back - ao3 link - words: 2,547 - publish date: 02 Jan 2025
A lightly held phial of blood-red liquid gleamed in the candlelight, the darkness of the night seeping through the windows. The air had a smell of chemicals, which some wouldn't be able to stand. Glass bottles were sporadically scattered around the desk, which was littered with various notes and ingredients.
A carefully measured portion of a salt was added to the tincture from above, falling into the liquid, small grains of white visible before dissolving away.
Dr. Henry Jekyll watched as this happened, the salt disappearing into the red. Once the white was no longer visible, now part of the liquid, the red began to shift to a purplish hue. Soon it halted at an acidic green shade.
That was new. The salt of which he had added had been one that he received a few days prior, and hadn't tested yet. He quickly noted how much of the salt he used to invoke the change.
A putrid smell rose from the bottle toward his nose, and he quickly turned away with a sneeze, trying to avoid the fumes. He really should have been using proper safety equipment.
Jekyll tried to get a better look at the now-green liquid, observing it under the light. A faint bubbling sound could be heard in the silence of the room.
He hummed quietly, knowing that he would be testing this on himself. Previously his attempts had only led to feelings of sickness after drinking them, and he was prepared for this one to end the same.
He swirled the vile around, hesitating. Jekyll never enjoyed testing them, far from it, but it wasn't like he could use someone else. He was technically risking his life by doing this, but he had already started using himself as a test subject. The final goal was meant to affect only him.
He gathered himself and brought the glass bottle to his mouth, drinking down a portion of the horrid liquid before he could delay his actions further.
There was an unpleasant, salty taste sliding down his throat while he kept a hand over his mouth, trying to keep himself from spitting it back up.
The liquid rested in the back of his throat, and he nearly gagged from the taste. It bubbled in his stomach, uncomfortably spreading its warm effect throughout the rest of his body. It eventually settled into a constant ache in his chest that was easier to deal with.
He paced around the small space in his lab, waiting to see if anything else would happen. Something was bound to happen, since his formula was not much changed from his previous attempts. He would at least get the same sickness as his last attempts has resulted in.
He trembled slightly, his head beginning to ache. He quickly jotted down what he was feeling, though it was difficult, his handwriting worse than usual. The shaking was new.
Jekyll was about to finish his notes as he had to put down his pen, pain seeping through bones. His breath trembled as he inhaled. He would have tried to write this down if he weren't so focused on the painful ache throughout his body.
He gripped the edge of the desk, gritting his teeth. His whole body ached with a sharp pain, while he struggled to stay upright. He didn't last long, collapsing to the ground as the agony worsened.
He thought he could hear his bones cracking, and feel them shifting as he shook violently, almost curled up on the ground. He tried to scream, but his vocal cords seemed to not be working at the moment. His flesh stretched, wrapping around his bones as they broke and bent.
His organs moved in ways they shouldn't have. His skin melted into a more malleable state while he was tensed up too much to move. He could have had a knife slicing through his head with how much it was hurting.
It was probably the worst he has ever experienced, lying on the floor in immense pain, tortured by means only himself had caused.
Was this the end? Would he die from his own poison?
Then suddenly, it stopped. Everything was still for a moment. Jekyll exhaled a shaky breath. He continued to lie there for much longer than necessary.
Eventually he tried to sit himself up off the ground.
He felt... strange, in a way he couldn't place. His tongue felt wrong in his mouth. The room appeared a bit brighter, more clear and vivid than it was before. Surprisingly, he wasn't in any pain. He felt great, actually.
Ignoring the fact he was just crumpled up and dying on the floor, Henry attempted to stand up and regain himself. He smiled, though wasn't entirely sure why.
He managed to stand, leaning on his chair to prevent him from falling back down. Everything seemed bigger, taller than him, despite him standing straight up. He was quite disoriented, but he continued as if nothing bad had happened.
He laughed to himself, a high pitched sound that could almost be qualified as a giggle. His hair fell in front of his face while he moved, and he reached up to push it back.
As his hand came into view, he noticed it was most definitely not his own hand. His fingers were longer, thinner, and his fingernails were sharper. The hair on his knuckles was darker and more visible, his palms were rougher and more calloused.
Henry looked at his hands in confusion and tried to come to some conclusion as to why he looked like that. His brain was muddled and foggy, and he wasn't reacting as extremely as he should have. His hands were shaking, and he tried to stop them by flapping them more drastically.
His hair was still in his eyes, even though it should have been tied back. Maybe his hair tie had fallen out? He pushed it back with his hand, and felt the rougher, more coarse texture of his hair. It was a bit more coiled than before. He assumed it was just dirty, and tried to tie back his hair again.
Once complete, he was more aware of his surroundings. He was able to see quite well, despite there only being a single candle in his lab at the time. Everything was brighter and more colorful, even.
Henry's clothes were also looser on his frame, his pants close to falling and his shirt sleeves covering his hands, as well as dropping much further below his waist than usual.
He pulled up his sleeves, to get them out of the way, and got a glance at his arms, which were thinner, more pale and deathly looking. It too was covered in the same dark hair that his hands were.
Trying to get a grip on his thoughts, he could tell that, despite what had just happened a few minutes ago, was feeling better than he had in years. Possibly even the best he had ever been before.
Henry let out that strange laugh again, smiling at this revelation. He was trying to understand why this was happening, though the best answer he could come to was something to do with the drug that he had created. He wasn't even fully aware of the drug's effects.
He glanced back down at his oversized clothes, still piecing together why they were too large for him. They had fit him fine earlier.
He must have been smaller, or his clothes, larger? That shouldn't have been possible, but the thrill of excitement he had in that moment overruled thoughts of confusion.
He decided he would go back to his bedroom to try and find something that would fit him better. He awkwardly tried to step, almost losing his balance. Still a bit disoriented, he stumbled like a drunkard toward the door that opened into the hallway.
He threw his hand at the handle and pushed the door open with a loud creak, eyes peering into the hall. No one was there at that moment, so he creeped out. The floorboards creaked underneath his weight.
The hallway appeared bright, despite there not being any source for light to come from that would have lit it up enough for him to easily navigate.
He felt like an intruder in his own home as he made his way down the hall, hunched over and sneaking like some creature.
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw someone. He panicked, before noticing that it was just the mirror against the wall. The only problem was that he didn't see himself in the reflection.
Peering at the glass, he saw a short faced young man with an unnerving smile. He was adorned with a crooked nose and wild black hair that was badly tied back. He appeared unshaven, with green eyes almost glowed in the light, his shirt collar falling on his shoulders.
He reached up for his face, and the man in the mirror imitated. Was that his face? He didn't look like that- well, it bore some resemblance, but not enough that it could possibly be him.
He waved, and the mirror worked as it should and reflected himself back. He was still smiling, and it wasn't one of the fake smiles that he had been using for years. He honestly was feeling quite amazing.
He tore his eyes away from the man in the mirror and continued his journey down the hall. He made his way to the entrance to his bedroom, opened the door, and stepped in. He peeked out the door to make sure no one was around before shutting and locking it behind him.
He laughed a bit again, a bit of thrill coming from sneaking around his own house. He forgot what he came here for, and decided to jump into his bed. He slightly curled up and hummed happily to himself.
He laid there for a decent extent of time, face nuzzled into one of the pillows. He was comfortable for once, just resting. He could have dozed off then and there if he wanted too.
He jumped up, remembering why he came here. He leapt off the bed and toward his closet, but stopped at the window attached to his room. He looked out at the stars, how they lit up the clear sky while there were barely any lights in the streets.
He was still running on adrenaline, and he wanted to go out there, get a glance at the night sky and the city below. He could get a much better view if the glass weren't in the way.
The lock on the window clicked as he fidgeted with the lock, and he pushed it open. The cold wind from outdoors hit his face.
He stuck his head out the window and turned toward the wall. It was made of brick, which he could hypothetically grip onto and pull himself out.
If he reached he could probably grab onto a ledge and climb out the window. It's not the best idea to exit out a window, but he was already halfway there.
He stepped on the edge of the window, pulling himself out further to get a better look at his surroundings. There was a ledge to the side of him that he could try to reach for.
With an awkward turn, he gripped onto the ledge. The stone scraped against his hand, the cold air stinged his skin. He could never do something like this usually, and wasn't entirely sure what persuaded him to do this now.
He shifted his weight while eyeing the rooftop. He quickly threw his hand up and grabbed the edge, pulling himself up with much more strength then he thought he had toward the roof.
He landed, stumbling around a bit, but was surprised by how easily he made that jump. He hadn't been able to do something like that before. He laughed.
The lights in the sky gleamed as he sat down and gazed upward. The cold wind blew onto his face. A full moon shone, a rare clear night absent of clouds. He smiled for no one, looking about the city, perched like a gargoyle from his vantage point.
He mulled over the events that happened the past half hour or so, still having many questions he wanted answered. He drank his new version of the potion, version seven if he was correct. There was a lot of pain, just before he felt strange, and recovered. He saw a different face in the mirror, though now that he thought about it, it made most sense that somehow he managed to completely change his appearance.
Changed his face, his identity. He couldn't be recognized as Henry Jekyll like this. He wouldn't have to worry about keeping up his reputation, keeping up his act to fit in with higher society. He would be free from expectations, from the eyes of others.
Not a sound was made as the implications of this fully processed, but when it clicked, the silence was broken by a loud laugh full of delight. He was free! He could do anything! He shifted to a seated position with his legs over the side of the roof, swinging them back and forth.
Anything, anything he wanted. This thought pleased him, knowing that he wouldn't have to control himself while he wasn't Jekyll. It occurred to him that, if he wasn't Jekyll, who was he?
He would need a new name, yes. A new name for his new identity. He wasn't decided yet. He would be sure to think of one soon, but for now he was content with just not being Henry Jekyll.
The joyous laughter from the roof echoed through the night for no one but the man sitting on the roof to hear, everyone else having retired for the night, as he really should have done by now.
He hummed happily to himself, for his new discovery and an experiment gone right.
Jekyll groaned. His face was pressed against the cold tile of his lab floor, where he had passed out the night before.
Both the action of taking the potion and what he did afterward had exhausted him. Assuming that what he remembered did actually happen, it seemed quite unlikely.
He tried to stand up, which proved to be a struggle, but was eventually seated in his chair.
The notes that he had taken were laying across his desk, which he dragged over to hopefully update with his newly discovered information.
What he remembered writing was still badly scrawled out on the paper, though there wasn't much, for having ditched note taking for a more hands-on experience.
He attempted to recall as much of the night as he could, and write it down before he could forget. He would need to run more tests, since his potion proved to achieve things that hadn't been achieved before.
Jekyll, who knew how amazing he had felt while under the effects of his created drug, wouldn't admit that he also wanted to test it again, for himself.
More preparation would be required, so he would be able to leave the confinements of his home. Jekyll was sure to get this ready soon enough.