Author's Note

Hello, this is my first attempt at a story here on Fanfiction. It may start off like a drabble, but that's just to get the plot bunnies bouncing around a bit in the meadow of my mind. I promise that it'll get better with reviews and constructive criticism is appreciated a lot, of course. (:

Prologue

Wammy's House-In warm blooded Youth

A hand, a dance, and several steps taken.

They dance, without hands, without feet touching the floor; dust motes swirling in the single shaft of sunlight barely illuminating the scene, and the faces of those in it. It is the hot, almost burning, certainly blinding golden quality of light,the kind that few can look into without blinking.

Her stare is elsewhere however. If not the sun, his eyes are the next most difficult thing to keep a level gaze with. His clearly aren't blinking. She wonders if he sees her as his equal…though she is vaguely aware that the one he longs to be an equal to, is on entirely different level, a completely separate plane it seems; almost impossible to reach without traveling through the great stretches of time and space…

Space…where red giants floated, and here she permitted the trace of a smile to tug at her lips for the irony that was in the comparision of a pair of eyes to massive balls of burning gas.

Red dwarfs, more like, this set of crimson irises watching her intently, with an intensity that she felt could match the stars, B's burning gaze, beyond anything she had ever experienced…and now it was strange, she felt like she was rapidly losing gravity, as if sinking towards the terrible twin black holes that were his pupils, pulling her towards him…

Warmth…flushing throughout her entire being, surely it was the effect of the late afternoon sun bathing them in its rays, and not shy, soft lips pressing against each other? But they had been sitting there for at least 15 minutes, and hadn't felt the heat hitherto the meeting of their mouths…

Quickly the girl breaks away, face warm and her upper lip pressed, almost petulantly, against the lower one. Attempting to sort out flustered sentiments, the girl sits in the 'after-glow' of the 5'o clock type of sunshine, and the 5 seconds worth of sensuality in this situation.

The red eyed boy merely sits, in contemplation, in puzzlement that is written, amply evident on his features, and that will be as hard to erase from his countenance, as it is will be this memory from his mind…

A Jail Cell-Present Day

Beyond Birthday blinked, and shifted his position, the chains clinking as he made movements to stretch his frame. He smiled faintly as he heard the bones crack in his neck, the sound a pleasant reminder of how he had violently twisted victims' necks in a fatal grasp, the base of their skulls grating, (in what was to BB) harmoniously against the top of their spines, before their heads slumped backward, jaws sometimes twisted at an awkward, grisly angle.

Ahhhh…those bygone better times of breaking bones and bursting blood out of bodies with every slash, stab and slam of a knife deep into a victim's vital organs, their long drawn out screams a symphony to BB as he worked almost methodically; eyes, chest, lungs, windpipe, gut…so many to choose from, so few to actually make the cut...hehn hehn…

BB's smile slowly soured into a frown as the memory faded and reality took its place, the bright white glare of overhanging lights a reminder to his imprisonment…these days he was lucky if he could lash out and sprain the ankle of some incautious, wandering warden.

Hmmmm…better times? The severe white lights seared into his mind, dredging up one particular recollection of equally glaring sunlight in a hot summer afternoon, a room and a boy and some girl...

BB shrugged and let a shuddering sigh escape his lips as he shook himself of that seemingly insignificant memory. He tended to remember the identity of the dead better than those that were alive... especially if he had been the one to take their lives.

The serial murder settled down to curl up in a fetal position, to sleep and dream the dreams that were, to any normal, sane person, horrific, ghastly grotesque nightmares that would send them screaming for a psychiatrist's treatment…but for Beyond Birthday, seasoned perpetrator of homicide with the eternally unslaked bloodlust, these were sweet dreams that helped to dissolve the bitter facts of confinement…and for that reason, for his considerations that crimson liquids looked much better outside a body, Beyond Birthday would soon be getting psychiatric treatment.

Whether he would accept it or not, was another matter altogether.