Hey everybody! Here with a one-shot because I don't think anyone's ever considered something like this before, and it slammed me over the head just now. Obviously, I don't own.
In Silence
It's dark in here. Pitch black like the inside of the dead 'melef I was locked within all those years ago. I should be used to it, but I'm not. I don't think I ever will be.
It's quiet in here. Silent like an eternity of nothingness and I hate it. I hate it. Why won't you respond? Can't you hear me? I've screamed and shouted and shrieked and cried myself hoarse. Please, won't you listen?
It's lonely in here. I know you're scared of me. That's okay. I was scared of you too. But you don't have to ignore me anymore. I'm not a rabid animal. Don't you see? I don't have to be! They have no more control over me. You don't have to worry about my memories of blood and fire and screams. I'd protect you from them too, if you'd just let me. Please, won't you let me talk to you?
It's frightening in here. This dark cage you've made for me – it scares me. Is this what you think I am? A creature of the night that belongs in this bottomless black pit? I know I look frightening, with my white hair and skin and bloody eyes. Do I look like a ghost to you? Or maybe I seem like one of the dead. I'll tell you a secret, but don't you dare tell anyone. Most of the time, I felt like I was one of the dead, too. Or maybe just not one of the living. But I am alive! I may not have a body, or a family, or a past or a future. I don't even know if I have a soul. Yet I'm here. So please, won't you look at me?
It's cold in here. I'm cold. I'm always cold. We should start a fire. Then, maybe, I'd warm up! Fires are wonderful things, aren't they? They're so alive; they even dance to their own music! And, of course, they're warm. Like music. Or my spiced wine. Wine, warmth, music, they comforted me, when nobody else was willing to. Especially my vino, because I had to be careful not to let Them know how much I love music. They might have taken it away from me. You like music too, don't you? The beautiful Asturian wooden instruments. They're my favorite, too. Please, won't you play something for me?
Allen shut the journal softly, placing it in the special compartment hidden within Celena's writing desk, wondering if his sister even knew. He turned, peering at the girl on the bed. In the moonlight, her pale skin looked like alabaster and platinum hair had become silver while tears glistened like tiny diamonds on her skin. If she were to open her eyes now, would they be red? Would I care? Gulping, Allen walked hurriedly towards the door. He had always envisioned total, absolute victory over Dilandau as something that would be beautiful in its poetic justice. And this, this was poetry at its best. Yet it wasn't beautiful at all.
I'm fading. Please, hold me once before I go?