Whiteling

I won't deny that you're prettiest wearing this, sure. I won't deny that the other one's flecks match the gold nails and the shade of his lips. But you... you do understand that he's still prettier than you.

More perfect. More ideal.

You're just wearing something unfitting for your face.

A mask, maybe.

Rich colors to disguise your dull skin and hair.

You're not confident enough to make it work.

He looked upon the letter. It was an anonymous "let's judge each other's appearances" game. He didn't reply to the person he rolled. He supposes someone could call this justice, to receive a message like this, after his own disdain. To call it justice, an incongruity, instead of only what it was, however... It's not like his own goodness would have changed the bitter words into praise. There's no one the lie would hurt other than himself.

In any case, he looked himself over in the mirror again. His eyes matched the darkest portions of his hair, and the darkest shadows of the cloth in blue lighting.

[img]blob:https://imgur.com/5398db59-bf4f-4ad2-b20f-46f9e84844a0[/img]

And vanity was vanity, but... he had his satchel to hold food, and he had his lanterns to light the path. They were mundane things for a mundane life; but then again, magic was only a dull, unrefined weapon, meant for cutting things down. Universal needs like food, friendship... there were more dragons that needed those.

There was no disgust in his smile. He looked upon himself, and felt beauty in the meaning of what he chose.