This fanfic is rated R, for a few charged scenes.
It takes place after the Nephrenia arc in Sailor Stars. If you've
seen the rest of Sailor Stars, try to forget it when reading, I
don't use it.
Sailor Moon ain't mine.
===================================================================
Fall From Grace
By: Emporess
===================================================================
In the real world,
As In dreams-
The world is never,
As it seems.
-Dean Koontz
The Book of Counted Sorrows
Prologue
He was running. His legs ached in protest. Explosions echoed
behind him. All around him he heard voices, blurring together,
urging him on. Companions, helping each other to their destination.
His feet pounded against the rough dirt. He wiped his brow on his
sleeve, mingling the sweat and grime together. No time to rest now.
The enemy was close, he could feel it.
To his right someone was shouting at him. He turned, making
out a shadowed form. It was pointing frantically at a sphere of
silver light. The figure's words were lost to him. He felt an arm
tug at his sleeve. High polished fingernails. Feminine hand.
Shadowed face. Drawing him closer to that light. He tried to
shake her off.
Another hand, male. Muscles tensed in an arm under a blue
sleeve. A harsh voice, baritone, intense, arguing. Pulling him
closer to the light- No! And he finally jerked away, turning from
the two indistinct figures. He spoke to them, and they seemed
resigned to whatever decision he made.
Then they turned to each other, the two cloaked in darkness,
no recognizable features. They clasped hands, and he catched
the passionate words they uttered.
"For Honor," the whisper of the woman came, so familiar to
him. Sounds like-
"For Duty," echoed the male in a hushed tone.
And then they were even closer then before, nose to nose.
"For Love," they both said, almost in reverence. And they were
kissing, and he felt such a supreme sense of loss, of finality.
He would not be kissing his love goodbye. He would not say the
words he should have said a thousand times, and still it would
never have been enough. His loss, all their losses bore down on
him, too much to bare-
Explosions rocked the ground. He nearly fell. No time now
for regrets. He turned from the couple, saw the approaching army
marching over the scorched ground. Their eyes were crazed, their
faces set in demonic grins, lost in the blood lust of battle. A man
fell before them, "My prince..." The whisper as he turned his eyes
towards him for a last look. No, it couldn't be- Jedite? He raised
his sword high, enraged. Avenge you all, I will. I will-
And he was tackled from behind, sword clattering to the ground.
No! The woman, her grip deadly, too strong. He was pushed into the
light by her mate. The features were still dark, but he could see
the man's green eyes. Fevered, intense. The woman, blocked the air
from his lungs. Things get darker. But those eyes were still fixed
on him. "Forgive me, my Lord." Behind him he was dimly aware of the
combat, the man using his own body to allow them to escape. The man
kissed his forehead, the feather light pressure, soft. Then there
was the light, so bright, and they were taken away.
But not before he saw the man fall... And the woman's
cries were mixing with his own-
Mamoru sat up in bed, gasping. He was trembling, his pulse
wild. His eyes darted right and left, searching for the army he'd
left behind in his dream. His mind raced, still half-convinced
that the danger had followed him.
Usagi stirred wordlessly against him, causing him to jump
right off the bed. He picked himself off the floor from where he'd
landed. He turned his eyes to the sleeping form of his beloved.
'I obviously wasn't crying out in my sleep', he thought wryly.
Usagi snored peacefully against her pillow, one naked leg visible
through the tangle of covers she'd wrapped her lower body into. Her
torso was bare, breasts rising and falling with her breathing.
Even the sight of her beautiful face wasn't enough to quiet his
heart.
The room felt oppressive, undeniably muggy and hot. The walls
seemed to be closing in around him, casting ominous shadows on his
otherwise comforting room. He retrieved his pants from the side of
the bed, slipping them on. He gave Usagi one last admiring glance
before leaving the bedroom.
He stepped out onto the balcony of his apartment for some air.
Mamoru's eyes scanned the city skyline of Tokyo absently. Having
had more then his fair share of nightmares, he was used to the quiet
of the night, had learned to love it in fact. The cities inhabitants,
cloaked in darkness.
The breeze ruffled Mamoru's thick locks. This wasn't the
first time he'd had this dream. More and more he woke up, struck
to the core with fear. Unlike many of his nightmares, this one
didn't have the feeling of pretense, no visions of the future.
The terror of the dreams however spoke volumes. He couldn't dismiss
them. The worst part was the clarity, improving steadily over time.
With two hands fastened to the railing, he leaned over the
side, contemplating. Morning would come, and with it more
mysteries...
=================================================================
Questions? Comments? Arrows?
Angst88@aol.com
http://www.geocities.com/emporess888/
-Age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill.
===============================================================
It takes place after the Nephrenia arc in Sailor Stars. If you've
seen the rest of Sailor Stars, try to forget it when reading, I
don't use it.
Sailor Moon ain't mine.
===================================================================
Fall From Grace
By: Emporess
===================================================================
In the real world,
As In dreams-
The world is never,
As it seems.
-Dean Koontz
The Book of Counted Sorrows
Prologue
He was running. His legs ached in protest. Explosions echoed
behind him. All around him he heard voices, blurring together,
urging him on. Companions, helping each other to their destination.
His feet pounded against the rough dirt. He wiped his brow on his
sleeve, mingling the sweat and grime together. No time to rest now.
The enemy was close, he could feel it.
To his right someone was shouting at him. He turned, making
out a shadowed form. It was pointing frantically at a sphere of
silver light. The figure's words were lost to him. He felt an arm
tug at his sleeve. High polished fingernails. Feminine hand.
Shadowed face. Drawing him closer to that light. He tried to
shake her off.
Another hand, male. Muscles tensed in an arm under a blue
sleeve. A harsh voice, baritone, intense, arguing. Pulling him
closer to the light- No! And he finally jerked away, turning from
the two indistinct figures. He spoke to them, and they seemed
resigned to whatever decision he made.
Then they turned to each other, the two cloaked in darkness,
no recognizable features. They clasped hands, and he catched
the passionate words they uttered.
"For Honor," the whisper of the woman came, so familiar to
him. Sounds like-
"For Duty," echoed the male in a hushed tone.
And then they were even closer then before, nose to nose.
"For Love," they both said, almost in reverence. And they were
kissing, and he felt such a supreme sense of loss, of finality.
He would not be kissing his love goodbye. He would not say the
words he should have said a thousand times, and still it would
never have been enough. His loss, all their losses bore down on
him, too much to bare-
Explosions rocked the ground. He nearly fell. No time now
for regrets. He turned from the couple, saw the approaching army
marching over the scorched ground. Their eyes were crazed, their
faces set in demonic grins, lost in the blood lust of battle. A man
fell before them, "My prince..." The whisper as he turned his eyes
towards him for a last look. No, it couldn't be- Jedite? He raised
his sword high, enraged. Avenge you all, I will. I will-
And he was tackled from behind, sword clattering to the ground.
No! The woman, her grip deadly, too strong. He was pushed into the
light by her mate. The features were still dark, but he could see
the man's green eyes. Fevered, intense. The woman, blocked the air
from his lungs. Things get darker. But those eyes were still fixed
on him. "Forgive me, my Lord." Behind him he was dimly aware of the
combat, the man using his own body to allow them to escape. The man
kissed his forehead, the feather light pressure, soft. Then there
was the light, so bright, and they were taken away.
But not before he saw the man fall... And the woman's
cries were mixing with his own-
Mamoru sat up in bed, gasping. He was trembling, his pulse
wild. His eyes darted right and left, searching for the army he'd
left behind in his dream. His mind raced, still half-convinced
that the danger had followed him.
Usagi stirred wordlessly against him, causing him to jump
right off the bed. He picked himself off the floor from where he'd
landed. He turned his eyes to the sleeping form of his beloved.
'I obviously wasn't crying out in my sleep', he thought wryly.
Usagi snored peacefully against her pillow, one naked leg visible
through the tangle of covers she'd wrapped her lower body into. Her
torso was bare, breasts rising and falling with her breathing.
Even the sight of her beautiful face wasn't enough to quiet his
heart.
The room felt oppressive, undeniably muggy and hot. The walls
seemed to be closing in around him, casting ominous shadows on his
otherwise comforting room. He retrieved his pants from the side of
the bed, slipping them on. He gave Usagi one last admiring glance
before leaving the bedroom.
He stepped out onto the balcony of his apartment for some air.
Mamoru's eyes scanned the city skyline of Tokyo absently. Having
had more then his fair share of nightmares, he was used to the quiet
of the night, had learned to love it in fact. The cities inhabitants,
cloaked in darkness.
The breeze ruffled Mamoru's thick locks. This wasn't the
first time he'd had this dream. More and more he woke up, struck
to the core with fear. Unlike many of his nightmares, this one
didn't have the feeling of pretense, no visions of the future.
The terror of the dreams however spoke volumes. He couldn't dismiss
them. The worst part was the clarity, improving steadily over time.
With two hands fastened to the railing, he leaned over the
side, contemplating. Morning would come, and with it more
mysteries...
=================================================================
Questions? Comments? Arrows?
Angst88@aol.com
http://www.geocities.com/emporess888/
-Age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill.
===============================================================