All Was Darkness

by TheBlindMage

What if Azkadelia was concious during those fifteen years of possession, but she was imprisoned in her own mind by the Witch, unable to see or hear? A look into her mind during the events of Tin Man. Rated just in case.

Disclaimer: I do not own Tin Man or any characters, places, etc. located therein.

She was surrounded by darkness, always. She was deaf and blind and all was darkness. She didn't know what was happening; she barely remembered who she was most of the time. But she remembered one thing, always. Her little sister. DG. The person she had cared about more than anyone growing up. The little kid she had killed. Her little sister, her light, was dead, and now her hands would never be clean. It didn't matter that she hadn't wanted to kill her, that it had been the witch controlling her. Her hands had still supplied the magic, a fact that the witch was forever reminding her of. Her little light was gone, and all was darkness.

Something important was happening. The witch's control was loosening slightly; she could see now, and hear. She had the eerie feeling of watching a movie through her own eyes, able to see and hear but never part of the film. And she couldn't feel. She hadn't felt a thing in more than fifteen annuals, physical or emotional. She was totally disconnected. All was darkness.

Her hands were holding something. What was it? She peered through her eyes, trying to see. It was small, and shiny. A necklace? Was that a picture inside? Was it a locket, then? Her heart would have quickened, if it were not frozen by long years of pain. She wished she could make her eyes focus, but the witch realized what she was trying to do and tightened her control. She couldn't see anymore, couldn't hear. All was darkness.

This was big. The witch was excited about whatever was happening; she almost let go. She could see again, and hear, and she thought she could smell, just a bit. There was a girl kneeling on the floor in front of her. She thought she recognized her; she strained to see through her own eyes. She almost fought the witch. Then the girl looked up, and nothing else mattered. Clean-ice-blue eyes, eyes the color of a clear sky in winter, were wide and scared. She wanted so badly to reach out, to touch and assure herself that this was real. Her sister, her light. Alive. Grown up and beautiful and alive. All was not lost. She was not lost. Perhaps, just barely perhaps, all would not be darkness forever. After all, her sister was home. And nothing else mattered. She almost felt something, something like long-lost love, trying to warm her frozen heart. But the witch felt it, too, and crushed her ruthlessly. All was darkness, but the darkness was not quite so opaque any more. Blue eyes were in the darkness now, and they almost started to light it.

The witch was letting her see now. The girl, the wonderful, beautiful DG girl, stood in front of her, scared and angry and defiant. The father was gone now, and the witch was letting her see the girl fall. She could see the emerald in her hands now, see it glow in her disconnected hands, but she could not feel the power. She could feel nothing. She saw her sister, her lovely, alive sister, double over, coughing. She wanted to cry out, to stop her traitorous, uncontrolled hands, but her sister was gone and it was too late. She could hear desperate screams from green marble, and she would have sobbed if her tears were not frozen by her cold heart. Her light was gone. She had snuffed it out again. Her sister was gone, gone for good. Then the witch caged her again, and all was darkness.

She stood in the light, but the light was cold and green and wrong. She could not step out, she was as trapped as always and her body was not her own, was never her own. The light shone, but it was not her light, it was wrong light. Her light was gone. She could see, though, standing in the green light, and she knew the witch was too excited to cage her totally. So she could see, and she could hear. And then she saw light, real, good light. Her sister! Her wonderful, loving sister, somehow still not dead. Her DG's light was real and warm and strong; it warmed her heart and nothing could stop it this time. She watched as her hands swept the light over the balcony, and her breath would have stopped if she was the one breathing, but the light was not gone. Her sister was not dead and was climbing back into sight now and she could hear singing. It was a familiar song, a comforting song, and it helped the light and made it warmer and now she could almost move, she was sure of it. And then she was hearing old words, her words, and remembering them and she was drawing on the light and the song and the remembering, and she saw, she really saw a hand, her sister's hand, reached out, wanting to help. But she was scared, and her sister knew, and wasn't leaving, she said so and somehow she fought the witch and the witch was mad but she could see now, and her heart was warm, and her sister was alive, and she reached out and took the hand, grabbed the hand and held on. And she felt, oh god, she felt the hand and she held on and looked into ice-blue eyes and for the first time in fifteen annuals she felt hope. And so she held on and felt and saw and remembered and then all was light.

All was light.

Reviews? Anyone?