming he had a surprise for her. Trusting him completely, Elara followed.
Inside, the air was cold, the moonlight streaming through shattered windows. Cian guided her to the center of the room, his hands trembling.
"Cian, what's wrong?" Elara asked, concern etched on her face.
"You're... too perfect, Elara," he whispered. "It's not natural. I need to know what you are."
Fear flickered in her eyes, but before she could respond, he grabbed her arm and twisted. A sickening crack echoed through the chapel as a small fissure split along her wrist.
Elara screamed, clutching her arm, but when she looked down, there was no blood—only glittering shards of translucent material spilling to the floor.
"What... what's happening?" she stammered, her voice trembling.
Cian's obsession overtook him. "You're not human," he muttered, his voice filled with awe and madness. He pushed her, harder this time. Her shoulder shattered, sending jagged pieces flying.
"Stop! Please, stop!" Elara begged, tears streaming down her face. But her tears turned to tiny crystals as they hit the ground.
Cian didn't stop. He couldn't. He struck her again, and again, each blow sending shards of her beauty scattering across the floor. Elara's sobs grew quieter with every fracture until finally, with one final, desperate plea for mercy, her body collapsed into a million glittering pieces.
When it was over, Cian stood amidst the ruins of her, his hands trembling. The shards reflected the moonlight, casting fractured rainbows across the chapel walls. For a moment, he felt triumphant, as though he had uncovered the secret of the universe. But then the silence pressed in, suffocating him.
Cian knelt, his hands hovering over the shards, realizing too late what he had done. Elara was gone, her laughter, her warmth, her love—all gone. What remained was nothing more than broken pieces, as cold and lifeless as the beauty he had once cherished.
And as he stared into the shattered remnants, he swore he could still see her eyes, glittering with unshed tears, silently asking him, Why?
From that day on, the villagers whispered of the boy who destroyed the glass girl, a cautionary tale about obsession and the fragile nature of love. And in the quiet hours of the night, some claimed they could still hear Elara's shattered voice carried on the wind, mourning the life she had lost to someone who couldn't see past her surface.