In the Pale Moonlight

Author's Note: This is a one-shot to a Kikaider fic that I've got pending, along with my 71 other stories. ^@_@^. Enjoy, it's making me crazy. ^n.n^

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The crimson butterfly. so rare, so beautiful. Shimmering and shining in the way that it did, in all its magnificent beauty. The silvery sheen of metal piercing her creamy pale skin-I'm sure you could imagine. It seems that we, as humans, have less fascination with our own crimson lifeline than robots with theirs.
If, for instance, you got cut making dinner. The pinprick of beauty, that striking crimson butterfly, means nothing to you but another pain in your flame lifestyle. Humans live like snow; like fire. Quickly fanned to life, too soon extinguished.
Humans believe that their technology explains everything. nothing can be fixed without it. A life without the blinking lights of their small towns or the metal birds across a sky that isn't manmade is primal. The very thought of living like so many others a thousand years ago is something savage.
And even those many years ago, the blood didn't differ. It was still crimson, still gushing freely from open wounds-with one difference. Those times ago, blood was fascinating. The crimson butterfly meant something to them. It meant that they were alive.
So that's what it all comes back to. That butterfly that's so quick to escape us and with us all the time. This day and age, our own crystalline tears are more interesting and telling than the crimson butterfly.
She wanted so much more than her technical life could give her. Bah, machines. They explained nothing. Machines were no replacement for the human touch, that crimson butterfly. Then why was she a machine?
No, she wasn't just any machine. She was half-human. Bejinder could have taken her life with the flip of a switch like so many humans she knew. Hell, even her brothers and sisters, fellow comrades and distant enemies were all the same as she.
So on this cold, winter night, like the one that started it all so very long ago, she sat. Bejinder sat under the moon, reminiscing at the first movie she'd watched with her three year old. But time was old, as was she, and it was time she got that final glimpse of the true crimson butterfly, she just wanted more.
More than the butterfly's life could ever have offered her. The one glimpse would fill her life in an instant as she died, like the snow, and like the flame. Total enemies, completely wiped out with one thought, one motion; one sift action.
Strangely enough, the movie was superhero type. An American film called Batman, with an evil man named the Joker. She couldn't help but smile every time the Joker's words resounded in her head. It was a question for her position now.

Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?

Yes. that would be her answer now. The devil. was this little metal piece that pierced her robotic skin so readily, that spewed her life's blood to the scored ground below her. The dancing-her crimson butterfly danced in waves completely in synch with the tsunami created by the tides of the moon. It was all there.
So with one last thought, she pressed the beautiful devil into the beautifully invisible crimson butterfly, cutting the shape of it into her chest just below her neck. Falling to the hellish dirt below her, the spots of red began to gather and shimmer beautifully, and they began to dance.

And she watched the crimson butterfly dance one more time in the pale moonlight.