Summary: Every night, they rinse and repeat.
Analogy
RWBY
He remembers the first time.
It is a restless night. He tosses and he turns, but he just can't fall asleep. Covers on, covers off? Too hot, too cold? What a fool he must look: a hunter undone by his inability to sleep!
He turns to his scroll. A grimace. It has not yet struck midnight. A sigh.
He kicks off his sheets, making sure to not wake the asleep. Cladding his slippers, he strides out into the night. Perhaps a walk in the courtyard will ease his mind?
As he patters near the courtyard, he stops. He listens. A high pitched melody resonates in his ears. With steady steps and bated breaths, he approaches the sound's origin.
He halts. His eyes widen at the sight of the angel before him.
Her eyes are closed. Her head is raised to the shattered moon. From her mouth there comes the sound of a song.
It's hypnotic.
It's haunting.
In his awe, his foot snaps a branch. She hears and she looks. Diamond pierces cobalt.
Silence.
A frown. She stalks off without a word, leaving him in the moonlight.
His brow furrows. A question arises. Why does she sing? He just can't wrap his head around it.
And as he lies once more in his bed, sleep finds him. But as he dreams, the image of the angel who sings remains in his head.
He remembers the second time.
A harsh training program should have exhausted him, and yet here he is, walking outside once more.
As he mindlessly treads through hall after hall, feeling wind he looks up and realises he's in the courtyard.
And he hears that melody again.
Turning his head, he sees the angel singing.
She's singing a different tune this time. And yet, it still feels the same to him.
He quietly approaches, taking care to not disturb her. Leaning against a post, he crosses his arms and rests.
If she knows that he's there, she gives no indication.
And as the shattered moon passes over the black sky, she sings.
He listens.
He remembers the third time. The fourth time. The fifth.
It has become their tradition. Every night, he goes out to the courtyard. Every night, she sings. Every night, he listens.
There are but two unspoken rules. One was silence. The other was distance. If he breaks either of the two, she stops and walks away. Slowly over time, she allows him to come closer. Step by step, inch by inch, he's able to draw nearer to the angel who sings. Eventually he can sit by her while she sings and he listens.
She sings about a lot of things. She sings of home, of her family, and of her future. She sings of her fears and of her hopes and of her dreams. The melodies all mesh together to him. They are all so different, and yet so similar! And every night, the question plagues his mind:
Why does she sing?
He sees her during the day, surrounded by colour, and he wonders. She is an anomaly. The girl who laughs is different from the angel who sings. Why is there a divide? What causes this divide? He doesn't ask her. He wants to, but he feels that she'll never give him the answer.
And so, night by night, they revisit the scene. She stands and she sings. He sits and he listens.
And the cycle continues.
He remembers the time.
It's all over the news. Her father's dead. It's sudden. Heart attack in his sleep. Nobody sees it coming. Not even himself.
What a human way to die.
Whispers and murmurs burn through the colour. When she enters the hall, the colour turns grey. A spotlight shines, beckoning for her to take the stage. Rather than cowering away, she steps into it with her head held high. 'Good riddance,' she says. 'He was a cold man. An evil man.' A smile of relief. 'Now the world can finally make things right.'
She walks off the stage. Eventually the colour surrounds her once more.
At night, he enters the courtyard again. He stops. There's silence. How strange. He walks in further and sees her waiting. She's waiting? For him? How out of character.
It's in their tradition that one does not acknowledge the other. Instead, she silently stands and waits for him to take his seat.
Why does she sing? He thinks he knows the answer now.
He sits. She stands. And under the shattered moon, the girl opens her mouth and sings.
She stands and he sits. She sings and he listens.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
It's the only comfort he can offer as she cries.
Analogy Fin
- Narutochaos22