Hello all! I'm easing myself back into writing, and this is one of the results. As I've been writing again, I've come to the realization that I write very unhappy things. Is this a reflection of my own attitude and outlook on life? No. I am the happiest person I know :) But...I write very angsty fiction, regardless. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this pointless bit of nothing :)

Darkness clouds the edges of my vision, encroaching upon the strange blend of red and white that is all I can see. White and red, red on white, so much red staining that once-pure-white, where am I?

Slowly, so very slowly, I reach out a hand and stroke one soft piece of the whiteness that surrounds me, lying in a soft, velvety carpet all around. My fingers close around that one piece of perfect white (no red stains it) and—so very slowly—draw it in to me. I brush it carefully, smoothing the ruffled edges, making it perfect.

Then, out of the darkness that is ever-present, a strong hand slips over mine, covers the fragment of spotless white, crushes it between pale fingers, recedes. I open my mouth to protest, but stop when I find that there are no words to say. My hand falls and I let out a breathless sigh that unsettles the bits of white around me, stirring them as though in a soft breeze.

The hand touches my hair out of the darkness, strokes a line down my neck, following the path of my spine, traces the edge of my shoulder blade, and carefully, so carefully, caresses what it finds there, mangled, torn, broken. I feel it fingering each and every aching bone in my ruined wings, slide down, grip a long, uninjured feather (one of the few remaining) and slowly—so, so, slowly—that hand pulls.

Pain, I know there is pain…but I am numb.

I feel nothing.

Not anymore.

And then another piece of white, stained with red, falls to the ground.

A long moment passes and time seems to pause, as though to catch its breath. I close my eyes and feel the brush of a feather against face. In my minds eye I can see my Dark, head turned curiously to the side, watching me as he traces a long black feather across my forehead, down my cheek, over my lips, inquisitive, like a child… Only no child is so cold and lifeless. No child would smirk the way he does, or speak the way he does—his voice as chilling as the hiss of a snake before it strikes.

No child could frighten me so much as my Dark.

So I sit still and silent, numb and unfeeling, trying to focus only on the pain the spreads from my shoulders like wildfire, burning against my raw skin. I try to forget my Dark.

Impossible my mind tells me. My eyes open and his face is too close, his breath cold, mingling with mine. And then my Dark's lips curl into a grin that, were it not so twisted, would be nearly delighted.

Black wings spread, a few stray ribbons of darkness falling to join the white and red upon the ground. Strong arms and raven wings enfold me; icy words are in my ear:

"That was the last one, Hikari."

And with those words, the invading darkness rises up, comes down over my head, smothers me, and I know with an utter finality that it will swallow what is left of me and I will be gone, lost to a world of frozen darkness.

But it doesn't really matter.

Because I now realize the truth:

I am already lost.

This short ficlet is dedicated to: yllimilly because they said "write me another tendershipping drabble in which Ryou is an Angel" Well, this is not really tendershipping unless you want it to be. But that request gave me the idea/inspiration to write this nonetheless. I also want to say thanks to ACE329 for pretty much just being awesome and giving me great ideas to overcome writer's block.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this.

Ciao

Oh, and...review? Por Favor?