Oscar Wilde's The Nightingale and the Rose - Rewritten
He was too far gone, lost inside that little world raging inside of his mind, where everything was fine. He was in control. Every change in season, every flow of life and story was concocted within the safe confines of his mind. It was a scheduled process. Every seasonal change occurred just as it did in the real world, but there were magic and wonder in his mind. It kept him on his toes, and the outside world never mingled with the inside one, and it was better off that way. But Oliver? Oliver danced around in his mind as well. Red hair bouncing about as he took Robin's hands and they ran through fields of the greenest grass one had ever seen. The problem was, Robin's feelings had started to manifest outside of his cage. Thoughts and feelings were becoming muddled and tangled. Oliver was his friend. Nothing more. Everything was just in his mind.
The Picture of Dorian Gray - Rewritten
I could feel the heat of the fire on my cheeks, the tears I had been crying long forgotten as they evaporated on my skin. The flames licked their way up the photograph, the paper keeling over as it burned away, flakes of what it had depicted falling to the ground in ash, creating tiny hills of what had once been adoration. I had no sudden inclination to sweep any of it away, I just stared at the blues that blackened what had been beneath them in their wake. That was my last tether to him. I no longer felt any emotion at the thought of his eyes, especially after they burnt away and caught the evening breeze.