title: everything burns
summary: he imagines her burning, and oddly enough he's not happy.
pairing: Beelzebub/Bacsojin. Y'know, the Lord of the Flies and the White Lady? Oh yes you read right. Kill me now.
warning: random choppy fic, word (white, light, bright) and sentence abuse.
.
In his dreams, it's bright. He hates bright.
When his eyes finally adjust to the brightness he realizes that he stands in a flower field, a seemingly endless field of beautiful blooming orchids as white as snow.
His hands are twitching: he wants to raze the field to the ground, and stomp on the ashes until he's satisfied. But he realized he wasn't alone. Not far from where he stood there was actually someone kneeling over, touching flowers. Her long brown hair covered her face but he could somewhat tell that she was actually happy to be in this… hellhole.
After all she was holding the flowers gently with her hands, like a mother would do to her child.
He does not know what to make of her but his hands are twitching much more violently now since that woman—- was dressed in white, so immaculate and pure like the putrid flowers in the field.
Then all of a sudden she turns around, and he sees her clearly. Her undeniable beauty was much more destructive to his eyes as she was as bright like a blinding light.
He's appalled. Very much so.
He wants to see it burn. The field, the flowers… everything in this nightmare dreamscape.
Including her, whoever she was.
.
In her dreams, it's bright.
She's used to brightness and so her eyes adjust easily. She looked around to see that she stood in a field of beautiful white orchids.
She's pleased. She kneels on the ground and touches the flowers. They felt real, the white petals soft against her skin. She wonders if she could take one and in the morning it would be in her arms, still alive and beautiful.
She doesn't know how long but she stays there, looking at all the flowers and admiring their beauty.
After a while she gets the feeling that she's being watched, so she turns around to see a man dressed regally in blue robes. She thinks he's a king of sorts, as the large crown on top of his head completed his ensemble.
He was a rather handsome man, and he was even dashing. He stood out very much so in this field of white.
She lifts herself up to face him properly, and the red eyes of his followed her movement. She stood tall, putting her hands on her lap like a proper lady would.
His face was still devoid of expression.
They stare at each other.
They don't know how long.
Then she smiles at him warmly. She feels that he is not a threat to her. He has done nothing to prove otherwise.
He does not return her gesture, but the devoid face of his breaks for a moment, and she saw a small expression of surprise.
She thinks he's enchanted by the orchids.
Who wouldn't be?
x
When he wakes, he finds himself in the dark.
He doesn't mind. He feels much better now that he couldn't see a single trace of light in his 'home', something that actually used to be a monastery.
He refuses to remember that dream of that white field, with that woman—- that wretched woman in immaculate white with that horrid, oh so horrid smile. A smile like that should never exist, so welcoming and gentle. She blinded him as she seemed brighter than the light he so very much hated.
He wanted to burn her. Destroy it. Anything, just so as he wouldn't see that smile of hers once more.
But was she real? Was she and that field just a fleeting nightmare he just had? Whatever it was, he wished not to see it again as he would not hold himself back from razing the field to the ground as the purity of the field and that woman disgusted him so.
He imagined setting the field into flames.
He imagined setting the field into flames, the fire destroying every last putrid flower.
He imagined her burning, the fire touching her clothing and defiling its pure white color.
He imagined her burning, the fire destroying her beauty and twisting it into something unrecognizable.
Oddly enough he wasn't happy thinking about that.
x
When she wakes, she finds herself in the dark.
She hates waking up so early as she disliked the dark, but she rises immediately from her resting place and checks her hands, hoping that the orchid she held onto in her dream would be with her. But she held nothing in her hands, so she sighs disappointingly.
She was a fool to think that she could actually keep one. Dreams are not reality, but all she wanted was something to brighten up the place she calls home.
The white field with those beautiful blooms… She wished that she could see it again, if only for a short while.
Would that man be there too?
She wants to know if he's real: if ever he was, why did they have the same dream? If he wasn't real, then who was he? Did she know him, she wondered? Or did he know her?
She shrugged off her thoughts. She just wanted to see those flowers again.
And him too if that wasn't much to ask. It would be a shame if only she could appreciate the beauty of the flower field.
He seemed to like the field like she did too anyway.
.
He's appalled once more.
He obviously failed to actually dream of something else, or not to dream at all since here he was again in the dreaded field with the putrid flowers he oh so wanted to burn and stomp on.
And there she was again, as pure and immaculate as he grudgingly remembers, standing right in front of him and holding something circular in her arms.
This was all bound to be another terrible nightmare.
He does not know why he didn't protest or cast a barrier when she closes the distance between them, tiptoes and places something in his head: a flower ring of orchids.
Slowly she steps back to admire her work. Satisfied, she smiles at him and he can't help but wince in response as her smile was annoyingly bright.
No doubt in his mind that he wanted to burn the field—- and the damned flower ring on his head too.
But he had no desire to burn this woman who irritated him to the core, someone who actually placed something as useless as a flower ring on hishead.
There must be something seriously wrong with him.
.
The man appeared in the dream.
She's pleased to see him again, all in his regal glory. She moves towards him, placing the flower ring she just made on the man's head. She had no idea why did she even make one, but before she knew it she had a perfect ring of flowers on her lap.
She had no that it would be a perfect fit on the man's head either.
While she thought that he would immediately remove it from his head, he just stared at her with a questioning look laced with irritation, like she had done something wrong.
Her face went warm and she twiddled with her fingers. Surely he must think of her now as childish and obnoxious? What was with her anyway and she just decided to plant a flower ring on top of a stranger's head? No doubt he would think that way!
She looks up again to remove the flower ring from his head, but instead he himself gently lifted the ring from his head and places it on hers.
It was a perfect fit.
She looks up at him. The questioning look was gone, but there it was again, his usual face: the one devoid of any expression.
What was he thinking, she wondered?
x
He thinks his mental state has regained its natural cruelty and sanity when he started ending lives of poor adventures foolish to go down his domain again.
He could bother himself later with his absurd dreams later. That wasn't his priority as of the moment.
While his Hell Flies certainly found the corpses of great interest, something caught his eye. Casually shoving the corpse of what used to be a High Priestess, he saw it: a beautiful white orchid, peeking out from a small brown pouch.
It was so white and pure.
Just waiting to be corrupted.
His hands twitch. All six of them.
Finally he burns the flower to ashes and stomps on it for good measure, and goes in further to the darkness.
That orchid wasn't part of the stupid field anyway.
And he thought dreams only haunted humans.
.
In his dreams, it's bright. He hates bright.
When his eyes finally adjust he realizes that he stands in a flower field, a seemingly endless field of beautiful blooming orchids as white as snow.
His hands are twitching: he wants to raze the field to the ground, and stomp on the ashes until he's satisfied. But he realized he wasn't alone. Not far from where he stood there was someone kneeling over, touching the flowers.
Don't get him wrong. He still wants to burn the field to the ground very much so.
But he does not want to burn this woman, this strange blinding eyesore of a woman who happened to love the rancid field as much as he'd love to burn it.
Someday he will burn this nightmare of a dreamscape. He knows it isn't probably possible since it was a dream, for god's sake; but no matter what he will see to it that the field will die.
Just not now.
Just until he manages to comprehend why, why he can't find it in himself to destroy her.
…fin