A BLACK FLOWER
Have you ever danced with a Darkrai in the pale moonlight? I have. It was strange, dreamlike.
I walked along a hardly trodden path in the forest, alone. The moon passed fitfully through clouds. The branches of trees reached out with skinny, spindly fingers. I pushed past the fingers, occasionally breaking the wood with loud snaps. The path meandered, like a worm walking through the soil and loam. I came to a bend in the path, and around the bend I saw a clearing.
As I entered the clearing, the moon opened, clouds flying away like sheep fleeing a wolf. Everywhere I looked, the scene was hazy, as though some great artist had wet his brush and smeared the still wet paint of the landscape. I became conscious of a very faint sound- a cricket's chip. The chirp slowly morphed into a pale sound of a violin.
The clouds returned, covered the moon for a moment, and disappeared again. Blinking to clear the spots, I saw a shadow, hovering the midst of the clearing. The shadow slowly coalesced, forming arms and a body, head and hair. The shadow's blue eye was piercing, and it was the piercing of staring into my very soul. The shadow looked itself over, as if making sure all of it was there.
I am Darkrai, I heard as though from far away. Darkrai held out an arm, hand outstretched. Will you dance? I was not in control of myself. I reached and clasped Darkrai's hand, and was pulled into a dance. His hand clasped mine, another hand rested on my waist. He led, swaying in time to some unheard symphony. Following, I felt out of place, like a putrid flower in a bowl of roses. I was still not in control of myself, but I grew accustomed to his rhythm.
As we grew closer in time, I began to recognize the music he heard. Two violins, playing in time. A cello, playing an undercurrent. Three flutes playing off of each other, but seemingly in perfect harmony. A bass, deepening the sound. And a single, lovely piano, spelling out a waltz. We danced for a long time, yet it seemed short, like a breath of wind. Something grabbed my attention.
You are a wonderful companion, I heard. Darkrai spun my out, my dress following a half step out. He pulled me in, a yo-yo unable to understand such a one as I would have captured his interest. As though he had listened to my thoughts, You are unafraid. You have a strange spirit, one that I could sense far from myself. I found it… intriguing. I have not been interested, unfeared, since… not since her. The Dreamweaver. The one they call Cresselia. You seem to carry her spirit within you. His answer was strange, different, but expected. Somehow I had known.
We had danced a long while, and I had become a part of the rhythm, an extended yet integral part of the dance. Nothing was wrong; everything was right. Then Darkrai gazed at me, and the music began to melt and fade from the clearing. As the music dissipated, Darkrai slowed the dance, severing our connection. Taking my hand, he bowed, and as he rose, the wind grew and gently shredded his form. Good night, my dear. May we dance another time, once more under the moonlight.
I woke. I was in a bed of grasses, seemingly built around me. In my hand was a black rose.
Never forget…
