A/N: I was playing around with a writing style for about a month now but I haven't had any fics to let it rip on so I came up with this idea. I'd like to know what you guys think of it. How much support I get will determine how quickly I upload the next chapter. Oh and setting wise, this is set in the industrial revolution (late 1800's early 1900's) in euro/Russia (not sure where I want to set it yet)
Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail
A woman stood, red cloth surrounding her like a mist of freshly drawn blood, bathed in it she turned to look once more upon a solitary face that had entombed her soul to forever rot in the eternal fire of hell.
"Forgive me." She whispered, the wind stealing the words from her mouth as she stepped forward, the precipice rising up behind her. Falling she felt nothing but fear, her damned soul nothing more than shackles that would tie her to her evil deeds, ones once enacted can never be undone. She longed for a reprieve, her hell had become a reality, engulfing her and what she had once called love.
Her life flashed before her eyes, one man, he was her life, one man, in a thousand different settings, always with eyes on her. But now he was gone, and so fittingly, so should her life.
Above her form plummeting towards earth like the cursed angels had at the beginning of time, their fall as graceful as the lone figure, but unlike her their wings sprouted, saving them from the earth itself crushing their bodies with a force only it was capable of creating, but above, stood a man. Not the man, not her life, but her prisoner, whose kindness sapped the life from her veins.
"Cana!" he screamed, begging the angels to save her but alas, they ignored his plea. Tears formed but their presence was useless in bringing forth the ethereal miracle needed to save her. He looked over the lip of the zenith he was mounted on, like a display of the pain mankind could suffer when given the chance. He couldn't see her, which was quite ironic, he had spent so much time looking away, so much time hiding that when he finally looked he couldn't recognise her serious brown eyes anymore, their quiet strength had morphed into fierce desire, spilling forth and infecting those around, like an unwanted disease, destroying barriers of etiquette. Now, he wished for her to be visible, so visible he would let her eyes infect him, let them inject her desire into his very soul but alas his will was no longer enough to call her forth.
His breathing became ragged, he thought of calling out, but what words would he use. Would he ask for answers? He knew all the circumstances that had led to this, that had made her submit to death over bearing life, every choice he could have changed.
It all started on that day….
