Prologue
Purging himself of humanity and its spoils, he became entrapped within a state of eternal melancholy and deconstruction. Far from the reaches of his dry misery, a maiden's voice; sublime and dainty, trickles to what remains and tears frost
over already unfastened eyes. Undeserving and ridiculed, effeminate flesh shamefully melts off jeweled bones and seeps vacantly off into the abyss of a disfigured heart. Cyanide anxiously disperses through his mental shafts and weaves its way
towards corroded arteries. All manners and conceited actions disappear as he haggardly clutches for dense air. Gripped in euphoria, the word Hamona contains itself in everything that is allowed to graze past his luminescent, yet deceiving smile.
Hamona was the only thought which gave him feeling and could shelter him from the rain; it was an indication of salvation; of life.
Hordes of maggots fiercely indulge themselves upon black feathers while laying siege to distilled lips concealed beneath a pallid mask. One eye was deadlocked between paradise and the other rotted with him in filth as poisonous vapors excite
figurative speech and clutter waning protests of humility. His mouth relocates itself and is able to let out a soft affirmation of reuniting with his beloved. Sultrily droning on, her voice unhinges his tense muscles, but just as his brain begins to
recollect, it bursts again with a fragrant and bitter odor. Pleasant thoughts of Hamona were replaced by the artificial flower, born not from the elements, but from his mechanical sweat and toil. Yes, he was certain she still thrived, not by her ornate
eloquence but through her daft persistence. After all, weeds never die, they continue to repopulate and invasively spread their seeds where they are no longer wanted.
Rhythmically prophesying what lies beyond the roots of creation, the flower's elegies erode and condense into the silent barking of the last lone wolf. He was with the beast till the very end, until only part of him was left and the world would no
longer tolerate what remained of him. Expelled through fragments of splintered glass and glowing auras, he could not help but marvel: ''so this is how one describes the rebirth of a noble?'' How…perverse.
Moisture; it was the first sensation to grace his charred body. Rats scurried along the gutters of the city's darkest back ally as a film of smog shattered his brilliant frame into shards of glass. Lying across the pavement, one eye lazily slid
open to watch lovers heading in from the rainy night, while the other socket remained as brazenly still as his heart. Although it was regenerated, he knew this place well, because it still glittered with Hamona's presence, it was indeed
the site of his old keep. Darcia picked himself up mutely, soaked and cadaverous, lips quivering with illogical excitement as he lustily eyed the industrial landscape before him. In front of him, where was once a magnificent estate, now
stood a large blank canvas; aged by tough grime and spots of vulgarity. A careful artist, Darcia was poised idly before skyscrapers, apartment complexes and manholes steaming over with grease. Out of the intense heat of the rain, a
vision of Hamona emerged, a lonely porcelain doll asphyxiated by the devastation of the land. Her powdered eyes surveyed the scenery, and her faith in humanity erupted in shrill cry. It was at this moment in which his anger overflowed
at her distress and it was then that he knew he would be the one to unlock its dormant potential for her in order to set her free, and this time the color pallet for paradise would no longer be contained in a flowery setting, but in a grisly
blood red kingdom.
Author's rant:
... This is the first serious fanfiction that I'm willing to commit to. I promise, the next chapter will be longer, I just needed to get this on here 'cause it's been collecting dust in my saved documents for about 5 months...sad, no? Well, if you enjoyed this, I think you'll LOVE what I have planned. Just know that things are lookin' bleak for Darcia. Heh heh....the rating might change to mature too, but I might leave it at a kiddie friendly level if I feel like it. If you're not totally familiar with the Wolf's Rain series, you will probably be lost in this. Well, actually, just read up on the plot and I think you'll be fine. If you have any questions relating this fic, how crazy I portray Darcia, or my bad grammer/spelling in this rant please ask away in the review...'cause this is my first fic/mini epic. Oh, remember this is just the Prologue. I'm aware epics are supposed to be longer. Look forward to 10,000 words next time! XD
~ Comic Sans (aka: RoE)
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