-1A/N: Sara/Setsuna forever!! I surely hope this is an adequate homage to possibly the most beautiful and tragic love story I've ever read. This is part story, part poem that I wrote. A poemfic, I call it. Love has no boundaries. Something as rare as love in pure form should be cultivated, no matter what the context. I haven't read the entire series yet, but Sara and Setsuna have seized my heart and won't let go. I love them to Hell and beyond.
Setsuna's POV:
Oh, Sara. My Sara. There you were, limp and helpless in my arms, eyes closed, lips part slightly, dark sunflower hair a tumble. How beautiful you were in your helplessness.
One can be either the corrupt or the corrupted. I was both.
Me, in my distortion, the plague that love was, embedding itself within me, growing, growing, branching out, whipping its tentacles to seize only the purest of souls, the souls that which corruption would take affect.
It was alive. I was alive.
You were there, in my arms, innocent as the day you emerged from the same womb that shaped me, your lips parted, the doors of sin open mere cracks. I flung them open and plunged myself within. I kissed you.
Oh Sara, my Sara
What sight, what scent, what touch, what sound,
Possesses one with jolts of scald
Seizes one with rapture in swish
A limb for a limb
A breath for a breath
A beacon in illumination
Absorption in need
I kissed you. I held my lips to yours, the only lips through which I'd ever bestow the air from my lungs into another being, the only being -- you.
And then came palm to palm. Again, lips to lips. Chest to chest. Thighs, hips. The halves that were us, becoming whole.
Oh Sara, my Sara
What sight must be in reach
What scent swathes tingles in rapture
What sound sears bolts in deadened clog
What touch awakens
A long-lost love in divine recall
Rose-woven scalp rimmed with light
A voice hurling words for shared echo
Soft skin weaving veins with my own
Alone, we were not complete. Alone, we were spools of thread. Swathed in the black wings of night, we wove together into an intricate tapestry of being, no witnesses but the moon and the stars.
I was a fallen angel, wielding a torch of flame from the bowels of Hell itself. The hellish flame that was the love I was cursed to feel, the love that we were condemned to. For all I know it is the sin that fuels Hell itself.
If this -- us, in love, together -- is wrong….
If we are condemned to misery, eternal damnation, the root and target of all-encompassing malice…
One doesn't dissolve into one
One doesn't absorb one
One may wield a torch
Welding two beings into one
So be it. We are as we are.
Oh, Sara. My Sara.
We are souls that love more than we are bodies that share blood.
What is wrong with us? Our bond? Our love?
We share blood, yes.
But when I was in peril, did you not come to my protect me instinctively, throwing yourself between me and harm, willing to die so I can live? Willing to sacrifice yourself for me?
When you died, did I not grieve? Did not a piece of me go to Hades along with you? Did I not weep?
Our whole lives we can be told, time and time again, that something is wrong, and so we believe it, accept it, unquestionably, undeniably, take it for granted.
Yet a rebellion against that granted normalcy has grown inside me, alive, growing larger, and larger, alive and moving, writhing, possessing me. A demon? Am I a demon to be exorcised? Burned with Holy Water, my wings torn out at the veins of my back?
We shall rise up, not submit to this world that weighs us down, the standards that constrict the bloodstreams that keep our hearts pumping.
For we are souls that love more than we are bodies that share blood.