This is a short story I was inspired to write after watching the ghost of martell arc. The backstory is so sad and beautiful that I just had to write a short story on it :3
This is about the story of Lala and Gozu.
Please enjoy, my first fanfic! R&R please!
Disclaimer: man and its characters does not belong to me (unfortunately -wants Kanda- :P)
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Mr Human Sir, would you like a song, please?
This was the city of Martell, said to be forsaken by God himself. The land was cracked and dry, and the people living within similarly gloomy and dour. Ever since a few years ago after a freak storm, the women of the town became inexplicitly barren. Without the ruckus of children running through the streets, the town became dismal and silent, and the population fell slowly.
In order to stave off the gathering gloom, even for just a while, the people of Martell made dolls. Dolls that can sing and dance, dolls that brightened up the lives of the people and held their misery at bay. Even for just a little while, the townspeople are content.
There were three such dolls; one of song, one of dance and one of music. One had a lovely rich voice that rose and fell like a mountain spring; one danced so gracefully that she could almost be mistaken for a real ballerina; and one had such skill with the lyre that the music she played was said to be able to move a rock to tears. They were given no names, for they are only dolls; yet they bring joy and laughter to the city, and the people managed to forget their woes for a while. The dolls sang and danced at parties, and their resonant songs made the townspeople weep for joy. They had identical silky hair of gold, luminous blue eyes and moved with such grace that some even forgot that they are only dolls. The people sang and danced along, and troubles are forgotten, albeit for a little while.
But as time wore on, the population fell steadily. The three dolls still danced and sang, as the town crumbled slowly around them. But consumed by their fear and misery, the townsfolk withdrew, each huddling together as they waited for the inevitable end. It did not take long.
The dolls are left behind, abandoned.
One fell, never to rise and dance again. Another wandered off into the surrounding mountains with her lyre, and was never heard of again. The last doll prowled the lost city of Martell, seeking people to sing to. After all, she was made for that purpose. But everyone was gone, and her only companions the endless wind that howled through the empty streets.
Her glorious mane of hair tangled and lost its lovely sheen; and her beautiful gown was tattered and torn. Her once flawless porcelain face was cracked and her movements listless. There was nobody to care for her, no one to brush her hair and tell her how much she was liked. She was lonely, oh so lonely. She longed to sing, but there was no one to listen to her song. None but the echoing wind. She was made to serve humans, and now they had abandoned her.
So lonely…
Time wore on, unmarked. The vacant houses were overgrown with ivy, and the pavements cracked by rampant tree roots. Her circuits were half rusted, and she could only think hazily. But a single imperative remained strong: to sing to humans, to bring joy to their lives. This is what she was made for, and this is what she had to do.
Over the decades, human travelers would occasionally come across the ghost town that used to be Martell. She would always seek them out and approach with outstretched arms, a pleading eye.
Human sir, Mr Human sir, would you like a song?
But no one wanted a song, nobody wanted her song. Abandoned for so long, she was no longer the fair elegant doll she once was; part of her face was eaten away by termites and rot, and her once-golden hair was snarled about her face. Clad in the rags that were once a dress, she would reach out for the travelers with a hand missing several fingers, pleading.
Would anyone like a song? Please?
Nobody wanted her song. Horrified, the travelers attempted to run, screaming.
Why? Why does nobody want a song? Please, let me sing for you!
Despair turned to anger, and anger to a mindless fury. They made her, abandoned her, and now have rejected her. She chased after the fleeing men, and tore them to bits.
Thereafter, every now and then within a century, men would stumble upon the ruins of Martell. Every time, she would offer her song. Every time, she would be denied. Every time, she would then fall upon them in fury.
The lost town of Martell gained a reputation for being haunted, and was gossiped about furtively in taverns. People shunned the place and the surrounding regions, and the news about the Ghost of Martell spread like wildfire.
She was so lonely.
All she wanted was to sing, to croon to her human masters. She missed her sisters, the two other lost dolls that fell. During the dark hours of the night, if she concentrated she could still hear the strains of music filtered down through the years. She could still see the buzzing crowds all around; everyone gathered to watch her and her sisters play, sing and dance. She could still hear the laughter, hear the sweet sounds of the lyre. She could still see it all, as if it all happened just yesterday and not a few centuries ago. She realized she missed the sound of applause, of laughter.
She crooned to herself softly, slumped within a pool of shadows in a ruined corner. Singing, dreaming of the past.
One day, she found a little boy in the town. Abandoned and lost, he had found his way into the ruined town and was wandering around, weak with hunger. She appeared before him.
Boy? Little boy, would you like a song?
She knew the answer, knew what was going to happen, but she asked anyway. The little boy looked up, eyes wide and staring. His mouth worked as his empty gaze traveled past her bedraggled clothing, her mess of hair, the gaping hole where her right eye once was.
"M-M-Miss Ghost?"
She moved forward woodenly, hands clawed at her sides. One more who rejected her, just like the rest of her makers. One more to kill.
"..yes, I would like a song."
The words stopped her in her tracks, and her remaining eye fixed on his. He would like a song? He would like her to sing for him?
The little boy struggled to sit up, his gaze wondering, a timid smile on his cracked lips. "Yes, Miss Ghost, I would like a song. You see, no one had ever offered to sing for me before."
Her mouth opened, and the familiar melody poured out.
She was lonely no longer.