Penumbra Darkening
Cautions: none, yet
Inescapable disclaimer: I own nothing.
Prologue
It was the cold that kept him awake. Snow tumbled relentlessly over the eerie gray-orange of the January sky, glowing where it passed before the streetlamps only to fade to a damp blur beyond them, cascading to coat the road and freeze the branches of every tree into perfect, harsh white. The thermometer affixed near the front door proclaimed a temperature well below the freezing point, one the house's heating system did little to combat.
And yet that chill was a tolerable one. It was all too easy to bind oneself in warm clothes and blankets, as Ryou had done tonight, weaving a veritable cocoon of fleece and down upon his bed to insulate his slight frame against the air. The season did not drive his sleeplessness, tonight or on any other night. But what kept him conscious, sitting curled into himself and gazing out the window as his bedside clock cast a glimmer of the silent hour upon the nightstand, was indeed the cold. It was the cold within.
Within himself, and doubly so within the room, where a glance towards his desk would pick out the silhouette, like some nightmarish dreamcatcher, of the cord-strung ring hanging from the high back of the chair pushed neatly into place there. Reminding him, silently and constantly, that he was not alone here. Inside it, or inside the recesses of his own mind – he could no longer see the line that had once parted the two – its resident spirit was no more restful than Ryou, and his thoughts were characteristically dark. He talked to himself, no doubt an inevitable habit to develop after so many centuries of confined solitude, and through the breathless silence of the room Ryou could pick out bits of the monologue. The pharaoh's light, pondered the cold murmur, is surely his greatest weakness. To destroy him – Ryou flinched. It was hardly the first time the spirit's thoughts had taken that turn, but to hear the threats and plots against the one he considered his only true friend became no less painful with time. Tonight, as he had countless times before, he endured the sting in silence, numbly watching the world beyond his window reduce itself to gray and white.
It was only when his mind began to resound with the being's dark laughter, cruel and clever and echoing, that he drew his legs tighter against his chest and buried his head against his knees with a quiet mental plea.
Stop it.
Silence, the laugh dying down. A moment without words, incredulous…
…and then it began again, cold and mocking. Challenging. Daring Ryou to back those words with a strength - one they were both fully aware was not in his possession.
Stop it, he murmured again, chest tightening. Please.
And then the spirit was before him, in all his terrifying reality. A solid form upon the bed – for he had mastered this little trick now, of wielding his container's unearthly powers to lend himself an independent shape, for a short while at a time. A pale hand reached for one of Ryou's, nails grabbing into his wrist, and the boy's blank terror was met with a glare that made the frosted window seem warm by comparison.
"Do not," came the hissed command, "attempt to tell me what to do."
The heavy winter clothes Ryou wore the next day did little to warm him, but they hid nearly all of the bruises.
(A/N: Short prologue. Call it a teaser. Let me know what you think.)