Beautiful…The last thing he'd ever be. For a while he'd almost been sure he could be, would be. He was loved. No matter how many times those coffee eyes had drilled into his own, as those same words were whispered to him just before…He shook off the inappropriate thought. He didn't deserve to feel those things now, to truly belong to the living. He knew he could turn around right now and soon find comfort in those familiar, strong arms. But he didn't deserve it he knew…Ken humored him that way, and he saw what he wanted. He wasn't beautiful…maybe Ran was, but Aya was not, he could never be. He brought death and destruction to those who dared to oppose him. His hands, the same pale, slender fingers that Ken worshipped and adored, were dripping with the blood of many. They cried for retribution, and for all he knew, would soon find it. They deserved to die. Aya knew this was true, but it felt like a lie, meant to placate this growing sense of guilt and self loathing.
Put the walls up, keep it out, you'll never hurt that way…but he did hurt, as well he should, he was a murderer, just as much as the common thief. No delusions here any longer. A visible tremor passed through him, tears welling in the amethyst eyes, the closest he'd get to actually crying in some time.
I'll never be beautiful, I'll never be whole. He had been able to delude himself into believing otherwise, that the hurt and distrust would fade with the ever sure and ever present love of another to lean on. But he saw the hurt reflected in those dark eyes time and again. Hurt that he had put there, and in turn, his heart felt as if it had been wrenched from him. Perhaps he deserved this hurt, a terrible unending pain to match that emptiness that occupied his soul.
'My rose…' A tainted rose, nothing more. The assassin sighed, his breath billowing then fading in the bitter cold. He knew what he had to do now…
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Gomen for the long winded rambling piece o' nothing here… I'm depressed and Aya's a pretty good conductor to write for depression
