Author: Shiva Darkwater | Fandom: Weiss Kreuz | Rating: PG-13 | Summary: It isn't what one thinks. (Farfarello centric) | Disclaimer: Takehito Koyasu rules. We are all not worthy. Worship. | Author's Notes: Dedicated to Vadalia. This is my first time trying to write for Farfarello introspectively. I only hope that it met her expectations. He's more interesting than I realized. I enjoyed myself while writing this.

Slumber

All around him was darkness and emptiness.

Arms around his waist, hugging himself, he gazed out at the black. He could see nothing.

He had had this dream before; fragments of it came back to him. The blackness. The nothing. The odd sensation that there was absolutely nothing. The calm that there was absolutely nothing. The void.

He could taste blood on his lips. Familiar blood. It tasted like his own.

That had been in the dream also.

He had no way of knowing what all of this meant.

He wondered if he would ever wake up from it this time. The dream was going on too long. Previous times it had only flashed by, a blinking second of darkness in time. Why was he still here?

What did it mean?

Deafening silence, blinding darkness… a solitude without any hope…

This was The End.

But where did that leave him?

A small flash struck the back of his mind. Was someone calling him? In the distance he could hear something, fading, overwhelmed by the silence. If he tried hard he could almost hear his name being called within his mind.

He felt something wet drip onto his face. More blood? To his questing tongue it tasted of salt, not iron. Tears?

'Farfarello…'

But it was too late. He could no longer hear the words; no longer hear his name being called to him inside of his head. More tears dripped onto his face, invisible in the darkness. He could no longer feel them. He felt numb. Who was crying? It certainly wasn't him.

He felt tired, as if this hadn't been a dream after all and he was just now starting to fall asleep. Dreams were meshing against dreams and he didn't know what was real and what wasn't. Perhaps this wasn't reality… perhaps it never had been.

Maybe he was only now just waking up.

'Death is a midnight runner…'

He heard the words once more, not his name this time. The voice was soft, and he still didn't know who said it. He doubted that it really mattered.

Somewhere far in the back of his mind he could hear a small child laugh, hear a soft voice murmuring the prayer of the Lord. It brought a smile to his lips and he shut his eyes. He gave into the low voices and soft glowing brightness of the alter candles.

He had seen that all before. He would join it once again.

Tilting his head back, he gave in to the gentle pulling at his mind. The other voices grew soft until it was just a young boy reciting the Lord's Prayer over and over. This is where he was meant to be.

"… And deliver us from evil. Amen."

From the blackness everything became light once more.