My Everything
By: Sky-Riot
Her love, her promises - they meant nothing.
...
The room he was in was dark and eerie when he took over the body of the young Hikari heir. The room was in havoc and consisted of an old, ragged bed, a dusty mirror, and murky carpets underneath his feet. The dark sky that was absent of stars and clouds loomed outside of the only window in the room. The drapes that were hanging over it was torn apart and was drained of its color. There was only the haunting yet beautiful face of the moon on the dark velvet sky, he could see it from his peripheral vision. The room reeked of old age and death, but he could still pick up the subtle soft scent of floral perfume. The only door of the room creaked silently as the air blew softly inside the room. It was obvious that the cringes were already broken and he was honestly surprised that the door itself hadn't landed on the floor yet.
He remained still on his spot, his heart beating wildly. He knew this room very well; he knew every contour and outline of it. He knew how it looked like when it wasn't rundown, how it smelled like when it didn't reeked of death.
A memory of his past flashed across his mind and it was enough to make him think in silent contemplation, wondering why he was remembering all of it. They came in slowly, drowning him like a sea of nothingness. He tried to rid of the memories that plagued him every time he remembered.
A visible frown formed on his lips as the memories persisted. He wanted to forget, he really did, yet, he knew - however hard he tried to deny it - that his efforts were futile. He knew for a fact that the past cannot be erased and he told himself that he shouldn't even be bothered by it.
He should just forget.
He let out an angry curse when he saw his reflection in the mirror that was coincidentally facing his way. It broke into a million pieces as he threw the nearest object near it, the sound echoing in his ears. The way the shards fell on the carpeted floor reminded him of the droplets of rain that fell from the sky during a rainy season and then he let out a sudden twisted yet wry laugh as his body shook in a rather helpless way. He leaned down, right hand resting itself on his rather perfect features and he let out a curse when even that reminded him of it - everything from how it began and how it ended.
The memories were clear and he could feel the pain in his chest, the pain he thought he had forgotten.
"My everything, huh?" He whispered to himself, chuckling wryly.
How nauseating.
"Kokuyoku," was the first thing he had heard once he was born. The room he could see before him was filled with various paintings of which some were of beautiful sceneries while the others seemed to be of dark curses. It was fairly dark with a measly oil lamp as the only source of light inside the room. The room, overall, was empty. There was but one window and a door that was amiably closed at the corner and a mirror that was conveniently placed on the side. What really caught his attention, however, was the woman that sat before him. She was wearing a dress that contemplated her pale but fair skin, her hair up in a messy bun. She wore a silver cross around her neck, its surface glinting as the light from the oil lamp reflected from it. Various colors of paint were on her skin and clothes, but it didn't seem to bother her as a smile formed on her beautifully painted lips, eyes seemingly focused on what was before her — him.
"Are you awake yet?" She spoke with grace and calmness as her fingers touched him. He could feel her warm and soft fingers. "You must be. It is I who gave life to you, after all."
She hummed slightly, settling the paintbrush she was holding down the side table close to her. Her eyes never left him and it appeared to be as if she was waiting.
"Black Wing and White Wing will be your names," she spoke once again and this time, she had tipped her head to the side. "It certainly gives a nice tone to it, hm? But..."
A twisted grin replaced the innocent smile she had on her face as she let out a soft chuckle.
"Black does not always mean evil while white does not always mean innocence. A change of cycle would be interesting, wouldn't it? It is a nice touch of twist."
Any trace of purity and innocence disappeared as cruelty and malicious intent crossed her features. He did not know why but he found her even more beautiful with that expression on her face. Finally, he was able to free himself from his cage, a hand forming from the painting he was trapped in and before he knew it, he could feel her warm skin against his newly formed mortal body. The grin on her face widened at the sight of him and she held his hand that was on her face, brushing her thumb gently against it.
"Or perhaps a human name will be more suitable, hm?"
The name that left her lips this time had brought him feeling rather strange inside, but he didn't know what it was and so he pushed it at the back of his mind.
Krad.
That was the name she had given him.
She was a painter and according to her, her lineage had always been blessed in the area of arts.
"Too blessed, in fact." He remembered her telling him this.
She shifted slightly to face him, giving him a soft smile that was always on her lips as if it was plastered there permanently. He didn't say nor comment about the matter. Instead, he approached her and leaned his head on her lap. She immediately went to brushing her fingers through his long blonde strands of hair. He closed his eyes, feeling himself at peace as her soft touch enthralled him. He ignored the strong smell of paint that tainted her normally floral scent. It, in fact, soothed him as if there was something mystical about the scent.
"There is, however, one downside to being a Hikari," she said moments after, working on a painting that was settled on the easel in front of her. What it really was didn't concern him much, his attention nowhere near the painting. He looked up at her, waiting for her patiently to finish what she was about to say. She didn't — of course — and he could tell just by the unsettling smile on her lips. She only brushed her fingers through his hair, her painting now forgotten.
"Krad, you'll live forever," she said, leaning down until their foreheads met. He could feel her loose strands of hair tickling his skin as they fell from her shoulders in one slow movement. Her breath felt warm against his skin, her eyes closed and as she held his hand with her paint-tainted hand, she whispered softly to him, "You're my everything."
She placed a soft kiss on his forehead, brushing her thumb on his smooth skin.
"Do you understand?"
The urgency and desperation on her face was as clear as the sky. He could feel the slight tremble on her hands and the slight quiver of her lips. Why the sudden change of emotion was a mystery to him. However, he knew for a fact that she needed him very much so and so did he.
He pulled her closer to him, his lips pressed on her lips he had found perfect since he had first seen her.
"Yes," he said softly through her lips. "Your everything."
The smile that formed on her face had never been so perfect.
He found a purpose in this life of his.
Her life was a quiet and isolated one, having herself cooped up in the tiny and bleak room of hers most of the time. She rarely left the room she resided in and all she ever did was paint or brush her fingers through his hair. She would tell him how much she hated the outside world - how dangerous and cruel it was out there. And she would tell him, with a haunting smile, that all she needed was him and her paintings.
"I don't need anything else."
Her arms wrapped themselves around him, her breath tickling the side of his neck.
"You're my everything."
He didn't know why but he would feel a certain kind of rage whenever she would tell him that, as if those words were not meant for him but for someone else. Her eyes that were always looking at him intensely looked like they were looking past him, as if they were looking at someone else. But then she would smile at him, her usual smile, and he would forget about everything else.
"Will you stay by my side forever?" She asked him with a certain kind of twisted fondness. Back then, he didn't know what her question truly meant and why she had asked him, but his answer was certain.
"Yes."
He would stay by her side. She was his everything and he was her everything. That knowledge alone was enough for him, in spite of the empty promise lingering in the air.
Fate was a cruel thing.
There was one thing that Krad had found strange. He knew that she liked painting and when she was done with her painting, she would display it for all to see. Yet, he always saw one painting that she had covered and casted away to the side. He could tell by how dusty the cloth covering it that it hadn't been touched for quite a while.
He had brought it up to her some time ago but she gave him an invading answer.
"It's nothing. Don't concern yourself over it," she would tell him and immediately change the subject. Yet he could see the pain and sadness in her eyes as the subject was brought up. He was almost curious about it but regarded the matter unimportant for she already took him in her arms and whispered lovingly to him.
"You're my everything. Please do not leave me."
Her grip on him tightened as she clung onto him in desperation. This was not the first time it happened. And back then, he didn't know the reason for her strange behaviour.
She grew weaker and weaker as time passed by. It started with a few coughs until the coughs were accompanied with the sickeningly red color of blood. Her room that always reeked of paint soon smelled of medicine and death. She was bedridden then, barely able to move and wouldn't be able to paint anymore as much as she did before. Her skin became disgustingly pale and she lost weight even more, yet, her eyes stayed vibrant whenever she looked at him, her pearly white teeth visible to him as she sent a smile at his way.
"Krad."
She murmured his name fondly, beckoning him to sit by her side. He obliged and laid his head on her lap. Her bony fingers went to brushing his long hair, occasionally caressing his smooth skin. He watched her quietly, the cross that she faithfully worn glinting slightly as he stared at it. He went to reach for it.
"This cross," he said, brushing his fingers on its smooth surface. "You've always worn it."
"Ah, this? Yes."
An eerie smile formed on her pale lips, her eyes glinting to something akin to insanity.
"It's special to me. After all, you were the one who gave it to me."
He could merely stare at her, his fingers letting go of the cross and it settled back nicely around her neck. For once since his existence, he was at loss.
Why wouldn't he be when he wasn't the one who gave her that cross?
"Looks like you remember this room, huh, Krad?"
He whipped his head back upon hearing that voice that made his blood boil. He knew that voice anywhere and it was unmistakable who it was. His eyes narrowed dangerously.
"For some strange reason, this room remained intact even after all these centuries," the dark-haired phantom thief said. "No one dared to step foot on this room. Though, this certainly brings a lot of memories, doesn't it? I can still feel her presence here."
Dark looked at him with unwavering persistence.
"Do you remember, Krad? Our past, our reason of existence?"
"Shut up," Krad growled angrily. His fists clenched tightly, his heart beating wildly than before. "Don't speak of our past!"
His white wings sprouted from his back, the white feather floating everywhere. He went to attack his other self, ignoring the fact that he might destroy the room even more.
It was getting harder to control his own feelings.
Krad found her room in chaos once he had returned. Her bed was empty and the pillow's feathers were scattered everywhere while the blanket thrown haphazardly on the floor. Her paintings she had worked hard on were scattered everywhere with holes decorating the once beautiful images. He looked to where she was and found her on the carpeted floor, all bloodied up. She was kneeling in front of a painting, her back to him. He approached her immediately, hearing her silent cries as her whole body quivered.
"Why?" She sobbed softly. "Why did you leave me?"
She suddenly raised her right hand, which revealed a blood-tainted x-acto knife. He immediately stopped on his tracks, now smelling the strong metallic scent of blood. He could feel his eyes growing wide when he saw the painting in front of him.
"You promised! You promised…you were my everything. You left me. Why? You promised…"
She let out a hysteric cry as she stabbed the painting before her. She aimed at the face of the man she was with in the painting. She repeatedly stabbed the painting, her breaths fast and quick. He could feel his whole body going numb as he remained still on his spot. He was surprised, speechless even, as he stared at the face of the man in the painting.
The man had the same face as his. It was not Dark nor him. It was someone else.
She suddenly stopped moving, her cries now calming down. She slowly faced his way as if she had finally felt his presence. He could see how messy her hair was. Her white nightgown was tainted with what he presumed was her own blood. Her eyes were lifeless as she stared at him and even as she smiled at his way, she seemed like she had died already.
"Krad," she spoke softly. "You're back."
She suddenly let out a hysteric laugh that sent her whole body shaking.
"You're back. You're back," she repeated like a mantra. She brushed her loose strands of hair away from her face, revealing the red-stained marks on her face.
"They took you away from me. I hate them! They took you away! They murdered you! You were my only purpose in life, the only reason why I was able to go on with this accursed family." She slowly walked towards him and he could see the way she dragged her barefooted feet in a slow pace. The x-acto knife was still in her hand and it glinted menacingly as she neared him. She left a trail of blood as she walked and the tears on her face were visible.
"I'm so tired."
He stilled as she leaned on him, her forehead pressed against his chest. Her blood stained his pure white shirt. The scent of blood was stronger and it came from her. No longer could he smell that calming scent of paint or even the soft floral-scented she usually gave off. He was afraid to touch her, thinking that with just one simple touch, he could break her. She reached out for him, her blood-tainted hand landing on his cheek. She brushed her fingers through his skin, feeling him and memorizing how he felt against her lithe fingers. There was a smile on her lips that looked hauntingly hollow.
"Being a Hikari is no blessing," she whispered tiredly, her eyes drooping into a half-lidded way. "It's a curse."
She suddenly let out a soft chuckle that reminded him of their peaceful times. She suddenly took a step back, her demeanor seemingly changing drastically. She was suddenly the strong-willed woman he had first met, the twisted woman who had created the accursed paintings, and the one who had created Kokuyoku. The smile now on her face was no longer broken or innocent. She was now grinning maniacally, as if all signs of sanity left her.
"You are my legacy. My justice. My revenge."
Something from the ground glowed and he looked to see a strange symbol drawn with blood. A red light whipped out, tangling itself on her body. She didn't seem bothered by it as her gaze remained focused on his form.
"I hated being a Hikari. I was never but a tool to their eyes. Ah, but that was my only purpose in this short life, really."
A wry smile graced her lips.
"Until I met my husband. But even still, I lost him. I had nothing left."
More of those red lights appeared and they gripped her body tightly. The pain didn't seem to affect her and by the looks of it, she seemed to be immune to it, as if the pain was nothing comparable to the pain she had felt her whole life.
"So will you grant me one last wish?"
He remained situated on his spot, daring not to move. He could feel his whole body going numb as he listened to her last wish.
"I'm not here to fight. Not this once," Dark told him, a forlorn look on his face. "Today was the day she died, the day that our bodies were sealed to the first born son of the Niwa and Hikari family."
Dark faced him with an unreadable look on his face. When he moved, it was then that Krad noticed the covered canvas in the phantom thief's arm. The dark-haired man placed it on the dirtied carpet. The colors and design were faded already, though it wasn't so surprising. It had been centuries, after all.
"I only came here for this," he said. Dark was gone before Krad could even react. Nothing was left of him except a black feather that now lay on the carpeted floor. He ignored it as he picked up the canvas, immediately tearing the covers with his bare hands. The cloth fell silently and without it covering the painting, an image he dreaded so much greeted his sight. He openly gaped at a familiar face he hadn't seen in centuries. He could feel his heart beating rapidly, his blood going cold. He was starting to lose control of the body he was in, but he still fought to take over it.
It was of a painting of a noble woman and with her was a man whose face was scratched off, as if someone had repeatedly stabbed that part of the painting. The painting stared back at him with what looked like mockery, her beautiful face smiling at him.
His eyes trailed down to the corner of the painting, where the names of the persons were written.
[Name] Hikari. Krad Hikari.
y. 1508
His emotions came into a messy whirlpool as he fell on the ground. Slowly, he lost control of his host's body as he sunk back to his conscious, realizing that all this time, he was being used. He meant nothing to her, but merely a replacement for a dead man. Her love, her promises — they meant nothing. And as he edged closer to unconsciousness, all he could ever remember was her haunting last words before her death.
"Bring misery to this accursed family, other half of Kokuyoku."
She was his everything.