The cape is as wrinkled as a woman waiting for her last day on earth, and the ostentatious suit and mask is marked by a bloody contract.
markings of a ghost
He is 10.
And no matter how hard he washes his hands, the blood will not come off.
He can still feel the sword's large grip in his hand, leaving an imprint of the handle's design onto his hands like a tattoo with the stain of red liquid.
(Ididn'tmeanit-Ididn'tmeanit-Ididn'tmeanit-
He just wouldn't listen to me-
I-I-)
There's a pool of dark crimson on the ground, and he wonders if it's too shallow to swim in or if it was too salty to drink. That maybe it's just water in disguise, and he can just pretend that everything was okay and normal and fine because it's just water spilled out of a cup or a leakage from a drain (as long as it wasn't the same fluid that reeked of bitterness and tasted of iron and came out of the people he saw in the news and pictures and videos and outside and - )
And then hordes of familiar and not so familiar men and women come in and then soon there's news plastered everywhere like giant neon signs and voices from the largest speakerphones that say the Japanese leader had committed suicide in times of war and that the country was dishonored by such cowardice and that the Britannians would surely win and Japan would not even be Japan anymore and that...
He is locked, and he is confined (when did his room get so unbearably claustrophobic and when did the walls decide to cave in?).
He can't even look into the mirror because the eyes that stare back at him are the eyes of a murderer and the hands that held the handle of the sword too and the feet that ran with such speed to penetrate the weapon into the heart of his father too and the -
His hands violently grab onto his ears in a futile effort to block everything out because he swears that there's an endless mumbling of whispers that never seems to stop.
And no matter how tightly he closes his eyes to shut out the images or decorates the palms of his hands with deep white crescents to inflict pain or think of good memories and happiness, he can't.
Everything was black and white with red all over [he can still see the blood (his father's blood) that stains his hands and clothes and floors and the dead corpse next to his feet– can still envision everything perfectly (the blind rage and the stubbornness and foolishness of it all)].
But then he feels a cold hand on his face, smoothing the harsh wrinkles on his forehead that a child of his age should not have, and he stops shaking as if he was stripped naked and forced to stay in the wilderness of a tundra.
He feels slim fingers run through his chestnut curls and hears a feminine humming, and he thinks that it is his mother.
He is finally calm enough to sleep.
x
He is 17.
He has to search for a poison gas chamber – somewhere, anywhere (at least do something worthwhile and meaningful in order to rise up the military ranks to somehow reform the corrupt country, his mind repeats on loop).
And so he walks into a building in ruins and ramshackles just like the rest of the Shinjuku Ghetto where other Elevens (his people) reside while he's working with the enemy against them, he thinks wistfully, guiltily.
But he sees his target, symbolizing a step closer to completing a million more – marked by dull red and surrounded by hazy, white smoke.
There's a male figure that is in the way, and he pounces onto him like a tiger but finds out that the stranger is Lelouch, someone connected to his past of misery and pain and suffering and possibly a dangling thread of hope (and he remembers when it was just him and Lelouch and Nunally – oh poor, poor Nunally).
Then, the gas chamber opens (and he quickly and desperately throws his body against Lelouch's and uses his only gas mask on his friend to somehow recklessly save him).
But, there is no poisonous gas. There is only a girl.
Then his superiors come, forcing him to annihilate his one friend because they think he's some terrorist, but he refuses to take (kill) another life that means so much to him (his hands will not be stained again, his mind wants to scream).
He is shot.
There's a waterfall of green and a shimmer of gold in his eyes before they fall into darkness.
x
He finally had Zero, the man who had proclaimed himself a hero of justice, but one could not grant justice if the means were full of death and blood and -
Yes, he could finally feel a sense of reformation in his hands and taste the sweetness of victory with the mastermind who had captured the attention of Area 11, nonetheless, the world. If only he could somehow convince the mysterious figure to help him, doing things his way (and Zero would because the man had helped him escape a conviction trial and rescued him with an offer, right?).
He was ready to capture him until a girl (was that the girl who had been in the capsule?) shielded herself before Zero, and he wanted her to move.
And then before he knew it, his knobby knees were shaking at the bend of his short legs, the knuckles in his too small hands stark white, the once earthly hues of his green eyes turned murky, and death whispered in his ears once more.
x
He is the knight of Euphemia li Britannia, and he is in love.
It is his duty to protect the governess of Area 11, and it is his duty to protect the woman who has created the Special Administrative Zone of Japan, something that would greatly benefit his people, quieting their violent uproars with things they have been rebelling for and more. That is why he is here standing outside the room that is housing the princess and (his mind quiets in disgust) Zero.
Suddenly, a vision flashes into his eyes, forcing earthy hues to absorb indelible images of a mysterious symbol, and blue tunnels loop and loop in and around his mind.
That mysterious girl (why does she appear at the most inopportune moments?) materializes magically in front of him as glowing golden orbs form a human (no, something inhuman?).
He steps back in incredulity, and the voice that calls out to him from behind turns into gibberish and is ignored in favor for the sight before him.
"W-why are you with Zero?" His voice sounds weak, and his mind roughly whispers that the hiss of a question is not the voice of the knight of a princess, nonetheless the altruistic Princess Euphemia.
He watches her carefully as she nonchalantly jumps out of her Knightmare, and he hears her speak for the first time (but the back of his mind whispers nonsense and jumbled up words, a rhythm). He stumbles back in fe(ar) -
"I only want to ask you a question. You're ..."
But then the woman instantly grabs her eye and falls with an unnatural grace on one knee, golden rays reflecting and shooting out of her glove covered hand like the beaming rays of the sun on this (happy) day as the symbol he saw just moments before glows majestically (tauntingly) on her forehead.
Pain takes her breath away as her eyes remain unblinking in astonishment, "Don't tell me he's already…"
A part of him screams in his head (hero, be a hero).
But when he rapidly comes to her side and asks her what's wrong, a familiar pain shoots up from the pads of his fingers up to his cranium that strikes as fast and hard as lightning, his vision blocked by white.
Why are there blue tunnels and two planets and children covered in that symbol? Who is that woman (familiar raven hair and knowing eyes…)?
He can't think. Hecan't think. Hecan'tthink.
The back of his mind registers the sound of a thud of a body as his eyes close in much needed sleep (his body? no, wake up - must - protect -)
(Why does this keep happening?)
x
"C's World?"
He hears her voice for the second time as it eloquently trails from her mouth and into his ears during her explanation. "To use existing terminology, it is the collective unconscious. A collective of people's minds with memories. The sea of transmigration, the great consciousness. Some people refer to it as 'God.' "
A noise releases in familiarity [he can still remember when he didn't know who Zero was… (but the memory of his father will never be erased)].
"Was that what happened to me when I met you in Narita?"
Hugging her doll, her voice continues its monotonous tone (and it makes him wonder how she has become so lifeless), "That was just the merging with one's consciousness. However, it's not like I know what you saw."
Quickly, bitingly, words roll off of his tongue like an attack from Lancelot. "That's rather irresponsible."
But her slick tongue that contains millenias of wisdom deflects his attack with a finishing scorch. "Do you like it when others peep into you?"
His eyebrows and corners of his lips lower in unison as his eyes burn a fire, threatening a permanence of a mask of rage (it's all her fault! that Lelouch is a monster and that Euphie...).
"Humans are masks given by the collective unconsciousness. They are windows that opened in the sea of one's heart and memories."
(voice, gentle in nostalgia and a dulling, warm feeling in his chest...)
"A human's heart is…"
The sound of a little girl's voice disrupts their conversation (a bitter laugh wants to escape - argument? debate?), and he remembers that they have a guest. "I give up. It's too broken. You do it, C.C."
He watches as golden eyes bore disinterestedly into red, and he wonders how much Geass is interwoven into daily life (especially ones of the royal Brittanians). "Do you really want to go?"
A look of pure astonishment envelops Anya's possessed face. "Are you kidding me? Charles is waiting for us. It'd have been easier if you handed your Code over to him."
Silence
(and it suffocates him as his being continues life in unwilling ignorance).
"Gosh, I'll go ahead then." With a smile, Anya (no, Marianne) grabs C.C.'s hand and puts her other one onto the engraved wall before them.
The engravings glow a sparkling magenta that glitters at a hint of absolute (wicked) power, and the (cursed) Geass symbol appears on C.C.'s head, glowing (temptingly).
Another breath manages to escape the border of his lips as he stares in disgust (...awestruck at the mesmerizing whispers of shrewdly fulfilled wishes).
He sees the spirit of Marianne leaving Anya's body, moving into the wall
(to the other ...side?).
A voice, harsh and grating, screams out (was it his?). "What are you doing?!"
The foreign sound resets his gears into focus as the engravings return back to its natural dull, and Anya's body falls onto him as he catches her before she could reach the ground.
Words start to form in his mouth, ready to spill like a waterfall and -
"Kururugi Suzaku. You and I… we resemble each other..."
- for some reason, he can't help but -
"Resemble?"
(Shh!)
"The part where we both desire to die while not being able to."
(He wonders if she is a traveling ghost, eyes lifeless and devoid of emotion, and it's like staring into a mirror of his own)
x
Lelouch couldn't be so weak (couldn't be like how he was before - hindered by ...love). They were in it too deep to stop now. To turn back.
He stepped into the hall, steadying his anger and emotions with unconscious, calculated steps, only stopping (he didn't need to acknowledge her existence to know she was there) at the sound of the witch calling after his name.
"I am the Sword. It is my job to rid him of his enemies and his own weakness."
(she's fragile despite the cold facade she's almost perfected; he thinks, he could grant her eye contact for now: they had to learn to like each other somehow anyway)
"And you, C.C., are his shield" (and he's not sure if he should smirk at her cracks when he sees her eyes widen and her mouth releasing a gasp) "Your job is to protect him."
Turn around; walk with even steps.
Surprisingly, a quiet yet stern voice reaches his stubborn ears, "You do things as you like."
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.
"Lelouch is your accomplice,"
.
.
.
isn't he?"
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.
Hm, did she say something?
Never mind her.
Where was he again?
Oh, yes. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.
x
He is 18.
And no matter how hard he tries to forget everything, he can't.
He can still feel the perfect grip of the sword's handle as he dashed and jumped to and fro, an adrenaline rush pumping in his blood as it made a complete itinerary throughout his body.
He can still remember the way time stopped for just a few mere seconds as he stood before the world's most powerful and most hated (beloved) man, arms bent at the elbow at a ninety degree angle for the ultimate penetration of a long overdue sacrifice (there's blood all over again; there's blood on his sword and on Lelouch and - ).
He can still envision the wry, trademark smile on the Emperor's lips (but why can he still remember the trail of tears that cleansed him and salted his betraying mouth as he spoke a name that's he known since he first killed?), and the words that escaped along with the man's last breath continue to ring loudly like old school bells, marking the memories of innocent, carefree days, into his ears, "The punishment for what you've done shall be this then..."
(You've always been weak... but
you've always been stronger than me -
Lelouch!)
"You will live on always wearing that mask serving as a knight of justice and truth."
(can still remember the voice that remained all-knowing with innate, natural superiority even on the verge of death)
(Blood – on Lelouch's hand
stop! Don't - )
"You will no longer live your life as Suzaku Kururugi."
(Blood – on Zero's mask
the wrongly gentle caress of ...)
"You shall sacrifice the ordinary pleasures of life for the benefit of the world for eternity."
(death continues to skip his door)
(Don't –
go –
live!)
"This Geass, I do solemnly accept."
(how had he managed to speak those words with the load of hypocrisy in his mouth?)
(A blood stained hand drops...
A blood stained sword withdraws...)
(Nunally's ear shrieking cries...
Blood splatter on Brittanian grounds...)
(Chantings of a name... His?
No...
Zero...)
And behind closed doors, his hands come together in a mocking praying gesture in a last second measure to save his life, but it's too late. He knows that.
(he's lost everything)
He remembers his foolish naivety and goals of a peaceful world without violence, but how many exactly has he killed (far too many, guilt whispers)?
How many lives have been sacrificed for the world that is today (and when did the mask become so claustrophobic? when did it start to smell like failure and redemption?)?
He knows that he was absolutely foolish to think that he could have reformed the largest empire in the world, but he knew (knows) someone who could (can).
He is no longer Suzaku Kururugi. He is Ze -
(no no nonono)
And down on his knees he falls (because he had lost, and has, and always will).
X
A witch walks in, strips him of his dirty clothes and dresses him anew, removing the nightmares from his sleep with cold fingers and narrations of how a witch watched a lost knight as he died for more than two.