Disclaimer: I do not, in anyway, own Yu-gi-oh. I receive no monetary gain for my writings.
Un
It's been two years since he left me on that porch. Two fucking years and I've waited oh god's I've waited; pining in this crap apartment littered with old piss stains and cockroach feces....He said he'd be back-he just needed to find himself-discover himself and (I suppose he couldn't do that with me there now could he?) he'd just be gone a few months…nothing to fret about darling….don't fret.
The furnace is broken and it's freezing, my hair is frozen into sharp spikes rough and unbending and God where are my toes…why can't I feel my fucking toes? I can't stay here I can't live here I can't-
A harsh pounding on the front door jars me from my thoughts…
(He's back, yes he came back. I told you he'd be back you silly twat-)
"Who-" my voice cracks, scratchy from disuse (my prolonged silence has left its scar), I cleared my throat hastily and threw open the door, "Yami! You're home! I've missed you where" my voice crashes to a stop. Traffic Accident, blinking red stop lights and there are no survivors. Only flesh and paint.
"You're late on your rent AGAIN Motou. More specifically, for the third time in the past five months."
My mind is fractured. I thought-I thought-
"Hey, freak the fucking rent. I gave you a week."
"I-I'm sorry, um I don't have it but if you just give me a couple days-"
"A couple of fucking days, so what, you can whore yourself out for it? Don't think I don't know what you do you little slut."
I'm staring at him and what the hell is he saying? I'm so tired, why can't he just leave me be?
"Please, I-"
He lifts his hand (covered in grime and shit and please don't let him touch me, please-)
"I want you out by two. You understand me faggot?"
Everything's moving so quickly. I can't focus. Can't grasp reality. It's torn from my limp hands. I stare at his back as he lumbers down the graffiti splattered hallway. I cling to the open door. No, I can't leave-how would he find me? If I left the only place we've ever known. If I left our little plot of heaven (hell). He'll be lost to me forever.
(Not that it matters. You're so pathetic. He's not coming back. Not to you. Not to this life of crack and Alice-not to this wasteland. So stupid, to imagine him happy-satisfied)
The time passes in a void. I find myself on the cracked cement with a dollar in my pocket and bag across my back. The only things that I own…I meander down the empty street-ignoring the swift glances from the junkies and the settled stares from the pimps. Nineteen years old and nothing to my name. The sun falls bleeding across the horizon, a smeared crimson sky. So much like blood (like his eyes) He must have committed the ultimate sin, to pacify the Silver Queen; a blood offering made in love-in obsession conversion in a Carney spell.
It's disheartening that this is the only place left for me. The only place I have left. The building vibrates. A monster in a cage chained for the amusement of the blank-eyed humans, foolish mortals who gape (mouths hanging open dribbling saliva and ivory pieces of bone, noses powder white and eyes filled with dying stars).
The Giant in the front greets me with a nod, even in these thrift store rags and with this haggard unmasked face I am recognized as the fallen light. I enter the labyrinth weaving my way past the S&M vampires and the Drag Queen Faeries. My dressing room is nothing but a little hole in the wall covered with a scrap of lace littered with glitter. Nothing is hidden here-nothing sacred. I gaze at my drawn face bled red from the tinted glass-makes me wonder how my face paint can look anything but gaudy- tawdry. Though I am seven hours too early, I begin to dress. White garters lace slip and pretty ribbon shoes. Why is false innocence so alluring? My eyes a perfect fake. Wide and so Doe-like. Amethyst and Jesus fucking Christ I still look ten. Like such a child, such a sweet little boy-or girl-hard to tell these days really. They're all fucking pedophiles. Wanting to taint innocence, drink from the nectar of virgins-Ambrosia….do they think it will grant them immortality?
My bird hands flutter around my hair…so long now….I wonder if he would recognize me. His lost Hikari. I make my way to the stage. Into the cage now little birdie…won't you sing them a song. Won't you croon to them-satisfy their every desire with your voice heaven sent? I perch. Swinging my lace covered legs over the metal bar. Time moves like we're in a kaleidoscope. Changing, shifting, a true metamorphosis. If only I could be so versatile. To be reborn-transfigured into something new, something pure. My voice a soft wail-I sing of things forgotten an alluring tune of strung together consonants and vowels and things perhaps lost to the modern human tongue….I sing of him.
There is blood across the floor staining my little cage brilliant vermillion. There is a panic. People rushing for the exists, pushing and shoving and scrambling and screaming….their survival instincts kick in, all morality crushed like wisps of butterfly wings, like the poor fools beneath the masses, trampled out of existence by heavy feet . I descend from my swing; I feel like an animal on exhibit. Or maybe like the last sane human on earth, watching the destruction of man, witnessing the Apocalypse in my little glass box. A scream interrupts my ramblings-grounding me completely. No I am not special. No I am not significant. I am a part of this destruction. I am not exempt. Slowly a ball of fire (of wild blazing fear a furnace of panic and what dread grasp dare its deadly terrors clasp-). A new voice joins the cacophony, high and shrill and shattering glass. It takes me a moment to realize the inhuman shrieking (exploding stars and imploding worlds) stems not from a daemon, here to witness the final battle, not from the throats of apathetic angels; no, this voice, so familiar, so foreign, screeching its terror in a waifish wail, is none other than my very own…
I am ripped (bones crunching scraping and thank god there's no pop) from the bars of my cell. My voice reaching a crescendo-
"Shut the hell up you little shit. Do you want them to catch you? Standing here in the fucking open sniveling, are you mentally retarded?"
He yanks me from my cage, ripping my stockings-tiny white pieces of lace fluttering around my feet like breadcrumbs. He is tall-too tall-imposing and fierce…perhaps I should have taken my chances in the cage. But no, I discard the idea as swiftly as I think it. I would be dead (eyes glazed empty and frozen so fucking frozen rotting for eternity) if this phantom, this Lucifer had not taken notice of me-
The grip on my wrist is harsh, firm, but it anchors me. I will wear his violet bruise wish bracelet in exchange for stability safety fortification.
My (savior, Morning Star, Master?) grunts as he pushes against the crusted window.
"Um," my voice shudders, still weak from my earlier performance, "that window doesn't open. It hasn't for over twenty years."
"Oh really?" his voice drawls...
A cynic. Why do I always attract the fucking cynics? With their sarcastic (Narcissistic) flair and Pinot Noir dry humor….
A crash splinters my consciousness and his elbow is through the window….or what was previously a window anyway.
He moves his arm, knocking stray glass out of the frame. I hear an intake of breath…a hiss, serpentine in nature and I glance up worriedly-
"A-Are you okay?"
He grunts (grunting and sighing seem to generate most of his vocabulary apparently)
"I'm fine runt. Come here."
I squeak as I'm suddenly lifted into the air and out the window. Weightless for a moment, before gravity plays its role and sends me plummeting to the ground-which is, fortunately, only a few feet below. I roll quickly a tangle of limbs and Lucifer lands deftly on the balls of his feet…must have been a thief in his former life….that or a carnival freak-
I twitch. The cold seeping into my thin ballet flats. Soaking them completely before I attempt to kick off the troublesome snow
"Just what the hell are you doing, ma petite?"
"Um the snow a-and my shoe and um" fantastic. I'm a stuttering idiot.
He laughs. A harsh bark of forced air.
I pout. Or something of the sort. Then I sneeze. Yes I am fierce aren't I?
My wrist is grabbed again-am I sensing a pattern?
"Moron, you'll freeze out here. Stop spacing out. And what the fuck are you wearing? You a whore or something?" His eyebrow arches (almost exactly like him) and my face turns an alarming red hue.
"Shit, you're not getting fucking sick are you?"
I shake my head. A wave of vertigo washes over me…when did we start moving?
Down deserted streets painted black filled with shadows upon shadows. I fight down my fear. The halo above his head (how can his hair naturally form horns anyway?) illuminates the night. Glowing like the moon. So arrogant, so sure as he weaves his way through the maze of the underworld. The underbelly of humanity. It should frighten me that he knows it so well, to maneuver without sight or sound. But, again, I am oddly comforted…he is so much like him, it makes me ache…an unfair de ja vu. Trick of the gods….worse than children. Have they no sympathy?
He pulls me to him as he effortlessly vaults a wall long legs stretching (and I fucking swear he must be wearing thousand league boots…no one moves that fast…nothing human anyway), and I briefly nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder and against his white white bird's nest (rat's nest) hair. He smells of sand. Of deserts and of spices; of the hot winds and the cool Nile. Intoxicating….again my thoughts circle to him. And I am lost within my recollections of a godling with crimson eyes and a baritone voice.
Ice crystals gather in my hair, little transparent ornaments fragile pieces of glass, and I am reminded vaguely of hot hot chocolate and melted marshmallows and cuddling by the fire in the sphere of his opulence (a thought brushing up against my mind briefly, I ache and my heart splinters-) and when was the last time I decorated a Christmas tree? I reach my tongue out to taste the sweetness of winter, of the splendor that can only be the end. Signaling rebirth and growth and oh so hallowed.
He reminds me of winter. This white haired fiend.
"Here" he thrusts a piece of coarse fabric into my face, "It's clean…I think. Get in the fucking bath before you catch pneumonia"
I am thrust into a closet.
"There, the shower doesn't work so just fill up the tub. Oh and if you fancy warm water I'd advise you to hurry."
The flurry of winter is gone; swept up in a blizzard of grunting and swift movements and the slamming of a door. I am alone with the brown–stained tub (and are those blood stains? Dark, clotted chocolate? Reminds me briefly of that one Hitchcock film, Psycho I think…or something of that nature. I did not find it so intriguing…nothing really interesting about a murderous drag queen…I've seen worse. I truly only watched it for him. He has (had?) a deep obsession with everything Hitchcock.)
There is no mirror, only a chipped porcelain sink with green growth lining the basin. I see something move and I step back quickly. A harsh noise snaps my neck towards the closed door.
"I don't hear the fucking water running brat? Do you know how to work the taps, or am I overestimating your intelligence? "
This brief reprimanding has me hurrying towards the clawed bathtub. I place the moth eaten, coarse cloth on the ledge and reach out to turn the taps. I have to try three times before I am rewarded with a mind shaking groan and a harsh spurt of water. I entertain the thought of bullets hitting the basin and blood coating the curtain and a body with no head floating limply like a drowned mermaid...not that mermaids are capable of drowning of course-I think...I disrobe quickly (though the water is a cloudy brown) recalling the time limit of sufficiently heated water
The cracked baignoire fills quickly and I am fighting with the rusted facets. Water leaks onto the floor coating the hard splintered, what was once, tile, in a thin reflective sheen.
I sink into the water. My lanky and emaciated legs, blue tracked and wax smooth, float idly, my knobby knees thrust through the surface; I draw them in, a defensive position.
I feel like Marie Antoinette. Dwarfed by this beast of cold porcelain. It saddens me, her death. She was just a kid, thrust into a horrid position, married to a man that could care less for her. Only finding happiness in beauty. Is it wrong to want beautiful things?
Another knock…
My fiend is quite impatient is he not?
Though this is not unexpected, what is, however, very surprising is when the door is pushed open exposing a floating head.
I make a sound of discomfort (I did Not squeal) and sink into the tub.
"You almost done kid? 'Cuz if you want food you better get your ass out here."
I nod. Only my eyes visible above the rim. He smirks.
"Why so shy, lovey?"
"D-Don't look…please" my voice no more than a whisper, like silk compared to his gravely (broken glass) tone.
He chuckles and my face flares.
"Hurry your ass up before Mariku eats your share." Door closes and I can breathe......what the hell is a Mariku?
I climb out, shivering and stumbling. I quickly wrap the towel around my body. Glancing around my gaze falls on my soaked, torn up tights. Impossible and improbable to get into once again...I open the door, cautiously and shit it's cold. I hop around, not that this actually helps mind you, but merely because it grants a quick respite from the glacier floor.
"Um…Excuse me?" I struggle to make my voice louder. (Project Yuugi Project.). I make another half-hearted attempt to attract attention. I give up before I even try. Better to just find him, rather than yell my bloody head off like an idiot. I'm nearly impossible to hear unless I'm singing…and singing is not really an option. I scoff lightly at the mental image. Me, serenading Lucifer to my side to ask him for some sweats….every girl's (boy's?) wet-dream fantasy. I should write romance novels. Not like you actually need talent for that.
I digress. It's quite cold and my fiend is nowhere in sight. I ascend the rickety spiral staircase. (It won't actually give out on me right?) Though the deep mournful groans do nothing to stabilize my confidence…
What to do what to do? Should I continue at a snail pace inching one tiny foot before the other, praying that the next step shall not be my death…or sprint up them like a bat out of Hell marathon runner and grit my teeth and bite the bullet….I debate silently. I do despise such conundrums…unless it's a game of course…
The snail pace wins out….I never said I was courageous.
I ascend biting my lip and holding my breath, as if that would make me lighter…
I've never climbed a longer staircase. But this is hardly surprising in this day and age, the era of the elevator and all things technological.
The climb lasts for eternity. Nothing to occupy my mind but the spider-silk covered walls and my undeterred fright. I hear noises; I must be nearing the edge of this infernal stairwell…
The light beckons me, pulls me from the bowels of hell and I can breathe. It takes a moment; my eyes, to adjust to the bright splendor of, what was once, I'm sure, a perfectly quaint drawing room. Shivering I walk to the window, the frosted glass almost art really, and peer out. I do not recognize the surroundings…there is nothing…nothing but snow, a blanket of white against the harsh slate gray of the sky. I must have just missed the rising of Re'.
A creak draws my attention back towards the room.
"Oh! 'Kura, I found her. She's in here."
His voice, so soft. I wonder how it travels? He must be British. The rolling of his vowels can be nothing but English born and bred.
He looks just like my Lucifer, but tamer...lighter, somehow. His brown eyes (how can an albino have brown eyes?) peer into my own, and oh dear, has he been speaking this entire time?
"Um, I'm sorry. But I was just looking for my fien-um I mean the white-haired man who brought me here."
Funny how my stuttering is suddenly absent…maybe it's only in front of him perhaps?
"Oh dear, you're shivering. You poor thing…'Kura, bring me those blasted clothes. How could you leave the poor thing alone... Look, she'll catch her death."
"Oh quit your carping boy, you're worse than a woman."
And he's here. And he is still as glorious as when he ripped me from my swing.
He comes, bringing offerings. No gifts. He is the god, not I.
"O-oh hello." I glance up and he's smirking again-that must be his natural demeanor.
I am immediately reminded of my state of undress. This coarse fabric does nothing to hide anything…(though it must, did they just call me a she?)
"Here, put that on brat."
"Kura, don't talk to her like that. You'll frighten the poor thing. I'm surprised she's not raving mad already just from standing in your presence."
"Hush you."
His voice is soft. So soft when he speaks to his lighter half. Nothing like the gravel I have grown accustomed to.
I reach my hand out for the clothes in his limp grasp. They're soft and Jesus they're warm. I shudder and tug at them and why won't he fucking let go?
"C-can I have them, please?" my voice, hardly there. And I'm sure my lips are berry-stained blue.
" 'Kura, for God's sake, can you give her the bloody clothes?"
His eyes roll, a sarcastic sweep. It looks like it hurts…
And I am greeted with an armful of warm fabric. I nuzzle my face into the material. The smell is heavenly, soft and clean. How I've missed the smell of clean things…
I hear a chuckling and a soft giggle. I really must quit this god-awful habit of spacing out-It cannot be healthy and, quite frankly, it's growing to be rather embarrassing. They must think I'm mentally deficient.
"Is that the little creature you found on your way home Bakura?! It's so cute! Can I keep it? Please!"
The voice is deep but oddly lilted, childlike almost….it's rather disturbing.
I am attacked by a huge animal with dark violet eyes and a head that I think is covered with blonde hair…dear god…is that really his hair?
I arch away and seek safety from my fiend.
"Mariku. Knock it off. I stole her. So she's mine."
Ah, so that's a Mariku.
And again with the bloody she business. I'd best correct that immediately to salvage whatever pride I may yet possess…
"I'm Not a girl. I'm a boy."
Suddenly I have three sets of eyes staring at me and when did I conclude that this was a good idea?
"um…."
"You're shitting me."
"Kura, must you be so bloody vulgar?!"
"As if you're not fucking surprised? I don't believe it. Prove it."
"W-what?"
"You heard me kid. Prove it."
This is utterly insane. And the Mariku is chuckling in the background and all I want is to put on some blasted clothes
So, disregarding his cold-yet peculiarly smoldering, piercing eyes, my heat deprived brain throws proper etiquette (and any rational thought processes) into the abyss and I quickly shed the dirty towel.
I hear a number of things.
Sharp and sudden intakes of forced air seems to be most prevalent.
I must not dwell on it-I may die of mortification.
Best just to be done with it.
Really.
I quickly shrug into the thick sweater and worn jeans. It's paradise.
Do I dare meet their gaze and ask for a hairbrush…
I bite my lip, Jesus what the fuck did I just do?
I hear a choked coughing. A wheezing almost. And the Mariku is on the floor.
I think he's laughing
Or dying
One of the two anyway.
My face is on fire and I think I have suffered enough indignation for the evening thank you fucking much-
"And just what, pray tell, is so bloody amusing?"
This seems to have a contradictory effect. Instead of shaming the animal on the floor into some semblance of propriety, I have, instead, created a like creature. For there, on the faded, worn rug is my fiend.
I really do give up.
And with that thought I turn swiftly, my arms wrapped across my torso and my face drawn into a pout of the most dramatic nature-bloody idiots.
A warm hand descends upon my shoulder and I glance up halfheartedly.
"Don't mind them. They haven't quite evolved yet."
This brings a smile to my lips promptly replacing my forlorn countenance. I like this sweet look-alike fiend. He is perhaps the most calm and benevolent human I've ever stumbled across.
And yes! Are those little cakes?!
My eyes grow wide and round and I think I begin to salivate…
"um…are those for me?"
He smiles and nods.
"Yes, I figured you might be hungry. Help yourself. They're still warm."
And with this permission I am possessed with greed and gluttony. I hurriedly stuff one into my mouth, cream pouring from between my clenched lips-
These are positively orgasmic….
Forgive me father for I have sinned and it felt so fucking good
"Hey, don't choke brat. We need your voice…and wipe your mouth for Christ sake…unless you plan to put your pretty lips to better use."
Needlessly to say I turn blush rose and wipe my mouth with my hands.
"M-my voice?"
"Yeah-you're voice. Our singer fucking blew his brains out so we're in the market."
And he steals one of my cakes-
Wait-singer? "Like in a band?"
"Yeah, like in a band. So you in or what?"
"Uh…" me in a band….what a preposterous idea….I can't possibly and
"Stop eating my cakes"
"What?"
"Those cakes are mine. He said so" and I point to the soft boy.
"Heh, I'll eat whatever the fuck I want." And he snatches the plate from my hands and waltzes to the love seat.
"B-but…He said-" and I stop because really, does it look like my fiend cares?
I watch as another sweet little pastry disappears into that mouth full of sharp ivory and I want my cakes-
"If I say yes, can I have those back please?"
I am aware that I am whining, but really, desperate times call for desperate measures.
The fiend holds them out enticingly… "So, then, do we have a deal ma petite?"
My gaze falls to the sweet little cream-filled pies and I nod quickly.
"Good. We start rehearsal now."
And he shoves the plate into my awaiting arms….
And glides out of the decrepit drawing room like the King of France.
Why do I have the ominous feeling that I just bartered away my soul to the Devil himself….
And for nothing more than fucking little cakes…..
I think I was just ripped off….
Shit
Oh well,
What is the price of a soul today really?
The soul that is of no use to anyone….
I'm sure I shall not miss it
And my eyes wander to the Mariku on the floor still rolling around-and is he talking to himself?
…I hope that's only red paint….
Mon Dieu….
Just what have I gotten myself into?
------------------------------------------
Three hours and two plates of sweets later and I am in this room of glass and spider black twisting wires.
The scruffy hooker boots I'm borrowing catch on one and I fall.
I don't like this.
"Okay get your shit. We'll start with Le fleur. Ryou, in three."
"Mariku, stop fucking around eh? We have a show in two days. Get your ass over here and set up."
My fiend is quite bossy. Though he is intimidating I wonder what he's done to this is Mariku…to have him jump on command. A sad haunting sound fills the air startling me I kneel, here on this glass floor and listen to Ryou play his violin….he is extraordinary. An angel trapped in a Carbon based creature dreaming of heaven.
The keening pitch
The screaming strings
The tremulous bow
So sad
Tears fall and words form
And I'm crooning and wailing
And I don't even notice Bakura smirk or Mariku laugh
And then there's a rough beat, making me tremble
I'm sure I've never heard instruments played like this
And soon the sun is setting, flashing across my closed eyelids burning the room. I feel as though we are in a rose-stained prism. Or as if I am gazing out of my little Rosy red glasses.
I remember nothing of the rehearsal. Only the tune and the swift whirling sound of my voice and the bobbing of Mariku's head and the swing of Bakura's rocking swagger. Only Ryou holds absolutely still. Caught and trapped in the purity of his wavering fingers.
I haven't felt this full since he left.
Those long two years…
I feel wanted
Needed.
And a sort of peace descends…
He has left me to discover the world,
So I will force the world to discover me.
Every city and every town will know my face
I was once worthless,
Disgusting,
gullible
But with my White Haired Fiend
And this soft eyed Angel
And mad Cheshire cat
I have no doubts that we will emerge
(Climbing from the depths of Dante's Hell)
The world will hear
The world will Listen
Even if we must silence the masses
Rip away their noise
Only to give it back as something glorious
Profound-
We will be the new gods
A new era will arise
And perhaps then
My godling
Perhaps then we can meet in the middle once more and you will see me worthy.
Deux
The night of our first show had me vomiting in the public bathroom sink.
My head felt bloated and it rang with the steady thumping of the bass vibrating the interior of the club.
The club's not really a building –
More like a warehouse
It's so fucking freezing in here. I even resorted to wearing Mariku's thick fake fur coat.
It's absolutely hideous
But I can't really be too picky…
Standing here in this painted on leather outfit.
At least it's authentic….
I look more like a boy now,
But just barely….
Bakura attacked my hair with egg whites and glue. Said my hair wasn't "punk" or something of the sort.
I didn't realize "punk" meant walking around with hair that couldn't bend, as though I had just stuck my finger into an electrical socket….but that's not the real reason I mind of course.
It's not really Bakura's fault. How was he to know that this same "punk" hairdo once graced his head? I wailed when I looked into the splintered bathroom mirror. Like I was staring at a Doppelganger….
Bakura freaked out. Thought I was having some sort of episode. So he hollered for Ryou and slapped me across the face. I stopped once my gaze was obstructed.
Like I had returned to reality
Became conscious of my keening
Became sentient.
I didn't bother to explain. How could I even begin? And the thought of story time did not sound very appealing. I was-reborn. Given a new life-another fucking chance goddamnit.
Here with these people who exist in an ice castle set in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by wastelands and old rundown factories that grin at you in the dark; Charred and ash ridden they loom in the distance. Sometimes I think I see a wisp of black dark sooty smoke rising to the hazy sky in a plume of dust and smog…like an atom bomb-nuclear bomb-or is it hydrogen? So many choices….
So many different ways to die.
We make an appearance in less than five minutes and I am kneeling here, breathing through my vomit-glazed mouth attempting to avoid the stench of too many one-night fucks and old urine.
Smell or taste
Not much of a trade off
Honestly speaking…
Mariku comes sweeping in; wearing a top hat and little else.
"Hey Hey Hey. We start in like two minutes!"
Eyes wide and I wish I could be as oblivious as him. So much faith. He is dancing around the bathroom. Ducking in and out of stalls and banging his hands on the sinks. He starts to play around with the urinals and I quickly rise to stop him. God only knows what's on those metal handles…and Mariku isn't prone to washing his hands before putting them in his mouth…
"Mariku, shouldn't we go find Bakura?"
and I want to bite my tongue immediately...
what the bloody fuck?
So much for hiding out in the bathroom
Away from the lights and all that fucking noise
what I wouldn't give for a culling song
pull a Helen eh?
and counting one
but really
my hands a shaking mess as I peer over the edge
fucking ravine and-
"K-Kura-I can't, I can't do this-"
and he gives me that look like I'm some single-cell organism
ignorant of anything Darwin
"I heard you, that night, in the club. You sing for a living, how the fuck do you get stage fright?"
And I stutter and I groan and why can't he realize that it's not the same
the patrons at that club didn't come to hear my voice
they came for more banal instincts
nothing to do with art
nothing like this
and my fiend shakes his head, mutters under his breath
"You'll do fine okay? I wouldn't have brought you home if I thought you'd eat it. So just relax. Pretend those people out there are just your normal patrons. They're desires are pretty much the same. They all want your soul, anything you give them, anything they can steal. "
and the lights dim
and Lucifer sweeps out into the darkness, his cloak like wings and I can only stare in awe until a harsh push sends me stumbling after him-
and the world explodes
light flooding my vision
screams clawing into the very crevices of my mind
and I trip and fumble my way to the center. Grasping the mic I feel my throat close and my stomach turn....the ground is moving.
And then I hear him, my Morning Star, crooning to the crowd
and Ryou's violin begins
and my eyes bounce from one monster to the next
they all look the same
greedy eyes mouths gaping screaming and sweating down there in the pit
and my eyes sweep to the left
and stop
(crashing to a sudden halt and black spots swarm)
They catch on a glowing ember
and my throat clears
my stomach settles
because my fiend was right
this is just the same
always the same
my mouth opens and I cry and my gaze never falters
never moves, transfixed I stare at my godling
worshipping
just the same
always the same
I only ever sang for him
only for him
and like a Siren I croon to him and the embers burst and swell and
Yami
I've found you