A timepeice is a silent clock. It makes no noise, because it doesn't have a gong, chime, bell, etc.
(Warnings for angst and character death and depression and I'm sorry that I write such sad Pandora Hearts stories.)
It's been a while since I've last seen a clock.
I can't stand the sight of them anymore. The bland white face, bold black numbers, little tiny hands—like a child's—reaching out. Trying to jump at me. Strangle me, maybe.
And the sound. Oh, God, the noises that they make. I feel the sanity that I've lost so long ago slip and slip and slip away with every tick or tock. Like a monotonous heartbeat that isn't beating, but is counting down. Every tick, every tock, they're just here to remind us that we're that ticktock closer to death.
tick, tick, tick. Take me away.
Obsession. It's such a pitiful word. I hear it a lot. I'm sure he hears it a lot, too. About me. About my sick fixation. My bad habits. My lost love. (Because you can't just expect someone to still love you after you've gone and lived without them for so long.)
I'll stay faithful, though. That's a promise. The forever sort of promise. (And I still can't believe that this is what his forever has become.) And at this point, I'd love to hear him tell me that he doesn't believe in forevers anymore.
Because nothing lasts forever.
He once said that she was like the Sun. So big and so bright and so beautiful. If that's so, then am I the night sky? Dark and frightening and mysterious?
No; perhaps a black hole.
I was once a star like her; young and innocent. With tear-filled golden eyes and not a care in the world. I certainly wasn't the biggest or brightest, but I did my best to shine.
A star becomes a black hole when it dies. I don't know how long it takes a star to die, but I think ten years is long enough.
And do you know what black holes do? They kill other stars.
The Sun is a star.
I've killed before. Lied before. Cheated before. Committed sin after sin after sin before. They say these things get easier the more that you do them. I say that they're liars.
We live in this World. And it's a horrible world, but it's the only one that we have given to us. It's a life and death or death and death or death and death and death world. Never just life.
And I'm just about as selfish as they come. This is important to know, because this is why I saved him. I can't live without him. I need his sunshine hair and those green innocence-laced emeralds of his. I had to go without it for so long, and I can never be without it again. The feel of his warm small body in my arms is bliss. Perfection, happiness. His little lips on mine—soft and smooth and lovely. (And don't tell me I'm taking advantage of him, because he loves me too. His loyal servant. His precious Gil. Loves me for what I was, if nothing else.)
And when his tiny little clock—the only one that I can stand to look at (but just barely)—struck five minutes until midnight (silently struck, in a timepiece fashion. Ominously. Like a calm before a storm), I had to do something.
Dear Mother in Heaven, don't take this Angel away from me. I'll do anything.
Dear father in Heaven, forgive me. For I have sinned.
It was an idea that was whispered into my ear once, by a crazy man. Maybe crazier than myself, maybe not. The girl, I can still hear the voice ringing around in my skull, kill her. Break the contract. Your master will be saved.
And I'd tried. I tried so hard. But…she looks so real. Her bright eyes and her dark hair and the way she acts... She cries when she wants to cry, she gets mad when she's angry, she's always honest about how she feels... She's so human. Such a Sun.
(And she is his sunshine, but he is my star. You make me happy when skies are gray and hands stain red.)
I will have to devour her.
Though I had previously been unable to so much as harm a dark hair atop her small head, desperate times do indeed call for desperate measures. It was her or him. And if he goes, I go. Because I'll never let go. I'll never live without him ever again.
And here we are. Five minutes until midnight. Gun in my hand, determination in my mind, and-somehow-sorrow in my heart.
Not a child, I constantly remind myself, a chain. A killer. A monster.
And maybe I killed her once, one hundred years ago, (and maybe I didn't?) so I might as well finish the job.
Step down the hallway shyly, one foot after the other. Small steps. Quiet steps.
Open the door, ready the gun. Her brown hair fans out behind her like a halo. But she's not an Angel, I swear, she's not. Chain. Killer. Monster.
Aim. Fire.
Tell me Alice, how do you get to Wonderland?
I have no heart, I have no soul. I'm a killer. A Monster. I'd be lying if I said that I'm used to it by now.
And now, he knows. His innocence and his happiness and his joy go off to die somewhere. Somewhere with the Sun.
When I see him, his face is pale and blank, like a canvas. (Please allow me to paint you, young Master, as we stain blonde with blood.)
His emerald orbs go cloudy, and I knew that he was going to cry over this eclipse.
Why...How...
So I had to sit there. Useless. Stupid. Dark. And rake my fingers through his soft, light hair (light and soft and sweet and so much more like a halo than that stupi monster girl's). I had to listen to him cry-hear his heart break. I had to watch him hate me, and hate himself. All over a stupid rabbit.
I could never let this happen!
All I could do was kiss the top of his perfect little head. Tell him I love him. That I'm sorry. That I had to do it.
I can't believe...
I saved him. I'm not sorry. It was she dies or he dies, and Angels shouldn't die.
I promised to protect her...
And I promised to protect him. To love him. To stay by his side. Forever.
Please don't take my sunshine away.