IDN own Bleach.
This an optional prolougue to Tricrossed, but it stands alone.
Moonlight Sonata. Beethoven.
DARK VIEW.
until death do us part
or not.
'Why,' she wonders as a blade pierces her spine, right through her aorta. It nicks a lung, collateral damage because it seeks only her heart. A clean stab, aim true, skewering that vital organ which once pumped oxygen to her limbs. With ruthless ease, her sternum cracks, the reverberation jarring her teeth.
Eyes wide and staring, she finds the blade protruding from her chest. She watches the edge catch the sun's glare.
And an abrupt realization.
This mundane glint, sunlight on an alloy of iron and carbon, will be the last thing she ever sees.
The peculiar sensation of hanging by a thread, a steel thread cutting through the center, holding her because she cannot feel her legs and her arms are numb.
Time stops, and breathing is impossible. Only enough air for two words, a low wheeze.
Only two words. The first she knows better than any other. The second is the epitome of confusion.
"Shirou, why?"
Midnight slips over her vision, obscuring everything. No glint, nothing at all.
So she cannot see him, but she knows this blade. It feels like him. Its aim is true like his.
It must be him.
Who else would it be? Who else would hold her up when she cannot feel her legs and her arms are numb? Who else would cut through the center, right to her heart? Who else would stand at her side while she hangs by a thread?
No one else. Only him.
He is her Shirou.
Time has stopped, and there is no air, none at all to form something meaningful.
To save his life.
Because he is going to die, her last words ringing and wailing and rebounding in his ears for as long as they both shall live.
She will have seconds. And he will have seconds.
And then they both will die.
It's too bad. A bitter shame.
Because she'd like a chance, a bit more air so she can explain.
Shirou, why?
He misunderstands, twisting her words in an effort to foot the bill just like every dinner date.
Like always.
Always taking credit for every smile she forged and every mistake she made and every lie she told herself.
And he has done it again. Misunderstood, twisting her words, taking credit.
She only asks why.
Not what and surely not when.
The what is plain: the blade—his blade—protruding from her chest.
His blade which she can no longer see, can't even feel. But she has yet to fall, so it must still be there.
She is dying, and her heart no longer beats.
When. Time has stopped, so 'now' has lost this unending moment. When she is dying; when she dies; when she is dead. Those infinitesimal points on the arc of forever have merged into a short eternity just for her. Just for him.
How is a more problematic question, but she is smarter, more resilient, than they—he ever—gave her credit for. Not a genius, certainly not a genius like him. Rather, she has been stupid before, but not ignorant.
Willfully blind is not the same as blind.
Not like the jet curtain over her eyes when she has no air and no heartbeat.
How this happened: her beloved captain did this.
She knows. She just does.
Perhaps, a cracked sternum is only one part of a grander dissolution. Shatters the soul to shatter the last defense of a kind delusion, the last pane of an evil illusion.
So the only question remaining is why.
Why did this happen? Why him? Why is hell bent of his destruction? Why her? Why must she be the bane?
Why did they ever meet?
Why does he love her at all?
Why, Shirou?
She would like an answer before they die. Perhaps, an answer would break the thread, the steal thread, on which she hangs. An answer might shatter the blade connecting them.
Maybe, an answer would save him: when she finally falls, he can stay.
He could stay high up in the sky with the glinting sun. He could stand.
And she could descend alone. Die alone.
Maybe, an answer would let her go.
Frozen time, nothing to see and nothing to feel, lips blue and body lifeless - the end of their short eternity; he gives her an answer.
Her Shirou gives her an answer right before who she is shatters too, becoming nothing.
The last sound she will ever hear.
Not two words. Not even one.
Just a howl, raw outrage and merciless. A death cry, a requiem for their life.
A single life they shared.
And his howl rings and wails and rebounds in her deaf ears for as long as they both shall live.
I don't know... This is the first death scene I've attempted. I don't feel any pride or satisfaction. I feel nauseousness.
Mare.