Chapter Text
The scratching of a pen was the only thing to break the silence of the night. Dr. Henry Jekyll sat at the desk in the corner of the once operating theatre that was now his laboratory. He was writing, or he was trying to at least. Multiple thoughts were clawing at his brain, rendering him unable to write more than a couple words over the span of several minutes. Usually he would love to be writing things like this, letters confirming he had discovered a cure to diseases thought to be fatal, letters confirming he had discovered something amazing… but over the past couple months, something else had been demanding his attention. Days and days had been spent trying to produce a formula that would be able to rid him of the… unseemly parts of himself, that would be able to separate what he deemed evil from his soul. He had laboured for many, many days, trying to put together bits and pieces of information he had taken from all the alchemical texts he had found, looked through every book written by every scientist and madman to help him in this endeavour. Most books had proved to be useless, but a small few had little scraps of something useful hidden inside the ramblings of insane men. He had worked tirelessly, making several versions of this formula, most of which failed… but now he had done it. He was sure he had done it. The rational feelings of fear had been stopping him from testing it, however. The part of him that was perfectly content with living this life of suffering, if it meant remaining safe, had been desperately trying to stop the part of him who wanted to be free from these thoughts constantly plaguing him, no matter the cost… and it had succeeded until now.
He could barely focus, the small flow of words he had managed to scrawl on the paper had ceased. Despite the fact that he had pushed the idea of testing this formula to the back of his mind, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it. Despite the fact that he had hidden the small bottle of the formula behind the clutter on one of the many tables in his room he just couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that he had to attempt to see if it worked. Before he even realised it, he had gotten up from his desk and made his way over to one of the most cluttered tables in the room. Beakers and conical flasks and test tubes encrusted with long forgotten liquids were strewn about, all sitting between the books and stacks of papers that cluttered the surface of the table even further. Most of the tables in Jekyll's lab had become extra storage space, his cupboard overcrowded with vials of powders and oils and extracts, some of which being mostly useless to him. He rummaged through the mess, moving things until he found what he was looking for. A small vial full of a deep red liquid that seemed to emit a light of its own. Next to it sat a small, brown paper bag which contained the key ingredient that would theoretically make the formula work. Even just looking at the two items filled Jekyll with dread, the thought that this could turn out horribly crawling out from the back of his mind once more. He tried to push that thought away as he grabbed the vial and little brown bag, he had to do this, he just had to.
Jekyll walked over to a less cluttered table and put the items down. He stared at the vial for a few seconds, finding its contents rather beautiful. The way it almost glowed was fascinating, and he observed how its colour would slowly shift from a deep crimson to a vivid scarlet. He took the cork out of the vial, placing it back down onto the table as he opened the little brown bag. It was filled with a very specific chemical salt he had acquired a little while ago. This was what would make the formula do what he needed to do… hopefully. He picked up a small measuring spoon that was also on the table and very carefully measured the correct amount of the salt. If he even added just a few grains too many, the formula could become unstable and possibly kill him once he consumed it. No. He shook his head, trying to clear that thought from his mind. If he kept thinking like this, he would end up convincing himself not to test the formula, leading to him living in suffering for the rest of his life. He tipped the salt into the liquid, each grain leaving behind a bleeding trail of purple as they sank to the bottom. He picked up the vial and held it in front of his eyes as he observed the reaction taking place. As every grain of salt dissolved the liquid began to bubble, fading into a dark violet, and eventually became a vivid green. He, perhaps a little too late, remembered he had originally been planning on writing all this down. He quickly went back to the desk he had originally been working at and grabbed the notebook he had used to write in when he first started attempting to make the formula, as well as a pen. He made his way back to the table and began to write, rather hurriedly, ‘August 18th, 11:29pm. Added 3 grams of the salt to formula version 7. Turned from scarlet to indigo to green. Peculiar smoke being produced as it changed colour’. It may not have been much, but he was so focused on actually testing it before he took the coward's way out that he didn’t care to write more than a few words. He began to notice the feelings of fear that had started to creep within him, and instantly tried to smother it with a feigned confidence as he quickly drank the contents of the vial.
Once he swallowed, he placed a hand over his mouth, having to stop himself from gagging at the horrid acrid taste that the formula left behind. It stung his tongue, and this was almost enough to make him regret testing the formula in the first place. The stinging became a burning that had travelled down his throat once the liquid went down. The sensation began to spread through his body, and he went to write down what was happening before the pain became too much to bear. He wasn’t quick enough however, and what he tried to write was unintelligible as the feeling filled his body. He let out a gasp as the pain became worse. No, he had to write what was happening, he had to document everything. He had known that this wouldn’t be a comfortable process, modifying the soul was guaranteed to cause some pain, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with. Jekyll put the pen down and quickly covered his mouth again, coughing up some of the formula into his hand. God, he hadn’t expected the pain to come this fast. The empty vial fell from his right hand, shattering on the floor. As the pain continued to get worse and worse he grabbed onto the side of the table, trying to stay standing. All the fear that he had tried to push down rushed back into his mind. This was a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake–
The fear made its way into Jekyll's mind, burrowing into his thoughts. His entire body felt like it was being seared by flames. He wanted it to stop, it needed to stop. As he continued to try to stay standing, a sharp pain shot through him, and his head began to hurt more than the rest of his body. It felt like something was trying to break through his skull. It was horrible, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He could hardly stay standing. A new thought had wormed its way into his mind as he stood there, suffering. Was he dying? That thought only added to the fear. He didn’t want to die! Suddenly, the pain got far too much to handle, and not even holding onto the table could keep him standing. His legs gave out, and he fell to his knees, letting out a scream of agony. More of the green liquid rose up in his throat, and he coughed it out onto the floor. That was when he felt his body begin to change. It was somehow even more agonising than all the previous pain combined. His bones shifted, his joints cracked, it felt like his entire body was being reshaped. It was too much, he was going to pass out, he was going to die.
And just as quick as it started… everything stopped. Most of the pain faded from his body, dulling down to an ache. He could finally breathe again. He had survived the pain. He was… fine. He coughed up more of the green liquid. Each greedy breath of air he took in hurt his chest, but he didn’t care. He had survived, and that’s all he cared about. As he recovered from whatever gruesome thing he had just gone through, a new feeling emerged. He felt lighter. He felt free, more free than he had ever felt before. He felt alive. So horrifyingly alive. His right hand made its way up to his head as he gripped his hair, a manic joy carving its way into his very soul. He felt amazing! He started to laugh, a grin spreading across his face as he basked in the newfound feelings of joy. Oh the things he could do while he was like this. He barely managed to stand, his body still trying to recover from the agony. He continued to laugh, if anyone saw him in this state they would think of him as a madman. But he couldn’t care less about that. He was free. Absolutely free. As he stood up and leaned on the table next to him and, through the haze of manic euphoria, noticed he had become shorter. The table which he had once needed to hunch over to use was now above his waist. This realisation caused his smile to falter for a moment, but his displeasure at this fact was short-lived as a new thought entered his mind. A mirror. He needed a mirror.