Atlas peered into the bowl of water.
An absolute doll of a face peered back.
Atlas immediately snapped his head back, and thought to himself, ‘Must be dreaming. Dammit, that old pervert’s words made my expectations balloon out of control.’
Patting his cheeks and rubbing his eyes, he quietly said, “Be calm. Be sensible. And let’s do this again. Remember, no extravagant expectations.”
Atlas peered into the bowl of water, once again.
A porcelain doll with flawless, pale-white skin, big blue eyes, long flitted eyelashes, and sunlight-golden hair peered back.
Atlas calmly withdrew his gaze. He pushed aside the bowl of water. His head turned to face the dark, cloudless night sky. He then closed his eyes. A deep inhale followed by a slow exhale exited his mouth.
Opening his eyes, Atlas Constantine screamed, [HO! LEY! SHIT! I HIT THE GENETIC JACKPOT!!!] His high-pitched yell was naturally in English, his most frequented language.
Frenzied joy rushed through his mind.
‘WHO IS ATLAS CONSTANTINE!?! THAT IS ATLAS CONSTANTINE, MUDAFUCKA!! WOOO-HOOOO!!’
He immediately dove at the table and grabbed the bowl with both his hands. Breathing heavily, he brought the bowl before him for the third time and peered into it with flushed cheeks.
The immediate standouts were his bright ice-blue eyes tapestried by his fine golden eyelashes. They were akin to jewels, two big sapphires sitting in a pool of argent whites and ornamented by the finest of golden threads. The slight wetness on the surface added to its overflowing charm and grace.
His eyebrows, again golden in color, were willowy and contrasted sharply against his porcelain-like smooth, white skin. The young prince’s skin was soft and flawless.
Going downwards, there was his cute nose and supple lips, both tender, fresh, and with the right amount of redness. A small crimson tongue hid within his lips, guarded by a wall of pearly, perfect teeth.
Atlas Constantine was the very picture of aesthetic perfection. He was flawless and unworldly.
‘I’m like a total ikemen!! No, scratch that! I’ve gone full bishounen! I am BISHOUNEN!!’ Atlas squealed in complete delight. No language in this world –or any other– could explain the sheer extent of Atlas’ current feelings of joy.
He was quite the good-looking guy in the past. After all, charisma was a very important tool in the arsenal of a politician. However, compared to his current appearance, his previous appearance was akin to a firefly in front of the sun.
They simply couldn’t be compared on the same scale.
Carrying the bowl of water holding his reflection in his hands, Atlas continued to gush over his own appearance. His previously hidden and somewhat manageable trait of narcissism completely blew up with his latest realization.
He was now unequaled not only in his wits but also in his looks.
“Erm, milord.” Growing worried at the young lord’s sudden departure from the table, and his subsequent screaming that didn’t make any sense, the elderly blacksmith, Douglas Wootz, arrived at the table where Atlas was squirming and gushing at his reflection.
“Are ya alright, milord?” he asked, his tone dripping with sincere worry.
Atlas didn’t immediately reply. While holding the bowl of water, as if it was some sort of precious relic, he turned around and flashed a brilliant smile at the elderly blacksmith. The older man felt his heart skip a beat at the sight.
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“I’m at the top of the world, Douglas. I’m at… the top of the world,” said the prince. On the rarest of occasions, his words were both sincere and honest. There wasn’t a shred of deceit in them.
Monster kidnapping? Fallen Kingdom? Struggling town? Useless subordinates? No cheats? A series of misfortunes, each more terrible than the last?
‘If this was my prize, I would suffer through all of that a hundred times more and a hundred times again!’
“I-I see, milord,” replied Douglas, swallowing the lump that had formed at his throat.
“I’ll get going now, Douggie. It’s been great talking to you. Keep up the good word.” Saying so, the young prince left the elderly blacksmith and began to make his way to the manor. The bowl of water never left his hands and his head never rose to watch the path before him.
---
A few hours later.
Sitting at his desk all alone inside the empty office, Atlas sang, “Water, water in the bowl~ Tell me, who is the fairest of them all?”
He then paused for a second before changing his voice and replying, “Why of course, it’s you, my king.”
“Surely you jest,” He said, going back to his normal voice.
“Not at all, my king,” replied him in his assumed voice. “In all the lands far and wide, none who is fairer than you exists. You are the fairest of them all, my king.”
“Haha, as expected,” Atlas replied with his regular voice. “Just like how two suns cannot shine over one earth, two people with my level of beauty, simply cannot exist.”
“It makes me wonder though,” He suddenly said. “Did the Gods of this world deny me power out of jealousy for my talent? Or my appearance? Cause the way I see it, it could be either-or.”
“Gods,” he clicked his tongue softly. “What a petty bunch.”
In mere hours after his realization of his appearance, Atlas went from lording over his fellow brethren –humans, that is– about his inherent superiority, to lording over the Gods!
He was so full of himself, that he even dared to admonish the divine!
Resting his arm on the desk and leaning his head against his palm, Atlas sighed to himself, “To think I went for nearly half a month without realizing my own gifts. What a pity~ What a pity~” He helplessly shook his head.
Knock. Knock. A series of heavy knocks echoed from the closed door of his office.
“Who’s there?” Atlas immediately straightened up and asked. He had been so deep in appreciating his own beauty that he had forgotten about the world around him.
“It’s me, my liege,” replied a gruff, tired voice.
‘Oh, it’s Baron Helm.’ He then replied, “Come in, Baron Helm.”
The door to his office opened and in walked a tall man covered in thick clothing. His egg-like head was caked in sweat and grime and his pig-like face looked weary and spent. A sense of tiredness and melancholy radiated from the man.
Of course, Atlas didn’t notice any of those things. For something else also radiated off the man.
Pinching his nose, Atlas said with a frown, “You stink, Baron Helm.” The smell that wafted off the large Baron was almost as intense as the scent trapped inside the wooden shack behind the manor. ‘That reminds me, I need to talk to Douglas about implementing some sort of sewage system. I cannot spend any more morning soaking in the scent of fresh filth and sh*t!’
“Apologies, my liege. I didn’t notice the terrible state I was in,” Baron Helm bowed in apology.
“You seriously need to be more aware of yourself, Baron Helm,” Atlas admonished. “Wisdom stems from the awareness of oneself and his inadequacies. It is always best to be aware and humble.” He quoted wisely.
“I shall remember, my liege,” Baron Helm replied and marked the young prince’s words in his memory. His downtrodden and heavy heart felt a little relieved after receiving the young lord’s grace. Sighing quietly to himself, he thought, ‘As expected, my liege is the wisest, most humble lord on this earth. Someone like me doesn’t deserve to be placed on the same pedestal as him.’
It would have been interesting to see how the Baron’s thoughts would change, had he been witness to the little prince’s ‘one-man-QnA’ a few moments ago. Unfortunately, fate did not allow such a thing to take place.
“What are you waiting for then? Go and get changed immediately. We shall discuss matters upon your return,” Atlas instructed.
“My liege, but–!” Baron Helm tried to protest. Given the severity and weight of the matters, it wouldn’t be right to delay it. Unfortunately, Atlas wasn’t changing his mind.
“Are you trying to kill me with your scent, man?” Atlas looked severe. “That was an order. Go immediately!” He barked.
“Understood, my liege,” Baron Helm bowed once more and promptly exited the office. His liege had ordered and he would oblige.
Seeing the Baron walk out of the office, Atlas went back to admiring himself
“O’ water, water, in the bowl. Tell me, who is the fairest…”