Dual Existences

A/N: Wait what? Uploading two entries in one day? Joke. Just uploading another old work of mine yet again. This is a sort of filler chapter for a -never to be finished- Ragnarok fanfic of mine years back. It's old, I was naive then, so please don't hurt me just because you disagree with what may have really happened in-game. It's called fanfiction for a reason.

***

Two existences… that of Light and Darkness.

One would believe that every time these two existences meet, a clash would happen. What would happen in the end would solely depend on who was stronger at the point of collision. Therefore, over the ages, Light triumphed, Darkness triumphed, the cycle would continue on forever. The clashing would always happen… anywhere, anytime.

But that isn’t the whole truth of it.

You see, despite being two very different existences, they learn to co-exist and inevitably became part of what runs the universe. Within the stream of time… within the soul of a person… they could be found anywhere. As do their battles. But often enough, there is a moment between these battles when the two sides would stop and stare at one another, raising none of their weapons but never giving in to the temptations of the other. Stubbornness… that was one trait they both shared. For a moment, it would look like they had given a truce…

And then the battles would continue once again.

A certain white-haired minstrel had rested himself on a ruined roof, built into the cliff side during its construction. It sheltered nothing now, for the house that it was built to protect no longer stood with four walls intact. The same could be said for the other houses that were built alongside this cliff side. He knew it had been a small, thriving town, its inhabitants blessed with happiness and abundance. But that had been eons ago.

From where he sat, he could see the vast expanse of the underground world of Geffenia. The cliff side town was built over a ravine that went far down into the earth. How deep it went, the minstrel decided not to wonder about that. Forests grew in clusters around and above the ravine, and beyond them he could see another town, this one built on a plateau beside an enormous tree root that was a root of the World Tree.

Built around this root were a castle and a little town on the castle outskirts. Even from a distance, he could see that the abandoned bastion’s walls were made of white marble and spinel crystal, a rare mineral to come by in the world above nowadays.

The place was simply breathtaking, this kingdom of the elusive elven race, a beautiful lost world to any mortal eyes that would chance upon it. But there was a feeling in the air that any mortal would fail to notice while lost amongst the desires abounding in this place.

A feeling of death…

The minstrel allowed his sad gaze to linger over the landscape, before he turned those knowing eyes away. From the depths of his cloak, he brought out his lute. Tuning the strings, he smiled satisfactorily and fell into his playing position. Despite that no living soul was here to listen to his melody, he would play. A bard need not wonder why he wishes to dedicate songs to those who were not human. He would play, and allow the unheard melody to be known.

“This is for you, beloved Geffenia…” He whispered solemnly. He lifted his hand as if to pluck the strings, but before he could start, a low, dark chuckle caught his attention.

“My, my.” A deep, handsome voice spoke. “Playing a requiem for the fallen empire?”

Lachesis made no reply. Instead, he closed his eyes, sighing softly. The earth crunched under heavy armored boots, bringing its owner closer and closer to where the minstrel sat.

And then they stopped.

Lachesis turned his head ever so slightly, his noble eyes boring into the pair of endless abyss that stared mockingly back at him.

“That body…” Lachesis trailed off.

The new arrival laughed. “Quite fetching, isn’t it?” he spoke. “A better choice than that mummified corpse you sealed so long ago.”

Lachesis turned away. “It fits well into your plan doesn’t it?” he muttered, staring passively towards the lute in his hands.

“You know it quite well. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Seemingly ignoring this, the snow-haired man returned to his playing position and began to strum a few notes.

“Don’t you remember this place, Lachesis? My spawns planted seeds of doubt and hatred in this once lively kingdom. Now look what has become of it. Nothing but a ruin to its former glory… And you did so little as merely watch this place fall from its lofty perch. Speaking of high places, the city of Juperos fell around the same time, did it not?”

“Despite being sealed away, your influence continued on for centuries.” Lachesis remarked calmly, closing his eyes as he let his fingers pluck the strings of his lute. A soft, playful tune began to flow freely from the strings.

The demon snorted, clearly disgusted by the sweet music emanating from the minstrel’s instrument. But he decided to ignore that. “These mortals think that their blessed God Odin and the Aesirs truly exist as the Gods they worship.” He said, scuffing at the ground with one boot. “Ah, how the truth is stretched and changed as time goes by.”

“Odin and the Aesirs exist, demon. Though they are not Gods of the higher plane, they are the guardians of this world. The deemed ‘Gods’ of this realm’s people.” Lachesis argued, but his tone remained defiantly calm and composed.

“And pathetic ones they are.”

“They cannot meddle with our affairs. We do not exist to them, and therefore deem these events as strings of Fate.” With skillful fingers, his melody turned upbeat, though it held an underlying tone of sadness.

The demon stared out into the landscape, his expression softer yet it held the same maliciousness. “They have those so called Norns who watch over Fate. Skuld… wasn’t the seer of the future called that? I don’t really give a damn, she doesn’t know these events to be the work of a force more powerful than they are. And that is one reason why this world would be better off without them. I would make a better God than any of those fools from Asgard, once I take hold of this mortal realm, those ‘guardians’ will be next.”

“All she would know is that these events will eventually lead to Ragnarok, which I must say, will not happen for a long time.” Lachesis answered. One could be stunned with awe that such a man could remain calm while a murderous presence stood near him, much more talked to him as if they were companions idly chatting the hours away.

“Not unless I bring it to these mortals early.” The demon sneered, flashing pearl white teeth. “They will know true fear once I’m done with their miserable lives.”

Somewhere along the course of the conversation, Lachesis had closed his eyes. Upon hearing that, however, he opened an eye at the other. “That is not an option permitted to you, I’m afraid.” He said.

“Oh?” The demon feigned surprise. “And why would that be, oh great minstrel?”

“So long as you exist to plague this world, I will come back, time and time again to finally rid this world of you.” Lachesis stated calmly, his notes falling to low and menacing tones, as if he were somehow conveying his feelings through his music.

“Ah, but as I recall, you cannot have a direct hand in dealing my death. The unseen rules decree it. You cannot touch me like you have done so before. But I know of your other half. Was it not the one I have killed those many years ago? I have to say, it’s quite resilient.” The demon chuckled, coming to stand beside the playing minstrel. The snow-haired man made no move to comment.

The demon raised a brow at the silence, but smirked not a moment later. So this was how it was going to be, huh?

“Ah, but what if I killed it, once and for all?” He said slowly, baiting the minstrel with his words. He lifted one gloved hand and pointed at the sitting man. “Why don’t we end this senseless charade and finally get on with the real show? You merely prolong your other half’s suffering with your ominous riddles and prophecies. And the people of this world as well… I had no idea you were so cruel.”

There was a slight falter in the notes, but Lachesis calmly returned to its original tempo. “You would kill my other half? A decree like that would not happen twice.” He replied, his music taking on a more intense atmosphere, almost threatening. But it seemed to have no effect on the other, rather it seemed to please him that he was finally getting a reaction out of the man. Lachesis made no reply to the latter of the demon’s statement, perhaps deeming it too false to argue with.

“Feh, you are no fun.” The demon replied, eyeing the annoying lute in the minstrel’s hands. Briefly, he wondered what would happen if he should take it. The thought tempted him, but he decided on something better. “And what of you, minstrel? You have the strength to put these selfish men in their places. You could command them to your will, take the power this world is offering you. And you could do it all… with a simple thought…”

“Satis! I will not fall to such temptations, demon!” Lachesis said aloud, his voice and powerful glare clearly showed his anger. The notes he had been playing died away as his hands stopped plucking the strings. “Seduce me not with your hollow promises, there is nothing that would move me to join you!” A slight pause, then he continued, “I cannot touch you, but neither would my other half allow you to take its second chance at life. Cockiness is in your nature, demon. It will not kill you, but your ignorance will.”

The demon laughed mockingly. “My ignorance? Such a harsh prophecy, minstrel. Is this what being sealed in a human body has done to you? I wouldn’t dream of going through the same experience.” And he continued to laugh.

Lachesis was unfazed. He took in a breath, returning his attention towards his lute and began to play once more. “It is not a prophecy. It was what allowed me to seal you for nearly nine centuries. And if you haven’t noticed, you’ve just displayed your ignorance.”

The demon in human guise stopped, and glared menacingly at the man. This insulted him and, angered, he made to swipe at the man’s face. His attack connected, but the wounds were shallower than he intended, nothing more than a mere break on his flawless skin. Lachesis continued to play as if nothing had happened.

The demon growled angrily but made no move to attack him again. There would be no point in harming a man who cannot die so easily. He opted to return to his original plans. Lachesis would not interfere… at least not until what the minstrel said was the destined time. He inwardly laughed.

Really now, did they all think this way? The demon wouldn’t know. He’d been banished before he knew.

Soon… At the moment of the fated collision, he’d make sure to let the minstrel and his other half feel every shred of his power. And make them regret ever trying to go up against him.

“You are a cruel master, Lachesis. You and your other existences.” The demon swiftly turned around and walked away, the heavy click of his armored boots fading away with each step. Slowly, the intense music mellowed down to a sad, lilting tone. The man’s head bowed forward as he played the denouement, looking crestfallen.

“A cruel master… That I may be known in this world. But no…” His eyes shone with defiance and determination. “My role would seem such but in the end, it is what shall save this world. And my other half understands that. It is all that I need.” And thus he ended the song on one lingering note. It tinkled like a little bell, echoing throughout the expanse of the Geffenian ruins.

END ENTRY.

***

A/N: 'Satis!' - Latin for 'Stop!' or 'Enough!'

The Beginning

A/N: My old... very old prologue for a would-have-been novel of mine. Childish dream, yes? Uploading as it is without changing anything.

***

He’d always been here, standing and brooding like he’d always done. Beyond the glass floor he stood upon he gazed upon the mortal land, looking serene and at peace under the shelter of his dark robes. Daintily, he placed a pale finger to his chin and smiled wistfully.

“And life starts anew with the dawning of the morn, just as life sleeps in the silence of midnight…”

“You’ve been contemplating much again, Midnight.” A cheery singsong voice behind him laughed. He turned around to meet eyes with an individual who was much like him but ultimately different. Dawn… that was one of the names humans have given over the years. But she preferred Dawn, as much as he liked to be called Midnight. To the men on the land, her body appeared as the great shining ball in the sky, just as he appeared as the pale circle that poets of the past often sang songs and tales about. But to the immortal creatures such as him, she would appear as a beautiful young woman.

“Had you known I would be behind you?” she asked with a slight pout, crossing her long arms over her chest.

“Is it so wrong to brood about life, sweet Dawn?” Midnight queried as he ran a hand through his long waxen hair, clearly ignoring her question. “You have your own way to express your love of life.” Just as Dawn was bubbly and bright, Midnight was the complete opposite. Created as siblings with the same purpose and bound to fulfill it until the end of time. A moment of silence passed between the two companions. Neither one made a move either.

“So… Another goodbye then?” Dawn was the first to speak, sounding bored. Out of habit, Midnight adjusted his dark blue robe before he said, “Till another day then, my beloved Dawn.”

“As to you too, Midnight.” She waved a hand as Midnight, being his usual stoic self, turned away without another word and began to walk towards the opposite direction. The multitude of silver butterflies that dotted his robes fluttered their wings but vigilantly stayed in their places. She’d always found them cute, but sadly they didn’t seem to like to come close to her, always preferring to attach themselves to her brother’s robes.

As soon as he was out of sight, Dawn turned her attention to the land below. She reached out her hands, allowing the streams of golden light to trickle to the earth. Wherever they landed, they stirred the sleeping life. She smiled once again, withdrawing her hands and sitting primly upon the trails of her flowing gown. It would be another day, the cycle of her monotonous task starting once again but Dawn was glad that life below was anything but unchanging and boring. A soft giggle escaped her lips.

Humans are so amusing to watch over.

END ENTRY

Landscape and the Fall of Icarus

A/N: Symbolical title yet again.

***

"I hold thy memory like glass.
Darling, let thee dream of you tonight.
Let thy ghost whisper sweet silence to thee.
For thy world is ignorant of people's sufferings."
----------

Until now she couldn’t fully understand it herself.

Failure happens to everyone. That was something common in this world. But no one ever prepared her for when she met it head on. She didn’t blame then. Didn’t blame them for the heart wrenching feeling that came with that helpless sinking sensation she felt within her.

But this... No one could ever move her to think that it wasn’t her fault.

The dark, ragged cloth around her form made her look like a wraith, a creature of the night that sat on the edge of the broken turret, watching... waiting for a time to strike down those seemingly unaware mortals rushing here and there like ants.

Oh, one could dream. But this wraith was nothing more but a woman in a young girl’s body, emotionally broken and unable to end her sufferings no matter what she did.

She felt lost. All around her everyone was caught up in the matters of repairing their homes, searching for family and friends, regaining their lives in this short-lived world. No one minded her. No one noticed her. But again, she didn’t blame them. It was better that way. Solitude was her only escape. Solitude was her only comfort.

Solitude was where the emotions hit the hardest.

As she placed a hand on her chest, soft footfalls signaled her to a presence. She turned her head, watching her uninvited guest reveal himself from the shadows of the collapsed doorway. Scarlet, apathetic eyes regarded her from under the fringe of messy green bangs, before their owner took a step forward. Then another, and another, until he was but talking distance from her. She never once parted her lips, nor had she taken her gaze off him.

Him. Prince of a dead, forgotten race. She hoped he would understand her sorrows, her despair. But that was wishful thinking. He was anything but sympathetic as far as she’d known him. And the young man never shared anything about himself, always avoiding anything that wasn’t related to the mission or the freedom of his world.

“Azrael did what he must.” The green haired youth spoke, ghosting a hand over his chest. She wanted to say, ‘Shut the hell up and go away.’ But she did not want to turn him away, did not want him to turn away because she was the one who caused it. It would only add more to the hurt even if he won’t feel the same. That was something she would never forgive of herself.

She offered him no reply, instead returning to her previous position. The scenery never changed. On any world, no matter how it looks on the outside, the scenery and the sky were always the same.

Where would she go? What would she do? This world was done with her. It did not need anything more from her now that its freedom was granted at the price of her own happiness. There was... absolutely nothing that she has to lose now.

In the end, she chose to sit by herself once again, pulling the shroud closer around her, faintly aware that the winds may take it from her. Soon, she heard her guest move away, his gait slow and calculated.

Unfeeling.

Her thoughts did not linger on the cold prince. She did not want to. She had to think of her plans for the future, set before her by the higher powers. There was no stopping. No breaks from the life she was living. The pain will never go away. She realized these a long time ago.

She let the tears flow, let her suck in a breath and scream at the top of lungs. In this moment in time, the glass walls of her soul fell in on itself. Azzy deserved these tears, deserved to have lived when she should have been in his place.

“I failed him...”

She was broken, in all sense of the word.

END ENTRY.

Waiting

Author's Notes: To you.

“The rain falls during the silence
of Monday’s dusk.
Perhaps the heavens are crying
in the place of my tears and feelings
that I cannot set free.”

----------

She was startled into reality by the feel of cold metal against her cheek. Instinctively, she slapped the offending item away, glaring at the man who had so much the gall to do that to her.

Azrael did not smile, did not show any sign that he was amused with what he did. Instead he tossed her the can of milk coffee, opening his own not a moment later. She caught the can with her hands, feeling the coldness seep pleasantly into her warmed palms.

“... Is he coming back, Haizek?” The long haired man asked her after taking a long sip. The young girl remained silent, eyeing him for just a moment before settling herself back into the settee she rested on whilst watching the rain fall outside. That was moments ago when it was still raining. Now the outside world was all but a realm of peace, softly blanketed in a light mist that stretched as far as her eyes could see.

“Is he coming back?” The man repeated his question.

He has his own life. He is his own man. The thought repeated in her head over and over, promising itself to turn into a chant. She brushed the thought away with a shake of her head, watching the world outside still.

“He can always come back.” She said, half defending the man she came to trust, to think of as a mutual companion during the long cold nights that Azrael had been gone from her life. But what is there to defend of the young fighter? Azrael did not dislike him. Nor can it be said that he likes him. It was... Azrael was not a man to feel defensive of.

The faux angel crossed his arms, looking out beyond the dark. “But if it’s not his will to come back, then why would he?”

“......”

“You know Luke to be like that.”

I’m not anything special to him. “I know.” She sounded offended, but for what reason, Azrael could only sigh. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated and slowly withdrew the topic for now.

For Haizek, she continued to find herself in her thoughts. She’d come to care for the male, much as they had disagreed many times in the past. Thousands of strings of thoughts ran through her head, all revolving around the mysterious fighter who had one day shown up and showed her what the world was like... and then helped her, though it was never his original intention to.

But in the end, it all fell into one thing.

Haizek didn’t know him. She didn’t know an ounce of Luke’s true self. It was all assumptions. All untested theories that she deluded herself into thinking that they were truths. They were lies, nothing but exaggerated, beautified lies she told herself and to anyone who asked. And yet...

She wanted to know him. She wanted to know more about him. Because when she was genuinely curious about someone, she—

“You let him go.” The faux angel looked at her, his face thinning into a contemplative expression.

She shrugged her shoulders. “He wanted to be let go.”

“You let him move away.”

“He wanted to move away.”

“You did not stop him.”

“I already told you it was his decision!” She snapped, fixing him with a steely glare. It did not stop the man however. He kept saying one thing,and Haizek countered with her own answer. Each round made them step closer to one another, closer and closer until there was barely a foot in between them. The verbal battle continued on and on until Azrael suddenly stopped, calmly averting his eyes from her. Haizek huffed, keeping her chin up at him defiantly as she kept her gaze steady on him.

Azrael never yielded without good reason, and so she firmly believed he would not walk away leaving this hanging.

“... You let him go.” Azrael repeated his first, though it was heavy with meaning, with an accusation he threw at her that she had never cared to accept until now.

Slowly, some of the fire in her eyes began to ebb away. “No one... no one is supposed to be left behind but me.” She spoke, her eyes flashing and steeling against what inner turmoil had chosen to assault her now. “Even if it’s that stubborn git.”

She did not know him. He did not want to be known. She wanted to reach out to him, and yet he constantly pulled away. And that one memory of seeing him turn his back, separating ways with but a simple farewell...

Something tore at her heart in that moment. But she did not yield to the tears.

Did not run up to him. Embrace him. Yell at him. Punch him—

... Insist that he stayed.

Luke never... Luke never tolerated weak people. Inwardly she smiled. Was that a lie? Or was that a truth? She could almost laugh at the thought. Haizek couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

But she will wait. Will always wait. No matter what Luke, or what anyone else says. Even when in the end, she would be the fool. She would take that chance. Even when her pleas fall on deaf ears, even when memories fail her someday, or when the years have chipped away the feelings that were so fresh and raw in this time and place...

This promise would be embedded in her. Never fully forget, never fully wash away those feelings she couldn’t deny forever. Even if she won’t understand the original purpose of ‘Why’ and ‘Who’, she will wait still.

Because really... people were such selfish creatures.

Azrael audibly sighed, reaching out to gently ruffle the head of the girl. “... Do as you wish then, Haizek.” And the angel left the room, making no noise and leaving no trace that he was there in the first place.

But know that we cannot stay behind ourselves. The world is ignorant of people's sufferings.

She turned her sights to the laptop sitting on the edge of her seat. For a long moment, she stared at it. Contemplation fleeted through her, and finally, she slowly returned to her seat. She reached out and took the portable device and placed it on her lap, allowing her fingers to hover over the keys for a fraction of a second.

And then the erratic sound of clicks and clacks broke the chain of silence.

...

end entry.

Just A Little More

A/N: Inspired by my project overdrive mode. Oh dear, fell asleep while waiting for a reply from my partner. Man so screwed D:

Anyway, finished this up after I went into overdrive again and passed everything. It's not so hard to guess who this person is, yes?

***

Just a little more...

Were the words spoken, so devoid of any feeling he was comfortable with. But then, he hadn’t even thought that those words were meant to comfort him at all. Bastards he knew the lot of them were.

He heard screams echoing beyond the slightly ajar door, belonging to some unfortunate soul such as him. But he could not bring himself to care, at least not when his senses were being sent into a flurry of panic as he saw the sharp instruments being laid out on the table beside him, ready to be stained red with his blood.

His own cries pierced his ears, his vision swam as he thrashed against the bonds that strapped him helplessly to the cold metal table. The pain, amplified threefold from the fluids injected into his body, along with the harsh light above forced him to shut his eyes. Soon his struggles ceased, pleasing his captors that he was beginning to weaken. But that was until he struggled one last time, kicking at the closest man and sent him hurtling back into the others in surprise. He felt his lips quirking up into a triumphant grin, only to have it wiped off his face when he was mercilessly assaulted for his deed. Tears spilled out from the corner of his eyes as he tried vainly to keep from releasing a throaty scream of agony, renewing his struggle once again.

Fools. Cowards. Beasts. Monsters...!

What had he done to deserve this? He had grown thinking that things such as this were only done on people who were condemned for such punishment, or that this sort of torture only existed within the pages of a book. Yet reality proved him wrong on so many levels.

He squeezed his eyes shut, silently praying to whatever Gods he still believed in that it would all be over. That everything would be over... finished... that he could finally be free from this wretched pain and suffering—

“Just a little more...”

Came the gentle, broken whisper. It echoed in the sudden silence of his surroundings. No whirls of a machine, no soft tinkling of glass against glass, and no murmurs of those voices he so despised. Just sweet, beguiling silence. A soft caress on his fevered brow elicited a pained whimper from him, and yet he chose to nuzzle closer to the touch. Familiar, oh so familiar was the warmth. And that voice... that voice sang of a lullaby his mother used to sing when he was a child afraid to sleep through a storm. He couldn’t remember the words too well, but it did not matter. For the voice itself was comforting enough to lull him into a dream of peace, into the world where he was happy, safe and surrounded with love, away from this prison and all the torture that laid beyond that steel door.

He shifted, feeling no straps tying him down, but the loss of that gentle hand on his brow, and the voice accompanying it also came to his senses. He panicked, running in the darkness with no real aim. He felt himself trip, but his body never met the floor. He kept falling. Falling deeper and deeper into the darkness...

!! Blagh !!

He let out a short cry of surprise, eyes wide open as the world was thrown upside down. The lights were no longer harsh, but natural sunlight that came seeping in through the half-veiled windows, casting half the room in a hazy morning afterglow. He gave himself a moment to re-orient himself.

Blink. Blink. Blink. A long yawn escaped him and then he blinked again.

So he’d fallen out of bed. About the fifth time this week.

Groaning, he rubbed his dully aching head, looking back to the bed at its other occupant obliviously asleep. He pouted, reaching out to ruffle that short mess of dark hair against the stark white pillows. He smiled when the owner groaned and instinctively turned her back on him, nuzzling her face back into the pillow she held in a firm grip. A chuckle escaped him as he resettled himself beside the woman, pulling the covers over them both. He ran a hand slowly, idly up one bare arm, brushing away locks of her hair and placed a kiss on her cheek.

There were no changes in her peaceful expression, no signs that she had felt it at all. But it did not disappoint him, no. He wrapped an arm around her waist, closing the distance between their bodies. He nuzzled her hair, closing his eyes as he allowed himself to drift off into sleep once more, comforted by the thought that the nightmares would not plague him now. Not with his knight so close.

The nightmares of his past would not touch him, though they still haunted him when they could. He knew that. But he was getting stronger, strong enough to begin breaking free from what binds him to that past.

... Just a little more...

END ENTRY.

Why?

A/N: An old piece of work I decided to continue. Since it comes from my depression inspired writing, be warned that it would be sort of confusing and err... depressing.

My Persona, Haizek and her beloved Azzy are fictional characters of my own.

***

The sound of booted feet alerted her to the realm’s nightly visitor. She would not believe that he was here for any other reason other than to commune with the silence of this world. He always came upon the sight of her sitting with her back to him, her knees pulled close to her body as she stared at some point into the darkness. The man would sit beside her, and do nothing else. Say nothing else.

Night in and night out, she never failed to return that same favour. Would tonight pass in that same silence like the many others that have come and gone?

“You never say anything.” His voice pierced the silence surrounding them, answering that question she asked herself not a moment ago. She did not turn her sullen gaze at him, but remained fixated on that same spot beyond. She said nothing, nothing at all even after he had spoken.

He let out a breath, turning away from her. Perhaps he’d expected too much of her to answer right away. She took time, time that he was patient enough to give, but time that the world she lived in could not spare her. He knew her thoughts, had an inkling at least of what always ran through her mind. And the emotions... Oh Heavens, the heavy burdens she cast on herself.

He blinked in surprise when he felt her place a hand on his, a gentle grip that turned firm as he felt a slight tremor run through her body.

"Azzy," He turned to look at her with a curious expression, "Why do good dreams always flee before the morning comes around?"

The man tilted his head, his face going expressionless as he spoke, "Why ask me that, Haizek?"

She let the tears trickle down her face, unbidden and free because it gave her a sense of release.

"I... I don't know." Haizek laughed, though it was strained and filled with veiled sadness. “There’s so many things that I don’t know. It’s... it’s supposed to be alright. But not knowing the answer to this particular question... I don’t...” She hiccupped, furiously wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. But the tears continued to fall, and so were the emotions she kept bottled up for so long.

"I don't want you to leave, Azzy..." Her voice came out soft and pleading. "I... I'm alone. I feel so alone." He felt her emotions leaking through the glass wall she placed around her heart and soul. It made him dizzy, made his chest heavy with the sensation of all the sorrow and frustration that flowed from her.

Why did she have to make herself feel all this pain? She was strong, she was defiant. But when she fell, she would always fall hard and broken to the ground. She would pick herself up after each fall, scrapped and bruised but she always told him, herself, that it would mend with time.

Mend, Azzy thought, but never fully repair.

He gently stroked her hair, resting his cheek against hers. Azzy spoke not a word. How could he offer any comforting words to her when all that he would be able to say would only be the words that she desired to hear and not what she needed to hear? This was the flaw of a being such as he.

He gripped her tighter, pulling her close towards him. Warmth radiated from his body, and yet she did not feel it because it was her own warmth. He never once had anything that was originally his. Azzy had hoped perhaps that he had been an original, once in the ancient past, and that shred of hope was what kept him just a little different from all the others.

He was a poor substitute as a friend, that he knew. But she was all that he had, just as now she thought she had nothing to properly cherish and call her own.

Poor child. He chided her in his thoughts. You long for so much, and yet you refuse to break out of this shell. Refuse to let us go and thrive in the world you live. Why is it? What has the world shown you that you cannot stand it for long?

Even as his body began to fade with the coming daylight, he still held her in his embrace. It mattered not that there was little that she could feel from his touch. What mattered was that he could give her some sense of comfort, that there was someone who was at her side.

“I love you Azzy.”

Deluded. Confused. Trapped. He gripped her tighter, wishing and hoping in vain of a miracle that simply cannot be.

“I love you so much, Azzy.”

... Because in the end, he was merely a part of herself that reached out. Just like Azriel, just like everyone else who lived and breathed because of her. He could only watch, only give an appropriate response and action. And never... and never something that a real person would do.

“I wish you were real, Azzy.” She whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. “I really wish you were real.” Azrael had no answer to that, but she needed none. Never expected one in the first place.

"Tonight again, beloved. Tonight." His voice whispered soothingly in her ear. She lifted her eyes, watching the sun rise ever so slowly into the waking sky.

Haizek gently pushed herself away from him, wiping away the remainder of her tears. She stared at the coming daylight, her face falling into a mask of apathy.

"I wish morning didn't come so soon..."

And the young woman greeted the morning in the way she had always done it.

Alone.

END ENTRY.

Turning Point: Isn't It Wonderful?

A/N: Happy Birthday to my widdle High Priest, Saint! *huggles* This story is written down just for you and everyone else interested in a fanfic update. Developing KiSa and a bit of symbolism if you squint real hard...!!

***

The day seemed to fly by too fast, but for Saint, it was fine. The morning had been too cheery with the mood he found himself waking up with. And the rest of the day’s usual routine had been just a tad too cheerful as well. As soon as he’d been dismissed of his duties in the infirmary, he found himself wanting some solitude from the hustle and bustle of the world around him. Now he was alone, sitting on a bench in one of the smaller training grounds, empty of any soul who would have used it at some other time of the day.

He thought back to the shenanigans that had happened today. The joking banters, the smiles and laughter, the practical jokes that oddly ended up causing some property damage- but that was a normal event for this guild-... somehow he found them all irritating today.

How ironic. He thought, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of Mastela Fruit he stole from the pantry earlier. I’m supposed to be a cheerful bastard all the time. But it wasn’t a surprising revelation to him. Not anymore.

Because today, if Fate had been even a little merciful to him, he would have been spending it together with someone he loved. But they were nothing more but mere fragments of a distant memory and nothing more.

Saint let out a groan, ruffling his own hair. Aesirs, I need to stop thinking about this.

He was actually looking forward to a night’s worth of sneaking out to one of the bars in Geffen, perhaps with an added bonus of challenging a few men to a good drinking contest and fooling them into paying for his drinks. Oh yeah, that seemed just about the most wonderful agenda to do for tonight--

The priest suddenly sensed a presence in his spot, looking up to see familiar black hair, blue eyes and a chunk load of armour standing just a few feet away from him. If he took time to observe, they would have been sharing the same passive expression. Almost. She approached him with measured steps, never once faltering until she stood a respective distance away from him.

Kiara. Odin, that woman sure was something. And she had a strange knack of finding people too. He also blamed Fate for this, for forcing him to put up with this woman as his babysitter for who knows how long. Then again, it wasn’t as bad as he anticipated it would. She was level-headed, calm and sane. Traits that he appreciated without really having to voice it out because well, he just didn’t tolerate senselessness as much as he used to.

“Here.” She held out a package to him, an arm’s length away. Her face was still a mask of apathy he wondered if she had ever really laughed at all in her whole life.

Saint looked curiously at the wrapped box held before him, before looking eye to eye with the crusader. “What’s this?”

Kiara cleared her throat. “Just open it.” She simply told him, refusing to meet the priest’s eyes as he shot a suspicious look at her before taking the box. It was wrapped in simple brown paper, held together by a long dark string. He placed the package beside him, untying the string and tearing the paper off as he quickly lifted the lid off it. His eyes grew wide at the bladed mace lying snugly amongst the dark cloth around it. In all honesty, anyone would have been surprised to receive something like this, much more in an elaborately designed box that looked like it would have cost almost half of what the item was.

“This is...” His voice trailed off into a surprised silence.

The crusader sighed, sounding a little irritated with his surprise. “I thought it might be time to retire the old one. It’s seen a lot of use and the blade is getting too dull. It wouldn’t do very well for sparring or fending yourself, you understand.” She explained, shrugging. “I mean, you don’t seem to be noticing that it was getting too chipped even for a whitesmith to fully repair it. I understand that it might be worth something to you, but it won’t help you defend yourself now as effective as it used to.”

The man had gone silent, too silent from what the young woman pegged him to be. By now, he would have been making his most dramatic reaction, gesturing with his hands in such a way that was his trademark. Seeing the man slightly hunched over the unwrapped package with clearly no radiant expression on his face, that was something new.

“... Don’t bother paying me back for it.” She quickly spoke, covering up her curiosity and concern. “Consider it a gift if you want.” Almost immediately, the man’s head snapped up.

“A... gift? You mean like a present?” His voice was small, somehow disbelieving and forced from his throat.

“What else would it be? A death threat?” She snapped, suddenly feeling regretful that she had even hoped he would have the sense to know what a gift was. She would have given him another quick retort, hadn’t he suddenly laughed, continuing on and on and growing ever louder with every passing second. She took a step back, wary of the man suddenly.

Did she do something wrong? Surely he wouldn’t be laughing this hard at her if she hadn’t done something remotely amusing to his sense of humor. Despite the confusion, she was close, so close to socking the guy in the head. But she chose to hold it down for a little while longer and asked, “Do you find something funny with what I said?”

“No! I mean, no... it’s just that...” He took a moment to breathe and calm himself. “It’s just that you’ve got such impeccable timing. You’re something else you know that?” A genuine smile played across the man’s face.

She blinked rapidly, now openly curious with this. This wasn’t the first time someone told her something along that statement, but it was still enough to catch her interest. “... Impeccable timing?”

The priest nodded. He returned the lid on the box and stood, closing the distance between the crusader and him. Before Kiara could process what was going on, he hugged her, smiling and laughing his thanks despite the fact that she couldn’t understand how he could be so happy with receiving a weapon. Actually, she could understand, but to be on this level of bliss? She would never understand the priest. At all.

“Actually... I would have bought myself a new one, but since you oh so volunteered to give me one as a present—”

“Wait, you mean you were chipping it that badly so someone could give you a new one?” She interrupted him, pushing the man away from her with a glare.

“I like presents. What can I say?” He laughed, scratching the bridge of his nose sheepishly. I would have held onto it until the end of time. Was what he wanted to say but decided not to. He grinned again, crossing his arms over his chest and looked down at her with amused, forest green eyes.

“You’re sweet, Blue. Admit it.” He looked at her, watching as her cheeks took on a light shade of pink. That was until she snorted and flicked his nose with one half-gloved finger. “Like Hell I’ll ever be sweet to you, manipulative idiotic priest.”

“Now that name calling actually cancelled itself. How can I be manipulative if I’m supposed to be dumb?”

This man is toying with me! Her mind screamed. Not wanting to cause another scene, because she was certain that the man was masochistic by nature, she spun on her heels and stomped away fuming and trying to control her desire to throw something at his head.

“Forget that I even bothered trying to be civil with him.” She muttered to herself.

“Hey Blue!” His voice called her but she continued on. Either way he continued, “It’s my birthday today! Thank you for the present... really!” The priest watched as she turned the corner and disappeared. Kiara certainly didn’t acknowledge that she heard him, but Saint was sure she heard him nonetheless.

He turned his eyes back to the half open box, eyeing the beautiful piece of blade in it.

Replacing the old with the new... eh?

Maybe... He touched the hilt of the swordmace, trailing one finger across it. Maybe he won’t be going to Geffen tonight after all.

END ENTRY.

Turning Point: Children of Fate

A/N: Edited. Satisfied with it.

****

“Looks like someone’s up pretty early.”

That voice. That cheeky grin plastered on a pale face was getting to be an all too familiar sight nowadays. Mornings, afternoons, evenings- Well, she couldn’t help that her order required her to always have him within her sights. Still, she wanted some solitude, especially at hours when no one else was supposed to be awake reading books and sitting on balcony railings.

Kiara let out a sigh. Obviously she wasn’t going to be spared from the priest’s presence today either. Might as well try not to murder him. She thought, however tempting it was to simply re-enact their first meeting.

“I should be asking you that.” the crusader replied placidly, running a hand through her ruffled hair. She was still in her nightgown, with the exception of a thin shawl draped over her shoulders to stave off the coldness of the morning. However, she hadn't bothered to put on a pair of slippers, and not once had she ever hinted if the cold was even affecting her. Most likely it wasn't, at least for now.

“What are you doing on my balcony?” Kiara asked, sparing him a small glance.

“What? We’re practically neighbours.” Saint answered, shrugging as if it were the answer she was looking for. Kiara felt her eyes narrow instinctively upon his words, but chose to still her tongue.

So much for asking in a straightforward manner, The young woman thought inwardly.

She leaned forward on the railings, looking up at the heavens. As the priest had said, it was still too early, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. The sky was painted a murky blue, smudged with scattered grey clouds and a few lingering stars. Far below in the garden, the cricket chirps carried on, thought it was slowly being overpowered by the loud slosh of the distant waves as morning began to replace the night.

Speaking of which, it was a little unusual to see the man out of bed before breakfast. The crusader spared a glance at the priest, who had his eyes focused on a little red book. He leaned against the wall, a foot resting on the railings with the rest of him while the other foot lazily dangled over the other side. He hadn’t made a comment in all the time since he last spoke, she guessed that what he was reading was somehow interesting for him.

“... What are you reading?” And no, she wasn’t going to get started on why he was reading with such dim lighting even if this was the outdoors.

He answered without looking up. “A nursery rhyme. I borrowed this book from the Geffen library.”

... Ah, that’s right. Ever since she read him a few she had in her collection, he’d been trying to find some that she didn’t have and read it to her. In all honesty, Kiara found that rather endearing but she pretended not to acknowledge it at all. Showing the man any leeway would be like giving a gun to a kid on sugar high. That was more trouble she didn't want on her plate.

“Do you want me to read one?” He asked her. Then again, sometimes giving in did benefit them both.

It was another thing she wouldn’t admit, and that was how much she liked Saint’s voice. There was something in it that was calming and comforting to her ears, well during the times when he wasn’t being a total idiot. And that lightness, she couldn’t see how he always had such a tone even when he was being sober. Maybe that was why few could ever take him seriously. And she was one of those.

“... Just don’t be so overzealous about it.” She spoke warningly to him, to which he only laughed before reading the words aloud to her. After he read the short rhyme, he looked at Kiara who had on her usual poker face.

“Monday’s Child.” Kiara stated. The priest smiled at her. “Oh so you know this.” He quipped, eyes shining with enthusiasm.

Kiara nodded, looking away to avoid that smile and gleam. “Of course I know it.” She muttered.

He closed the book and looked straight at the young woman. “You know I heard that most rhymes are symbolical in nature.” Saint started, not catching her words. “... Or can be used for fortune telling. There’s a lot of skepticism floating around about whether or not it’s really accurate but from what I see, it pretty much is.”

She looked at him. “You believe in those things?”

Saint blinked and took no time to reply, “Well yeah I do. It’s quite fascinating the more you read about it. It's kinda funny how you look at this differently when you were a child and then now as an adult. A world of a difference.” He made a gesture of the last sentence by stretching his hands out from side to side.

“... Are you really a priest, Saint?” The crusader asked. The man grinned and laughed, which she took was his vague answer.

The man gave a loud yawn and slid down from the railings, stretching this way and that before he moved to stand beside her. “Just a curiosity. When were you born? The day I mean.”

Kiara quickly put some distance between them, eyes warily placed on the man. “I don’t believe in those, priest. At least not anymore.” Came her quick response.

Saint scoffed, looking at her with a pout and a hand on his waist. “Well I’m not telling you to believe in those. I just wanted to ask.”

She remained quiet, again retreating to within her thoughts as she stared ahead again. Was he trying to get to know her better? That... damnable priest was trying to be friendly and not annoy her for once? It was almost too good to be true. Then again, he wasn't exactly as biting as he used to be before the incident so that should hint her at something.

But then why? Why change the way he treats her when she's finally back to her old self?

She chose not understand it now. Best to allow herself a bit of ignorance, rather than go off and think too much about things that might not be true and disappoint herself in the end.

But if the priest was trying to communicate to her in a friendlier manner...

“Wednesday.” She spoke, “I was born on a Wednesday.” And she returned to her room, closing the door behind her with a soft creak of its hinges.

“Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day,
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.”
- Monday's Child

end entry.

At A Cliff's Edge

Characters: Johan Farrell (Saint) and Jean Farrell.
Notes: Pre-Project [A]esir timeline for Saint.

***

“Get in there!”

Jean groaned at the muffled voice. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with one dirty sleeve, adjusting his vision to the dimness of the cell that came to be his bedroom this past year. His and his brother’s that is. Keys jingled in the lock and a moment later, light shone into his dark world. He squinted at the light, shielding his eyes as he tried to focus instead on the body that was thrown roughly into the room.

“You will get what you deserve!” The man standing at the doorway bellowed. From Jean’s perspective, the guard had a round physique, almost ball like with four robust limbs and a shaggy red mane for hair. The rumpled uniform the older man wore was something he’d gotten used to seeing. Of course, that was a given. They were always escorted back to their rooms ever since that crazy stunt the siblings pulled off during their first week. But he reigned in his thoughts from a trip down memory lane, focusing once again on the guard as he sought to find a way to aptly describe the man.

...A dwarf. The wizard concluded and mentally smiled. From what he could see, the older man did have a beard that could rival one of those little men with a few more years of growing it out. And he had a gruff voice as he berated his brother, who remained silent and unmoving on the floor. Jean couldn’t help but let out a sudden laugh with the multitude of thoughts that suddenly came with listening to his incessant ranting.

The guard heard his laugh and stopped, looking at the other ‘prisoner’ sitting against the cell wall. “What’s so funny?” He demanded, clenching and un-clenching his fists.

Jean paused in his laughter, long enough to answer the quietly seething man, “Pardon me, my good man. But I believe I am laughing at the fact that you, a simple-minded grunt, would so boldly assume that we would simply let you bully us into submission.”

“Why you little...”

Jean looked up now, gracing the man with a small smile and an odd glint in his eyes. Whatever that glint was, the burly guard took a wary step back as his hand flew to the wooden mace attached to his belt. Jean continued in a singsong voice, his expression never faltering, “You aren’t a scientist for one, just a mere grunt who believes that you would be safe from harm just because we appear to be at our weakest.”

Then the man tittered, the laughter growing louder and more deranged with each moment that passed. He stood up, pushing himself from the wall and standing upright. Eyes of deep, emerald bore stared straight at the smaller man like he was considering whether to eat him or not.

“Don’t underestimate what we are capable of. If you do know what’s good for you, you’d do well to keep that door between you and us.” As if to emphasize the warning the deed he was about to do, crackles of lightning danced at the tips of his fingertips of one hand. “You would have been dead moments ago for even prolonging your presence in our territory, dwarf. So leave, unless you’d fancy a night with us.” The grin on his was positively gleaming with sadism. Jean took one menacing step forward and that was all it took for the man to completely step out of the cell, grabbing the door as he shouted at Jean, “L-Let’s see who’ll be laughing in the end!”

And with that, the door slammed shut, followed by the sharp click of the lock. Silence overrode the two occupants. The body on the floor had yet to show signs of life, but Jean wasn’t too worried. Not yet anyway. The sadistic gleam on his face slowly faded away, leaving only exhaustion and disgust as he stared at the door. He had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing on his knees as what little strength he mustered began to ebb.

Moments passed. No other sound could be heard in the room until Jean broke the silence with his curt tone, “How long do you plan on lying there?”

A groan escaped the mess of hair, and body turned until it was lying on his side, facing the quiet man. Jean raised a brow at a boyish face so similar to his own, yet so riddled with bruises and small cuts. That face returned the blank stare with a painful wince every few seconds. “Well... that one could have gone better...” The body on the floor muttered.

Years of dealing with fellow pragmatic, egoistic mages had made Jean resist the urge to punch his presently less-than-sensible brother, settling for a roll of his eyes instead. Honestly...

“What did you do this time, Johan?”

Johan flashed a toothy grin at his twin. “I bit him.” Then he stuck out his tongue. “But that was because he kept telling me to ‘Move it!’ and kept shoving me forward until I was sure I could’ve tripped over my own feet. Demanding dwarf, if I--”

Jean cut his brother off. “You were tired and angry with the scientists being ignorant of your ‘fragility’.” He stood up from his spot against the wall and dragged his brother by the wrists, ignoring the squeaked protest of pain from the younger man. There wasn’t anything Jean could do, he didn’t have enough strength to carry him properly after his own ordeal earlier that day.

He pulled Johan to his own spot and gently raised him so that he half-laid against the cold stone wall. “After enduring the stress of today, you did the most intelligent thing you can do to assault the guard sent to pick you up.” The wizard concluded his earlier statement.

“Fuck yeah and it felt good too!” His twin sounded almost proud of it.

“Language, Johan.” Jean lightly scolded. He sat beside his brother, running a hand through that unruly hair and thought belatedly of a comb. They both needed one badly. He wondered if he could snitch one off somewhere when he’s going to be taken to the laboratories again tomorrow.

Johan snorted, tilting his head up with a grin plastered on his face. “Meh, who cares? And were you actually serious about zapping the guy to death?”

“I was obfuscating weakness, using most, if not all, the factors of a semi-deranged, morally uninhibited test subject to pull off what is a bluff to the intellectual eye, but a fearsome and convincing act to that of a simple minded fool.” Jean replied blandly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He added with a small shake of his head, “I don’t even have the strength to cast a simple Sight spell.”

“Well if you ask me, it was better than what you did the other day.” The wizard half of the siblings could practically feel the teasing insult his brother put behind those words. A vein throbbed, his otherwise calm demeanour being poked at by his sibling.

“Don’t bring it up, Johan.” He said slowly, warningly. He stopped running his hand through his brother’s hair and let it fall to his side. “Don’t you dare.”

“Aw, Aniki. I’m shocked and hurt by that.” If there had been enough light in the cell they shared, Jean would have seen that all too familiar look, dubbed as the “Kicked Puppy” by their mother when she was still alive.

“But oh dear, oh dear, how feminine was that slap! Maybe if you had a glove, it would have been even more interesting! Is that how wizards do it?” Dear Odin, how did anyone ever mistake his taunt-happy brother to be anything like him?

“You are really asking for it, little brother!” Jean growled a warning, but at the same a wicked gleam shone in his eyes. Unfortunately, the dim cell did not let Johan see that. The priest grinned, sitting up and giving his brother a light shove.

“Pimp slap!” Johan teased one more time before he was pounced on and had his ticklish spots assaulted mercilessly.

“Aha, you little fiend! You think you can best your obviously better half?” Jean laughed, pinning his brother the way he used to such that he couldn’t evade from his ticklish hands. “Maybe in a million years, but not now! Oh you are so going to pay for that.”

“A... aniki...”

Jean would have continued tickling his brother, that was until he heard the pleas in between gasps of breath. He got off quickly, seeing Johan instantly curl on his side, gasping and coughing painfully.

“Johan? Johan! Odin and the Aesirs, I’m sorry I forgot!” Cold dread ran down the wizard’s spine as he reached out and rubbed a hand across his brother’s back, hoping to Valhalla and back he was alright. Each moment that passed felt like hours, and even when Johan finally calmed and was only catching his breath, the dread Jean felt never left.

“Johan... talk to me. Please.”

The younger man wearily blinked up at his twin. “I guess... that last one... made me more dizzy than before.” Johan laughed weakly. “... They’re getting less careful with us, aren’t they?” Jean didn’t want to think what sort of carelessness the bastards had done to his brother.

“Can you heal yourself?” Jean’s eyebrows furrowed in concern when he saw the shaking outline of Johan’s head. The younger twin answered, “Kinda... tortured me. On top of that, they hit me with a Soul Siphon... just a weak one though.” He re-enacted the scientists’ earlier actions with a weak gesture of his hand.

Jean mentally cursed. Soul Siphoning... Those bastards! He hoped they all die a painful death. Amidst his ramblings, the wizard lifted up his brother. Despite his exhaustion, he carried Johan the short distance to the only bed in the room, and then carefully laid him on his back.

“Aniki... I’m fine.” Johan protested, turning to face his brother.

Jean could only return his statement with a solemn sounding sigh. He wasn’t convinced. “Stupid brother, get some rest.” He muttered, ruffling his hair. He sat down again, leaning against the bed and returned to contemplating his thoughts in silence.

“... I’m sorry.” Johan whispered, his voice low and hoarse. The priest turned on his side, eyeing the back of Jean’s head. The wizard tilted his head, but did not look at him. “Sorry?”

“For making you worry.”

Jean snorted, averting his eyes at some point on the floor. “You don’t need to apologize. This is what we do best, remember? Making each other worry... being there for each other...” The older twin replied, a note of wistfulness finding its way into his voice. “Nothing will ever change that.”

“Even with all this crazy shit happening?”

A low chuckle escaped Jean’s throat. “More so with this crazy shit happening. Now sleep, you stupid brother of mine.”

We only have ourselves to rely on.

The priest could not find the words to properly reply to that. But he felt, he didn’t need to. Jean already understood and knew.

Slowly he allowed fatigue and exhaustion to finally overtake him. In the fog of sleep that was gently washing over his sense, he faintly heard the click of the lock and the sudden snap of Jean’s head towards the sound. The creak of the door sounded so far away, yet he was still here, just barely. Light seeped in through the door, bringing more luminosity into the darkened room with each moment it widened. Was the guard back to harass them? Perhaps bringing a few more friends to back him up?

Coward.

He turned his head ever so slightly at Jean, noticing Jean’s whole form tensing at the person who entered their cell, but what really told him that it wasn’t a guard coming to torment was the extremely hostile look in those tired eyes. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck shoot up at the sudden change in the room’s atmosphere.

“Faust.”

His brother uttered.

END ENTRY.

Sands of an Hourglass

Note: An old story about my character pre-entrance to REM, or to-be-character of the RP group she was intended to be used for. Either way, my character remains an original and so does her history. She is who she is even if she may never make an appearance.

***

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

Time didn’t stop for anyone. Time didn’t reverse itself for anyone. It maintained its steady forward pace, never looking back, never caring who it leaves behind. It ruled the lives of men with no end of its reign in sight. What could these beings of the flesh do? They were only mortals and could not go against its flow no matter what. But it did not make a few hopeful dreamers stop wishing for that one miracle.

And until a week ago, he hadn’t believed he would be one of those foolish men.

He steeped his hands together, placing his elbows on either lap. The clock on the bedside table continued to tick, the sound echoing in the deathly quiet room. The young man remained as still as a statue, sitting against the wooden chair. His eyes never left the slumbering woman’s gaze, daring not even to blink lest he missed something of great importance.

The bed’s occupant was still, too still to merely be asleep. But the soft rise and fall of the blanket was enough to tell anyone that she was still alive. Her chestnut hair spread around her like a brown halo against the stark white pillows. But her skin was too pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

The moment he saw the broken door, he knew something was terribly wrong. Nearly throwing himself into the apartment, he almost tripped over a man with a knife driven deep into his back. But that wasn’t what bothered him the most. The floor had drops of blood that came from the corpse. It led all the way to the living room, and he followed the trail with his heart sinking with each step he took.

The memories burned guilt into him. He should have been there. If he hadn’t let anger cloud his judgment earlier that day, he would have been able to prevent this from happening.

If only he had. If only he had...

“I’m sorry...”

He buried his head into his hands, feeling his eyes sting from the tears that wished to spring forth, but that he could not bring himself to allow. The memory of her fearful eyes and blood stained body would forever be etched into his mind.

Oh God. There had been so much blood...

“Physically, she’s doing better, but we can’t say the same for her state of mind. Slipping in and out of that coma, the next time she wakes might be her last.”

What use was the body if the mind would never recover? That was the hidden question in the doctor’s words. He pushed that depressing thought away, looking towards the girl in bed with such a heartbroken look on his face. She’d been so alive months back, but depression had hit hard and now cruel fate had dealt another so soon.

Alize, the lithe bundle of energy of a woman who he had grown up with... dying? He didn’t believe it the moment those words floated into his mind. He wouldn’t, not unless she herself would say it with all the seriousness she was capable of.

Please... He silently prayed. Please don’t leave me.

A shift of the blankets made him hitch in his breathing. His blue eyes watched every single movement that the bed’s occupant made. Her eyes opened to mere slits, allowing him to see a pair of hazy grey orbs staring blankly at the ceiling with barely any recognition in them. It pained him to think that she might not respond to his voice, that she would remain like this even if she manages to fully awake from her coma.

“Alize.”

That was the first word that came out of his mouth. He couldn’t stay silent for long and just watch her. He just couldn’t. It sounded so cold, so void of emotion though inside, he was furious and despairing at the same. How could he still sound so when his love was right there, the sand grains of her life running thin? She turned her head towards him. After what seemed like an eternity, those eyes slowly widened and the last vestiges of sleep fell.

“Seg...” She wordlessly mouthed the single word. She struggled to pull a bandaged arm from under the blanket, a feat that proved difficult. He saw this and reached out a hand to take hers, placing it on the blanket and rubbed it soothingly. The girl sighed, thankful. The soft patter of rain against the window mingled with the steady ticking of the clock.

“... Seg, are you mad at me?” She asked him, her voice hoarse from sleep. His gentle caress never wavered, even as he bent to place a light kiss on her pale, chapped lips. As he lifted his head, she caught sight of the sadness in those eyes, mixed with a hundred other emotions she could only name in silence.

But most of all, she recognized forgiveness in them.

There was no need of words to know his answer.

“I wanted to say it.” She spoke despite the pain welling up in her throat and eyes. Tears streamed down the sides of her pale face as she forced herself to continue, “I wanted to say it before I sleep, maybe for good this time.”

Whatever words he wanted to tell her caught in his throat. His expression reflected the surprise that he felt inside. So Alize truly was...

“I don’t know... h-how long I can hold o-on...” She stuttered, her breath catching in her throat as she desperately tried to keep her voice steady. He kissed her forehead again, caressing her cheek. “It’s alright. It’s alright.” The man whispered over and over again, for the benefit of Alize and himself. He kept his emotions locked up inside, afraid that once they had an outlet, it would all come crashing down. He had to be strong for her.

“I was the fool, Alize. If I hadn’t left you there, none of this would’ve happened. But it’s over now. It’s over. We can go back to the way we used to be.” He placed his forehead against hers, whispering to her, “It won’t be long. You’ll get better soon.” Selfish. So selfish.

“I will?” There was an almost childish hope in her tone.

He hesitated, pursing his lips as he placed some distance between them. He stared at her face, the once vibrant eyes now slowly clouding over with the haze of sleep. It was half a lie, he knew that. But he chose to believe in a fantasy rather than what reality had coldly offered to him before his very eyes. Seg nodded his reply, watching as her lips broke into a tired smile.

“Seg...?” Her words came out light and breathy. He almost hadn’t heard her. Seg scooted the chair closer to her bed. “What is it Alize?”

“Our first book...” She mumbled her reply, failing to stifle the yawn that followed. “I’m dreaming of that world... more often now... Could you read it to me? Like we used to?”

He nodded, unzipping his bag and pulling out a children’s storybook.

Like we used to. He repeated mentally as he flipped to the first page.

When he told her stories, she would draw pictures of that world he shared with her. A writer and an artist. Most had said they made a good couple. He had believed that as well. But now, that reality seemed impossible. Still, he wouldn’t give up. It would pain him to simply let her go.

He continued to tell her the story, his gentle baritone tone filled each word with feeling that stirred her thoughts, cradling her as a mother would rock her child to sleep. The words were like melody to her ears. She rode on them, falling into silence and allowing her imagination to recreate the blades of grass bending gently from the breeze, the multitude of butterflies fluttering about the flower fields, the majestic mountains lying beyond the horizon, the rolling waves on the sea that separated the shore from those mountains, and the aurora painted skies that looked like they were forever stopped in the moment between dawn and dusk.

This was the world she and him shared. That would never change.

Gently, she followed the compelling call of sleep, of whose hands brushed against her brow and took her by the arms, gently ushering her into the darkness behind it. Vaguely, she could feel the shift of the blanket, an item being placed beneath her limp hand and the soft touch of lips on her own. She mustered the strength to open her eyes, but all she could manage was a tiny slit. She saw the outline of Seg as he walked towards the door, pausing a moment to look back at her bed before opening the door and walking through it. She couldn’t hear the sound of the door closing in behind him.

“I love you, Seg...”

She couldn’t even hear her own words as she fell to the arms of sleep once again, continuing to dream of aurora filled skies and the caress of the wind at her face.

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

Went the beat of the clock on the bedside table, its steady and never ceasing thump the only sound that broke the silence of the room.

end entry.

Just Another Day

Note: I wanted to de-stress. So I did something with my Project [A]esir characters. Warning if insults don't exactly sit with you (no matter how light sounding they are used here).

This was one way that the two interacted before...

***

It started with an innocent sounding remark. It always did. That was until...


"Stubborn shrew."

"Insufferable cur."

"Social retard."

"Perverted bastard."

Momentary silence.

"... Moron."

"Amazon."

"Dunderhead."

"Tomboy."

"Nincompoop."

A roll of eyes. "Harridan."

"Jackass." Followed by a derisive huff.

"Orc Lady."

"Stupid priest."

The man grinned triumphantly.

"Mmm... running out of good insults today, you bitchy little pretty bo--"

!! SMACK !!

"What the hell, woman?!"

"Sorry. I was trying to keep you from sinking into mental degradation."

Their third companion didn't need to look back to see the resulting scuffle. But he did give them a momentary glance before moving on ahead to their destination.

...

...

Yep. Life definitely had a crazy sense of humor.

END ENTRY.

Glass Wall

Muted.

Their words did not reach her ears. But she could still see them. Still see those expressions, those gestures alive with emotion. The way their mouths moved when speaking the words... she always had this odd fascination for detail, for looking at things that were there but few would ever care to notice. Sometimes, she would try to guess what they were saying with their mouths or their body gestures, oftentimes her guesses would border on the ridiculous that made little sense to anyone but her. One could say, she took amusement and comfort in this kind of pastime.

Slowly, she reached out, touching an invisible wall just mere inches from where she sat. She let her hand linger on its cold surface, sliding it downwards before retracting her hand back to her side. She watched them again, tilting her head a bit as their conversation died for a moment, a few of them seemingly looking around for something before resuming their talk once again. She didn't know how long they remained that way, however she didn't care for the time. But they soon started moving on, farther and farther away from her, never once noticing her watching them from a distance.

Once the last person walked out of sight, the small smile on her face faded to a thin line. She stood, pulling her jacket closer to her, feeling the cold seeping beyond the wall. Her eyes scanned the empty landscape before her. Finding no other soul, she began to walk alongside the wall, her fingers lightly touching its cool surface.

She walked, and walked aimlessly. She suddenly stopped, staring off into space for a moment before blinking back into focus. She let out a shuddering breath, small clouds puffing before her mouth. She looked to her right, to the side that was swallowed in darkness, almost longingly staring into that emptiness.

Nothing.

She shifted a bit more to make herself comfortable. She strained her ears for any sound that she could have missed. A light step. A swish of a cloth. A hush of breath escaping soft, pinkish lips. Anything to indicate that she wasn't alone in this place.

And yet still nothing.

Exhaling loudly, she entertained her thoughts. Unsurprisingly, they brought her back towards the group she was watching earlier. Each one of them was an acquaintance of sort. Whether a friend or something more, she did not dwell on it too much. As she fleeted through her thoughts the question suddenly came up.

Were they thinking of me?

She shook her head immediately to rid herself of that sentimentality, frowning just a little. What a notion. Of course they wouldn't be thinking of me. And even if they did, it would only be...

Her mental voice trailed off, sensing that it was something that she already knew and had resigned herself to. Best not to waste its voice when it would not coax a significant reaction from her any longer.

She slowly sat back down on the ground, facing towards that side beyond the wall. Her form bent over slightly as she looked at her hands, feeling them go slightly numb from the cold.

Cold. And yet it didn't bother her as much as it should.

A weight suddenly pressed against her from the back. Arms wrapped around her shoulders securing her in their warmth. A head rested on hers ever so gently. If she tried hard enough, she could almost hear the other's breathing in the silence surrounding them, and his heart beating in time with her own. It did not anger her, nor did it frighten her that this person could have gotten so close without her noticing.

He was a constant in her world. A pillar of support for her own broken existence. What reason did she have to be frightened?

Slowly, she shifted her head to rest against one of the arms around her. The head upon hers lifted to allow her free movement. It did not return once she settled herself, rather the man let it hang as he regarded the girl in his arms.

"Haizek..." Was the one word, softly uttered by his calm baritone, that first shattered the silence surrounding them. The girl closed her eyes, willing her roiling emotions to calm themselves. They listened to her bidding. But only for a moment. When she felt the peace of emptiness settling in her, she lifted her head up, staring into dark eyes so similar to her own. She offered him a small, wan smile before looking away.

His brows furrowed, but no words escaped him. Because he knew that it was fruitless to talk with her once she stumbled. All that he could do, all that he hoped he could help ease her during this time, was to be there with her. And pray. Pray that it was until only a phase like so many others, and that she was going to get up again like before.

He felt a thought cross her mind. Though many, many other things ran through her, he could still single this out from all the others. He looked at it a moment, comprehending it, before he wrapped his arms tighter around her and sighed. The girl lifted a hand up, gently gripping an arm as a shuddering breath passed her lips again. Her other hand reached out again, lightly tracing the now frosty glass with a finger.

If he could see her, he would have noticed a light sheen to her eyes. But there was no need to see. Not when he could perfectly feel the emotions running through her like live knives running rampant in a confined space. He watched her trace words on the glass wall, his expression showing the barest of changes even as her hand fell away upon writing out that last letter. He felt her sag against him, felt as she mentally curled up against the assault of her reawakening anguish once again.

He kept his eyes trained on the words on the glass, even as he stroked her hair comfortingly with his free hand.

I don't belong in that world.

end entry.