Once Upon A Time, in a land farther away than far far away, but closer than the ever blazing sun, lived a little boy. The little boy's name was Lawliet, and he was very lonely. His small village in England was quiet and very normal, and he was anything but normal himself. He was an orphan, who had been abandoned in the Village's orphanage long ago, without even being named. The children teased him, telling him how unwanted and disposable he was, and he put on a brave face, and grew indifferent to other's cruel words. Every day he woke up and was sent to run errands, because he was the least favorite orphan of all the orphans, and was used to cook and clean and mend and do tasks for the orphanage owner. While he was carrying heavy sacks of grain home, his thin little arms sore, the other children would shove past him as they ran through the streets, sucking on sweets and holding toys they were going to use to play games, that he wouldn't be invited to play.
Lawliet would finish up all his chores, then go out to the large wall that circled the town, and sit down beside it. When he got braver, he would climb the tree beside the wall, and sit on a limb right beside the edge, and look out on the moor, with its grassy green fields and the winding river that ran alongside it. He would dream of jumping over the wall, running through the field and away from the village, and perhaps find a friend, a friend who would take care of him and make him happy, or perhaps he would find a home, with nice parents who let him have sweets. He would bite at his thumb and his eyes would glaze as he imagined the infinite possibilities, then the mistress of the orphanage would come, grasp him by the elbow and yank him from the leafy tree, and whip him for being bad.
It was a well known fact that to go beyond the village's safe walls and into the moor was dangerous, as he was being whipped, the pale skin of his hands and his legs slicing into thick throbbing welts, occasionally tinged with a red line of fresh blood, the mistress would scold and tell him off all the dangers.
"The animals! Big and Large! They've teeth like razors and thin bones like yours would be easily chomped up! Do you want to be eaten by a stray dog! Don't even mention the kelpies! The harpies! The fairies and pixies! They would swallow you whole! Drown you in the river! Trick you and steal from you and lead you to your death! You're no match for they're magic ways and you would die! Don't even get me started on if you got through the moor and into the woods! The trolls would crush you!"
Lawliet barely heard a word she spoke though, wincing as the whip slapped his skin. 'Who would want to eat me?' He pondered. 'I am not delicious, I am thin, there would be no meat, my bones are awkward, my back is too curved, I wouldn't be delicious at all. Why would the kelpie drown me? What good would that do for the kelpie? I've nothing for fairies and pixies to steal, no amusement could come from tricking me, for I can see through the tricks. I am not so stupid. Why would I go into the woods? The woods don't have beautiful flowers like the moor does… '
Lawliet took his whippings everyday, because no matter the wretched tells the Mistress would spin, he wouldn't listen, and went back to gaze longingly at the moor everyday.
One day many years later, Lawliet had grown quite much. His dark hair framed a thin face, insomniac's dark circles rimmed darker eyes, and the thin and awkward body he had as a child had grown into something more handsome. He was tall, thin but tall, all his features fitted the person he was, for he was wise, he was all seeing, able to see through the tricks his "friends" played on him, able to see ways of tricking them, gaining what he wanted, soon people began coming to him, asking him questions. Lawliet could read, and without friends to play with, he would sit day in and day out, on the limb overhanging the moor, reading book after book, his eyes hungrily soaking in every word, memorizing. He became the smartest man in town, but while people sought out his help, they still thought him a fool.
"Look at that Lawliet, always gazing at the moor, what does the moor have to offer him? Flowers? What would he do with flowers? He should take a good look at this town and start looking at his life. He needs a job, he needs a house, he needs a wife to bear children. The moor can offer him none of that!"
"If he could just get his head out of the clouds, I would surely hire him to be my apprentice if he wasn't so foolish and obsessed with something so stupid!"
"My daughter is more beautiful than any fairy or Siren, it's all the same, I would never want a fool like that to marry her."
Lawliet overheard every word that was said about him, but he was indifferent, his heart was shut off from all the people in the village. He didn't need them, didn't want them, why should he?
He learned more every day, learned languages, learned facts, learned skills. He could duel with a sword, play the flute, the violin, the piano, the harp, he could make medicine from plants, and he could recite poetry from millions of different authors. He was skilled and wonderful at so many different things, but no one truly appreciated him.
Finally on the eighteenth anniversary of the day he was abandoned at the orphanage, it was time for him to leave. Lawliet new exactly where he would go, and as he packed his bag he smiled happily. The Orphanage gave him exactly one hundred pounds to start his new life with, and as he walked out of the orphanage he went straight to the town trading store. On his person as he went into the store he had a set of clothes, some of his most precious books, a small harp, a pan flute, a knife, and the envelope with the money. He left the store, with all the same things except for the money, and added to his personal items a blank journal, a quill, ink, and some food. Everyone in town had gathered around, wondering what Lawliet might do now that he was on his own. Would he build a house?
Where would he build it? Will he ask my daughter to marry him? What trade will he take up? Lawliet walked along the streets, his face blank, seemingly unaware of all the eyes on him and the shuffles of feet following his. He walked to the large gates leading in to town, then paused, the hundreds of feet pausing behind his.
He didn't turn around though; he only grinned softly to himself, reaching into his pocket to pull out the pan flute, and began to play a soft tune as he walked out of town, the gates swinging shut behind him.
Lawliet was finally where he had wanted to be all of his life, the grass beneath his feet was soft, the sun was bright and warm, the scent of sweet flowers tickled his nose, and the wind blew dark hair around his pale cheeks, he laughed, a happy laugh, an odd laugh, for he had never laughed before in his life. The tall man walked through the fields, and wondered, what to do now? He was at peace, and he felt no need to rush, he could lie in the grass and read, play his harp, play his flute, he could find a stick and fashion himself a fishing pole, and catch fish for leisure, He could find wood and leaves and vines and fashion a house like the one he had read about in one of his favorite books, he could swim in the peaceful river waters, or he could sit and write in his journal. Perhaps he could write a book in that journal, and become an author.
Feeling no rush, Lawliet sat down his bag, making sure to keep it around his wrist in case someone from town followed him and wanted to steal from him, and he lay against a hill, his dark hair splaying between bright lilies and vivid green grass. His pale skin shone in the sunlight, and he brought his arm up to rest it over his eyes, grinning as he relaxed, and the lull of the moor slowly eased him into sleep.
Lawliet slept better than he had in his entire life, spread amongst the sweet flowers, with the sound of the running river playing melodies in his ears. He had the nicest dream, and was enthralled by it, not wanting to wake up.
He dreamed of soft hands, soft feminine hands that moved his arm from his eyes, felt those fingers slide up his sleeve to rest in his hand, dainty fingers twining with his. He felt the other hand, the one not in his, moving to his hair, slowly stroking through the dark wild locks, trying to tame the infinite knots. He sighed in his sleep, content within his dream, and his eyes opened within the dream, only to close them again, the sun blindingly bright. He opened the heavy lids a quarter of the way, and vaguely saw a figure above him, this dream creature, the figure was small, delicately shaped, quite beautiful, even if he couldn't see the features. The hand in his hair slowed, only to resume again, and he heard a giggle, felt weight against him, the dream creature was sitting on his waist, soft thighs squeezing to hold the creature above him steady. The dream figure squeezed his hand again, then the figure leaned down, ever so slowly, and Lawliet felt lips, warm and soft, on his own.
Unable to control himself, he moaned against the soft lips, because they left a sweet taste on his own, and suddenly his entire body felt warm and heated, he woke with a start and sat up, but there was nothing on his lap, no hand in his hair or his own hand, and certainly his lips were quite untouched. Lawliet looked down, and saw that there was a flower on his lap, a curious red flower, bright and delicate. Lawliet reached down and picked up the curious flower, studying it for a moment, then blinked as a strong wind blew, the petals flying off of the flower and whirling through the wind away from him.
Lawliet gazed after the petals, then looked up at the sky, seeing dark grey clouds approaching. He stood calmly, studied the dark clouds, then collected his things and began walking. He was going to build a shelter, so that the rain would not dampen him or his belongings. Lawliet walked along, looking for twigs, vines, leaves, and branches, but the moor was mostly bare, and what he did find simply was not enough to build shelter. He sighed, and thought to himself so that he could find a solution to his predicament, and watched the darkening clouds growing ever closer. Finally, he walked to the edge of the moor, where the forest trees loomed tall and strong. He pulled out his knife, and cut down a few thin, but long twigs, covered with leaves. He took the vines he had, and wound the long twigs together, so that they formed a simple covering, then leaned them against the tree, and crawled beneath them.
The storm approached fast after that, and it wasn't long before rain hounded down upon the moor, thunder booming above him. Lawliet leaned back against the tree, sheltered from the pounding rain. His dark eyes glazed as his mind wandered while he waited for the storm to pass, and it wasn't long before he pulled out his harp, and began to play a soft winding melody, long nimble fingers stroking the string fondly.
His music began to drown out the storm, and he did not stop playing as he gazed out from between some of the leaves to see if the storm was passing, almost snapping a string as his eyes widen in surprise, but he was not foolish enough to stop, and kept playing through his shock, only one note faltering. There, in front of his very eyes, dancing in the rain, was the figure from his dream. Auburn locks framed a beautiful face, soft lips parted, rain drops falling against them, and Lawliet licked his own lip as he watched, unable to help himself as he began to fall slowly, down a hopeless tunnel of longing. Bare feet splashed in puddles of water, the droplets spraying onto smooth golden skinned legs, damp hair clung to soft cheeks, and Lawliet's own dark hair brushed into his eyes, and he whipped it out of his face so it wouldn't obstruct his view of this perfect creature.
The creature had wings, and if not for the human size Lawliet would have thought it a pixie or fairy, the wings were beautiful, vivid scarlet, almost transparent in some parts, and they fluttered as the creature danced, collecting water droplets and fluttering to spray the water back into the air.
Lawliet's fingers began to cramp as the storm wore on, but he refused to stop playing, refused to even blink and take his eyes off of this dream figure. He wanted to remove himself from his hiding spot, he wanted to join in, but he feared if he did, that the figure would run away from him, and he wouldn't be able to see it any longer.
With each beat of the wings, with each turn, each hop and splash the creature made, Lawliet's heart grew warmer and warmer, he fell more and more in love with this figure, and he longed for it desperately. His long fingers stroked the strings of his harp as if he were stroking through the soft hair of the figure, loving and fond, his own lips parted each time the figures did, as if they were kissing, and he kept playing and the rain kept pouring, and Lawliet was in a love he never dreamed of.
Soon though, the rain turned to drizzle, the drizzle to mist, and the mist to sunshine. Lawliet didn't stop playing though, in hopes that the creature would stay dancing for him, but the creature looked tired, and Lawliet's fingertips were bleeding from playing, he continued to play though, as the creature stretched out, and laid upon a rock, basking in the sunlight and letting itself dry. He played slower, slower and softer, and soon, it was a lullaby.
The sound of his harp, the sound of birds emerging from their hiding, and the sound of the wind blowing the beautiful creature's perfect locks around. The wind blew the scent of this creature toured Lawliet, and he had never smelled a perfume so wonderful, as he saw perfect honey eyes slowly slip closed, and lips part lightly, he finally stilled his aching fingers, and very slowly, he removed himself from his hiding spot.
He walked slowly, careful as he could be to not make a sound, and sat, on the rock beside the sleeping figure. He hesitated, and looked at his bleeding fingers, wanting desperately to touch the creature's cheek, to stroke the soft hair, but he didn't want to dirty it, he didn't want to taint something so pure.
He lowered his hand, and considered for a moment, the beauty of this creature, its grace, and what it could possibly be. He finally decided he did not care what this creature was, just that he was madly in love with it, and wondered if he would be barbaric to try and capture it. He laughed softly to himself, reprimanding himself, for even considering trapping something that was so beautiful. It had to be free; it was too good to be captured.
He gazed for a long time, and watched as the wind ruffled soft caramel locks, and the creature's droplet covered golden skin dried beneath the sun, and Lawliet paused, before leaning down, and pressed his lips ever so softly against the creature's cheek.
It was warm, and soft, as Lawliet had imagined it would be, he kissed softer, and slowly, greedily, he began to kiss along the creature's skin, lips smoothing over the delicate skin hungrily. He kissed every part of the creature's face, the eyes, the nose, forehead, chin, and finally he tasted the lips, savoring them, as his instinct took over and suddenly he could no longer think straight, lips parting over the softer lips and deepening the kiss. He felt like he was going mad, and before he knew it he was tearing away the plain red leaved dress the creature's body was adorned with, and he felt fingers in his hair, and legs wrapping around his waist, and he fell prey to whatever spell the creature worked upon him, giving in to everything it had to offer, surrounded by warmth, tasting sweet apple flavored lips, breathing in soft perfume.
Lawliet awoke, what seemed like days later, naked on the ground of the moor, his bag beside him, the food gone, the clothes gone, the knife gone, and all of the books gone, except for the blank general, which lay open, with a note scribbled to him on it. Lawliet's body felt weak, from being used so much, but he reached out, feeling warm but empty and pulled the journal to him.
"You are mine now. You may leave, if you don't want to be my servant, but you will be cursed for the rest of your life, never satisfied with anything, always empty and longing for me. If you accept your fate and wish to be mine, then follow my trail."
L gazed at the note, reading and rereading it, then laughed, a soft hearty laugh. He was smart, he was so very brilliant, but he had fallen fool, as everyone said he would, to this creature. He looked down at his naked body, and sure enough, his forearm was branded, a strange little crimson marking standing out against the pale thin flesh. He sighed, and pondered his fate for a long moment. His entire life he had spent longing for the moor, and within a day of being there he had been ensnared, if he left, then he would have wasted a life of wondering and longing for nothing. If what this creature said was true, he would never be happy if he left and found something better anyway. How bad would it be, to be this creature's servant anyway? Lawliet was in love with this beautiful, enticing thing, and surely, even though consummating his love with it had lasted three hours and he had fallen unconscious after so much love making, this couldn't be bad in any way. The creature was sweet, and Lawliet was in love, and he could see no harm, no cons at all to being with this creature. So he stood, barely heeding his naked form, and gathered what was left of his belongings, and set out to follow the trail.
The trail wasn't at all hard to spot, in the sea of flowers around him; Lawliet could easily spot a long line of bright, glistening crimson roses. He followed them, through the moor, walking and walking and walking, until he was brought to the edge of the woods once more, he studied it, and instead of red roses he saw a bright cardinal, sitting on the makeshift shelter he had made. It fluttered its wings, ruffled its feathers, and tweeted a soft tune, then Lawliet followed as the bird began to fly, circling him occasionally, and tweeting merrily.
Lawliet followed the little cardinal, and he went deeper and deeper through thick forest until finally he brushed back a thick curtain of vine, and there, was the Village of Fairies. Dark eyes took in the sights before him, and none of the fairies paid him a bit of mind, seemingly unaware of the human who trampled into their clearing. Various fairies, all of different race, hair color, wing color, height, weight, elements. Wove about each other, fluttering their wings and doing various works. This fairy was small, petite, had blue wings and bright eyes and was pouring water into glasses, and handing them to other fairies. That fairy was red haired, with bright orange wings, and was heating coals so that a dinner of various leaves and vegetables began to cook. Another fairy was green haired, green eyes, green winged, and was gazing at plants, making them weave, enchanted, into a home.
The one thing Lawliet found most curious, was not the wings, the magic, or the odd little people, but the fact that the town was full of the sound of tiny ringing bells. He heard not one voice, but he heard constant ringing, he looked around, to try to find the source of all these bells, but instead, found that fairies that were smiling and nodding at each other, were in fact talking, not with words like he, but with this bell like noise. Lawliet arched an eyebrow, and started to ponder this more deeply, but the cardinal had just nipped a strand of his dark hair and was pulling, and he obliged and followed.
The bird brought him to a little hut of leafy grass and vines, like every other fairy home in the forest, and he could see a haze of smoke rising from the little chimney. What was different about this hut though, was that it was grander than all of the other huts, larger, and he pushed open the door hesitantly, and peered in, and found that this hut was even larger than he imagined, for there was an elaborate system of platforms and stairways, making five "floors" two above ground level, two below ground level, and one at ground level which he stepped onto hesitantly.
He looked above him, and the highest level of the house seemed to be an observatory of types, with an intricate device to gaze at the stars Lawliet had only read about. The fourth level, held a large bathing tub, the level Lawliet was on, held a kitchenette, and the level below him, held a parlor of sorts, the lowest level he saw, had a bed, and all of the walls were lined with books. He looked below and studied the bed, and saw a form in it, that didn't seem to match the form he saw earlier of the fairy. He looked around a bit, then slowly, carefully made his way down to the very bottom, careful not to make much noise as he walked, but he was not so graceful as the fairies in the village seemed to be, and the wooden stairs creaked a bit. Lawliet landed on the soft earth floor of the bottom level, and crossed it slowly, to approach the large bed.
Lawliet's stormy eyes took in the bed for a moment, looking over the figure to study the framing itself. It was weaved twigs and vines, and the mattress seemed to be of a cotton material, that very much resembled a cloud. Lawliet studied the figure from the distance as he approached, and knew with certainty it didn't belong to the fairy from earlier. He studied walked over, and slowly withdrew the covers from the figure, only to recoil.
In the bed was the body of a man, tan skinned and oak haired, he was no longer breathing, and he looked as though he had died a day ago or so. His body looked thin, as if he hadn't been eating, he looked dehydrated, and he looked like his body had been enduring great amounts of physical work. Lawliet was afraid what would happen if the fairy found him, he didn't even give thought to why there was this corpse in the fairies bed. Just as he was backing up toward the stairs, he heard the ringing of a bell directly behind him, and whipped around, to see the fairy from earlier, gazing past him at the body in the bed.
The fairy walked over slowly, gazing up at Lawliet, then touched his cheek and stroked it in a reassuring manner, Lawliet watched, mesmerized, as the fairy walked slowly to the body in the bed, and sat beside it, stroking the cheeks softly, seeming fond and remorseful. He watched the fairy cradle the corpse's head in his hands, then jumped as the fairy turned to him, then walked back over, taking out his empty book, and began writing in it.
"He's my second mortal lover. The first, was a strong man, and I used his body up, without giving thought to his need for air. He died within a single day. This one, I neglected to give water and food breaks. But I wont' be so careless with you, I will give you air, water, and food, and make sure you even get rest. You seemed to do well within the field, and I will make sure you will last me."
Lawliet read the words, and as much as he knew to be afraid, as much as he knew that he would probably be the next one dead in the bed, he couldn't' bring himself to feel panic, because the fairies hands were suddenly on his cheeks, stroking, and the next thing he knew, he was feeling immense pleasure, pleasure he had never felt in his wildest dreams, and it wouldn't stop. His mind was overloaded, he couldn't think clearly, and he so willingly gave in to the fairy's temptations.
The fairy, Light, Lawliet learned his name was, kept true to his word, about taking care so Lawliet wouldn't die. His life suddenly became so hazy, days on end of intense pleasure, waking up to find months upon months had gone by. He found he never grew older, and soon even, he began to handle the pleasure, he began to grow stronger, he began to change himself, into something that wasn't a fairy, but wasn't a human. He began to be able to make Light fall unconscious from intense pleasure, he began to take control.
Lawliet lived a life of pleasure, and he found he made Light live the same life of pleasure. Lawliet forgot, after hundreds of years, of the moor, the orphanage. He forgot the body in the bed, and that he could have so easily been killed by Light. He kept his love of books, and Light and he began to read together. They began a life together, a little family, and every time a storm came, Lawliet would play his harp until his fingers bled, and Light would dance for him.