He’s not disgusted by the scars on your face; he’s surprised.
You strike him in the back with your knee, and he flies off you.
You roll backward onto him, twisting your body and locking your hand around his throat. You lean in as if you were going to kiss him, but Karl is at his worst, most repugnant self right now—Franklin. “You said you wanted the world to see me as I am,” you say, ignoring the confusion on his face since he doesn’t actually recall any of this—not what he said to you, not any of those romantic moments you shared together at proms or Korean restaurants, nothing. But you know all this, and you’re all that matters. “Here I am.”
He doesn’t look away from your face, not even to see if the pocketknife in your other hand is inching closer to him. His life could be stolen at any moment now, if you choose to strangle him or snap his neck, but, with great concern and strain, he asks, “What happened to you?”
He hasn’t even asked about himself. He has no idea that months ago you drugged him with Trance in the middle of the night, while he was asleep in his lab working on a pill that could prevent your seeds from ever taking hold, with no one but that bastard cat keeping him company. And yet he asks what happened to you, what your past is.
You help others, but you don’t care for them. And aren’t angels supposed to care?
“Bad parenting happened,” you find yourself admitting, for the first time ever. “My father took his cruelty out on me and I finally gained control when I stole his life.”
Saying all this out loud reminds you of childhood, when you wanted to hear fairy tales of princesses being saved from dragons by knights. Except growing up in your household taught you two important things: You have to be in charge of telling your own story. And sometimes the princess needs to get off her ass, pick up a sword, and slay the dragon herself.
Your happily-ever-after began when your father’s life ended.
And now you wear the crown and wield the sword, at all times.
“I’m sorry,” Franklin says. “I didn’t know. But none of this makes you entitled to someone else’s life. Let me go. Turn yourself in. We can get you the help you need. You’ll never be innocent again, but you don’t have to be so guilty.”
“It’s touching how much you care. Too bad you won’t remember trying to be the hero.”
Franklin shakes his head. “You will. Good luck living with yourself.”
You slam the hilt of your pocketknife into his forehead, knocking him out. You climb off him, kicking his side to make sure he’s actually laid out. No groans, no winces. You ignore his cat’s meowing and walk over to your Memory Bank to grab another Trance seed.
You catch your reflection in the mirror. There’s no mask hiding you at your purest.
“An angel.” The word doesn’t feel right, and it’s not because of the scars on your face. You could’ve killed Franklin instead of taking his memories hostage and hiding them behind an identity of your making, but you continued to let him breathe. This is a fate his friends weren’t offered—a privilege his friends weren’t offered. Franklin is a trophy you parade around, not simply put away in a case to collect dust. He tried to beat you and you won, fair and square. Now he gets to serve you. And while angels serve the people, they above all bow before a single voice. “You’re a god,” you remind yourself.
You smile and return to Franklin’s body.
Maybe he’s not exactly a dragon. Maybe you’re not the angel the client believed you to be. But this life is still one of your own design, and that’s the way you like it. You roll the Trance seed around your fist, imagining what life you’ll design for him next. Every name he’s worn so far will remain good and buried, but he’s in excellent hands with you. The world knows this.
You’ll make a name for him. And no one will remember the old ones.
CATRIONA FEENEY’S VILLAIN CHALLENGE TO ADAM SILVERA:
A Female Teen Crime Lord Concealed by a Mask
BEHIND THE VILLAIN’S MASK
BY CATRIONA FEENEY
My original idea for Adam Silvera’s villain prompt was inspired by a blend of the supervillains Harley Quinn and the Joker. The combination of their sociopathic tendencies, energy, agility, and intelligence left so much room for exciting evil-doing, and a big part of their characters is the masks of makeup they wear. I could only imagine the fun Adam had, playing around with the possibilities while exploring Slate’s character.
The mask itself is one of the things I love most about Adam’s story. The imagery and the history behind it drew me in, while simultaneously repelling me with its grotesqueness. Paired with the narrative, Slate’s physical mask points toward the metaphorical masks that we ourselves wear. Everyone puts on fa?ades at certain times for various reasons. Whether to exert a sense of professionalism when dealing with customers, or to display our very best side on a first date, we use different masks to present different sides of ourselves to those around us.
However, the way in which we are perceived isn’t solely dependent on our own individual output. We can’t always manipulate how others see us, as often there are also societal expectations and assumptions that come into play. But when you actively choose to put on a mask that has certain meanings, you can subvert or control how other people see you.
Slate undermines those expectations. Her scar-covered face does not fall within the prescribed ideas of “beauty” as defined by our present culture. Nor does the mask of rotted flesh she wears to cover those very scars. Slate’s mask’s purpose is not to fit in and conform to societal beauty standards and present an idealized image of the female face. The mask is Slate’s face. It is the image people recognize as belonging to the crime lord. Rather than attract, it repels and disgusts people. Most importantly, it is a trophy that also embodies Slate’s strength and control. Furthermore, Slate does not act like your typical eighteen-year-old girl. (I can’t say that I know any teen crime lords, but then again they wouldn’t reveal their identity to me.) She certainly acts in . . . questionable ways, which is what I find so fascinating. Slate is ruthless and unforgiving, having been hardened and shaped into a calculating and resourceful villain with really creative ways of obtaining what she desires without getting her hands dirty. But most of all, I love how she is her own knight in rusty armor. She doesn’t want or need saving from anyone, and she wears a mask all her own.
SO WHAT DOES YOUR MASK SAY ABOUT YOU?
Hero or villain, you must hide your identity when you are saving the world or trying to destroy it. You look at the masks lined up side by side. Your fingers trace a smooth jawline as you decide which will be your new face. You hesitate for a second before ultimately going with your gut instinct. You fasten the mask to your face. Was it . . .
THE EYE MASK