The past is what makes us who we are,
the future our hope of becoming what we should be.
Grayish, gloomy daylight filtered through the curtains and lit up the young woman's face. Tears had left shadow stains on her cheeks, her tangled, smoke blue hair lay spread like a exquisite fan over the pillows. She winced and moved restlessly as the light tickled her closed eyes, reluctant to wake up. She then sighed and opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling. Her hand absently stroked the fur of the cat curled up next to her, the creature's sleepy purr seemed surprisingly loud in the silence. The wind was still howling outside, but the sound seemed distant, not quite real yet. She lingered close to sleep, letting her thoughts run free, like drops of rain over a window.
Memories had disturbed her sleep, overwhelmed her dreams. Over and over had she seen Sairaag erupt in blinding flames, seen Lina pierced by that terrible lightning that had almost taken her life, seen all of her friends being attacked by that monster who had destroyed her life. And yet, no matter how nightmarish the scenario, those had been the easiest dreams.
Because she had dreamt other things as well, memories that confused her and made the simple black and white of her past fade into questioning gray. Even though she would have liked to cling onto the simple black and white, the neatly defined good and evil she had always believed in, her dreams wouldn't let her. Just as they showed her again the horror she had lived through, they mercilessly reminded her of other things she had forgotten about until now.
She recalled all the little things the copy had said and done that had betrayed bitterness close to despair. Blinded by intense grief of her own, she hadn't been able to see that then. She remembered the haughty way in which his creator had ordered him about, remembered his anger when Lina had declared him to be nothing but Eris' puppet. And yet she had been so shocked as he turned on his creator. Maybe it wasn't all that strange, considering.
In her dreams she had once again seen his despair and pain as he realized he had lost. She remembered the tears he had shed then, and the ones she herself hadn't been able to hold back, even in the face of what he had done to the ones she loved. How he had tried to explain, pleading for an absolution never to come, about being so blinded by his obsession to live up to the man in whose image he had been created, that he had become unable to live as himself.
Sylphiel closed her eyes. She cursed her ever compassionate heart for wanting to pity him, for making it so difficult to hate him. With a sigh she opened her eyes and got up. The faint light told her it was still rather early, but she was too restless to sleep. While dressing and brushing her hair she gave the delicate seedling in the glass jar an accusing look.
"It was you, wasn't it? Messing with my dreams..?"
The beautiful plant looked completely innocent, making a great impression of being just an ordinary leaf with no mysterious powers whatsoever.
"Right. I just wished I knew why you care about him. Of all people..."
She sighed again and shook her head. So now I'm standing here, having a one-way argument with a plant. Shows good promise for my mental health.
The cat jumped down from the bed and trotted over to the door, trying to hypnotize her to open it. She put the hairbrush down in its drawer, then gave the cat a resigned, hesitant smile.
"Yes, might as well."
Almost as an afterthought she picked up the shiny sword before opening the door and leaving the room.
The faint, colorless light of dawn shone through the windows and stirred him awake. Even in the dusk he could see the snowflakes swirling around in the blizzard outside, and he allowed himself a moment of relief. Another day of storm meant another day of life.
He stayed where he was, embraced by the warm and cozy blanket, just watching the snow fall. The blanket and pillow he had used the night before had been impregnated with the repugnant stale smell of dirt and decaying leaves, a smell that brought back very unpleasant memories. Luckily the girl had been very careful not to leave any part of the couch bare, so there had been an extra blanket and quite a lot of extra sheets, allowing him to dump the dirty ones in a heap by the back door, as far away from the bed as possible. By every hour passing the events in Sairaag seemed more and more unreal.
Rebirth. What to make of that?
He sighed and tore his eyes from the hypnotizing dance of the snowflakes. The house was still quiet, all that could be heard was the muffled howling of the wind. He studied his surroundings, for the first time relaxed enough to pay attention to the place to which he had been brought. The living room was small but inviting, one door leading out to the hallway and the backdoor by the windows leading out to the garden. Only cold cinders remained in the fireplace, and the room was somewhat chilly. The fireplace was framed by two large bookshelves, filled with all kinds of books, an ornament or two, and a chessboard with the pieces deserted in the middle of a game. His curiosity overruled his reluctance to leave the warm bed and he got up and walked over to the nearest bookshelf.
Eris had had quite an impressive collection of magic books, most of them grisly tomes on black magic. These were completely different; there was not a pentacle, not a seal in sight. He closed his eyes and let his fingers caress the backs of the books. There was another way to do it; reading with open eyes, but he had never tried that and didn't know where to start. Even with his magic gone, his sensitive fingertips could trace the imprinted letters on the leather covers. Books on white magic, books about flowers and animals, books with simple titles hinting at cute, banal stories for children. Those puzzled him. There were actually books written for the sole purpose of amusing people, and written all for mere children no less?
He opened one, only to realize he couldn't read it. The pages were too smooth, the ink absorbed by the paper and impossible to trace with his fingers. He opened his eyes again and tried to connect the look of the spindly black writing to the feel of the letters his fingers and magic knew, but it was difficult. He frowned in disappointment and closed the book, neatly putting it back in place.
He looked around the room, his gaze suddenly caught by a flicker of rainbow light. On a shelf on the opposite wall, well out of reach for mischievous cat's paws, rested a little crystal unicorn. It managed to catch even the faint light, cleansing it from its grayness and converting it into ethereal beams of bright color. Intrigued he walked over to it for a closer look. The little figure was amazingly delicate. Caught in motion, raised on its hind legs with mane and tail flowing behind it, the unicorn was forever frozen into crystal form. It was beautiful.
He reached out, then hesitated. The girl had told him not to touch anything. Yet his fingers itched to hold it, yearning for this rare glimpse of brilliant color in an otherwise so gloomy life. If the crystal shape was this beautiful even in its shaded resting place, then how wouldn't it blaze if held up into the sunlight? His fingers seemed to move on their own accord, ever carefully picking the delicate figurine up. As it was brought into the ever stronger light of dawn it exploded with light, making shimmering stars of color dance over his pale hands. Not even magic was that beautiful.
Sylphiel descended the stairs, the cat trotting down in front of her, determinedly heading for the kitchen. Still somewhat troubled by her dreams she reached the hallway and entered the living room. He was awake, standing by the window. She took a deep breath, then approached him. As she got closer she suddenly spotted the crystal figurine in his hands and gasped. A pang of terror and anger stabbed through her; to see the delicate thing in his hands was so completely wrong, close to sacrilege.
"Hey!" she managed to get out, quickly covering the short distance between them, reaching out to free the precious object from his hands.
Abruptly torn from his reverie he jumped at the sound of her voice, the unicorn falling from suddenly clumsy fingers. Time seemed to slow down, the delicate figurine falling forever. Then it hit the floor with a merciless crash and shattered, the luminous rainbows flickering and fading into darkness.
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...
As if anyone ever reads this anyway...
This time I'd like to thank all of you readers who has encouraged me to write more of this story. Without you it wouldn't have existed. I don't know if this would be a bad thing...
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