Word Count: 150
He smiles as he gazes into the dusty mirror. Even in the dim light, it shines maliciously, taunting him. If he looks closely, it becomes a pale snake, twisting against his skin.
He runs a long finger down the length of it, revelling in the coolness of his own touch, marvelling at time’s ability to preserve such disfigurements so absolutely.
Although, he realises, when everything’s made to be broken, nothing’s ever perfect.
And nothing ever is. His scar – the sole blemish on his previously faultless appearance, but the only sign of perfection he has – is itself flawed: one sin for each ridge on the jagged surface.
He digs a nail deep into the wound, tearing the surface. Bracing himself, he waits for the pain. It never comes.
A droplet of blood, crimson against the white skin, appears.
Draco brushes the blood away brusquely.
No, he thinks. Perfect.
By the way, thanks to avada_k, I've become readdicted to Sailor Moon. Someone help me please. Darien is so (as Serena would put it) dreamy.