Stars? They are pinpoints of white-hot fire,
caught like snowflakes in motion against the darkness of space.
Darkness.. I doubt I have to describe that to you.
Firelight played across her features as she allowed herself to relax for a moment. The constant tension was exhausting, an electric charge in the air like before a severe thunderstorm. She cuddled up before the fire and absently looked around the room. So many memories lay hidden in those walls, ready to float out and dance before her eyes whenever she willed them to. Her gaze wandered over the furniture and trinkets she remembered from her childhood; the little table by the window where they always put the vase with summer's first flowers, the little crystal unicorn her mother had given her on her fourth birthday - one of the few memories of her mother that hadn't been destroyed with her home in Sairaag, the books in the bookshelf by the fireplace. Tomes of white magic mingled with books on physics and poetry, floras and faunas shared shelves with history books and children's story books. Her father had used to sit with her in the couch before the fire and read to her every night before she went to bed. As her gaze reached the couch with its tangled blankets and sheets she had to close her eyes to hold back tears. No matter what happened next, the purity of this place would be forever tainted with the memory of the killer's presence.
She could hear the muffled clattering of wet china against the sink from the kitchen, a soothing, everyday sound, but at the same time oh so wrong. She opened her eyes again and stared into the dance of the flames over blackened twigs. It all seemed so unreal. Why, how was it that her father's murderer had come back to life? Such things simply did not happen! She suddenly blinked as another memory surfaced. Actually, such a thing had happened once before, and not too long ago. When Hellmaster Phibrizo had built his temple in the ruins of Sairaag he had resurrected all those people who had died there to become his servants. She remembered well meeting her father then, finally being able to say goodbye the way she hadn't been able to the night Sairaag was destroyed.
She stirred from her thoughts at the quiet sound of soft laughter. She frowned, certain it had been her imagination, but then she heard it again. Curious, she stood and quietly walked over to the hallway to look into the kitchen. The dishes stood neatly stacked on the counter, clean and dry. Her odd visitor crouched on the floor by the counter. He was playing with her cat. The little animal jumped and flipped, made somersaults and skidded all over the floor to try and catch the piece of string slithering before its paws. The purple-haired man chuckled softly as the animal chased the string, his pale features relaxed into a smile. Not the insane laugh or smug grin she had seen on his face in Sairaag, but a sincere display of happiness. Like that he actually looked human...
She could clearly see the moment he detected her presence. He stiffened, the smile fading from his lips as if he had slid on a mask. He quickly stood, his eyes never meeting hers.
"I finished the dishes."
She looked over at the clean plates and cups on the counter, then back at him. The cat, disappointed the game was over walked over to him and hopefully rubbed against his legs. Even though he didn't move a muscle he still managed to look somewhat embarrassed.
"It would seem my cat likes you," she commented, a little more tartly than she had intended. He looked down at the affectionate creature, and for a split second that unexpected smile shone through his indifferent expression. Then it was gone, so fast she wasn't even sure it had been there.
"That would make her a first," he mumbled. Sylphiel frowned, there was no emotion whatsoever in his voice, yet there was no mistaking to the bitterness of that statement.
She suddenly wished she hadn't entered the kitchen; his presence made her uncertain and she didn't know what to say. Finally she just settled for another awkward gesture.
"I'll put away the dishes tomorrow."
He nodded, his eyes averted. Somehow that submissiveness made her want to scream. He was supposed to be dangerous and evil, not quiet and subdued. It made it all so much more difficult to hate him.
Various emotions flashed over the blue-haired girl's face. She was frowning; apparently he had managed to anger her again, somehow. Talking to her was like walking on very thin ice that could shatter under his feet at any moment. With Eris he had known disobedience could lead to harsh punishment, but at least she had been unwilling to get rid of him once and for all. This young woman hated him, he could see that in her eyes, and she probably would not give him any second chances.
Sylphiel bent down and picked up the cat, then turned and left without another word.
Why did it all have to be so difficult? She didn't know what to do, how to act. All her life she had managed to get along well with people, often giving up a lot of herself to do it, often forgoing her own opinions to avoid conflicts. But not with him. There was the limit.
The stairs creaked under her feet as she walked towards her own room. The cat squirmed in her arms, but she didn't let it go. It was bad enough the copy's presence in the house sullied the memory of her dead father, she couldn't let him steal the affection of her one companion as well. Cat in one hand, sword in the other she managed to get the door closed behind her. She didn't even notice her own tears until the cat decided it had had enough of the wet stains they left on its fur and managed to wriggle itself loose. It walked over to the closed door and stared at it as if trying open it through sheer willpower, the twitching tail giving away its displeasure.
The room was dark, and she lit a candle to chase the night away. She could hear the windows rattle in the violent gale. Never had she felt so alone and insecure in this house. She wiped the tears from her eyes, but they kept flowing. Blurry, distorted by her tears, the little seedling resting in its glass jar seemed to catch the light of the candle and reflect it. Glowing pure and green in the warm light, like the first delicate leaves of spring when the sunlight shone through them, it emanated calm and strength. She managed a smile and caressed the little plant with trembling fingers.
"I don't understand," she whispered as she let her fingers follow the contours of the leaf.
"There are so many questions. Why did you go away, and how could you manage to come back? And why did you have to bring him with you? Why..?"
Her voice failed her and she had to take a deep breath to hold back those burning tears.
"I don't understand. I can only hope you know what you are doing. Gods... I feel so alone..."
As the blue-haired girl left and walked up the stairs he sighed and finally allowed himself to relax somewhat. He still couldn't quite bring himself to believe she would keep her promise to let him live, not the way her enmity shone through in her eyes. It was obvious she hated him. He didn't know why; then again, maybe that didn't really matter. It might be because he had harmed her friends as they fought all those years ago. Or perhaps it was just loathing for what he was; a copy, a cheap imitation of someone else, an experiment gone wrong. He unconsciously clenched his fists, then let them relax again in quiet misery. Perhaps he simply was a rather hateful creature. Even Eris had hated him whenever she opened her eyes for what he really was, and she had been his creator. How could anyone else be expected to feel differently?
There was pain in those thoughts, the old familiar pain of worthlessness and failure, still he couldn't quite let go. It was only the truth, after all. The bitter, tormenting, unfair truth. His soul seemed forever caught somewhere between blazing fury and utter despair, raging against the injustice of it all, yet a small treacherous part always wondering if he really thought himself worth anything better.
He sighed and quietly left the gloomy kitchen, blowing out the candles on the table before he left. In the living room the fire the girl had lit was still blazing, spreading warmth and light through the room. The warm light turned the windows into golden mirrors, mercilessly flaunting that hateful face he wore, the face of another. He slowly walked over to one of them, watched the snowflakes dance in the tempest through his translucent mirror image. If the weather had been this bad the day before, he wouldn't have survived long enough for the girl to find him. Another rare gracious twist of fate. Or not, depending on how you looked at it. The blue-haired girl probably wouldn't agree. He smiled, a quick bitter sneer. The world was an extraordinarily complicated place indeed, with so many opposed opinions, angles and perspectives.
He let his gaze wander from the distant snow outside to his mirror image, looking into his own eyes as if hoping to find answers there. Those mismatched eyes, like no other he had seen. Not Rezo's, but his own. Eyes filled with bottomless bitterness, eyes to drown in...
He frowned and turned away; there were no answers there. Only memories of pain.
Suddenly weary he sighed again. It would probably be a good idea to try and get a few hours sleep before dawn. Whatever that new dawn would bring. The storm had granted him a short respite; whatever the girl, Sylphiel, intended to do with him now would probably have to wait until the blizzard was over. But to think himself safe would be foolish indeed. The storm was only delaying the inevitable. Sooner or later the blue-haired girl would have to decide what to do with him once and for all. Then he would find out if she would truly honor her word, if she considered a promise to a mere copy worth keeping. He rubbed the bridge of his nose; thinking forward along all those winding passages of time was still confusing. Since there wasn't much he could do about his present situation, it was probably just as well not to speculate any further.
Just take the future on as it came.
The story idea is mine, obviously, since I doubt anyone else has a weird enough mind to consider something like this. It was all based on a dream I had, actually. Amazing, now you know that too.
The quotes are from Oshiro-sama's Letters to a Red Priest (in other words, I made 'em up) and can't be used without my permission. If you ask nicely and give me credit you'll most likely get my permission, but anyways...
This part of the story is dedicated to the Queen of Swords - and I do mean that as a compliment, even though my writing skills are as nothing compared to hers.
Thanks Queenie, for everything.
11 | Story Index | Fanfiction