Losing Myself

Snow was falling again, thick with ash and aether. Light snow, not a driving force, but essentially a drizzle of cold grey flakes that tickled when they rested on your cheeks. All around it was quiet, save for the muffled wind as it bit at tarps, sheets, and other unstable bits of the world's wreckage.

All was cold. So very, very cold.

If you have been paying attention, you might have seen an occasional puff of warm air, like a lost cloud, peek up from inside one of the abandoned buildings. If you would have paid more attention, you might have seen the two figures huddle together under a blanket, next to a small stove that trapped the smoke to avoid detection. And if you were intensely focused on these figures, you might have seen the worried look on the man's face as he watched over the little girl.

He had met her not quite a week ago, and the two were already inseparable. The blue-grey skinned girl couldn't have been more than five, and her recent transformation only made things worse for her. Her father was no where to be seen, but she still cried late at night about him, hugging the pink stuffed bear the man had found for her when they first met.

Finally, her cold form stirred, and one black eye opened to look up at her caretaker. She smiled a crooked smile, teeny fangs poking under her bottom lip.

"Morning Mr. Simon," she said sleepily.

"Good Morning Marceline," he said, ruffling her lank black hair. Marceline giggled, and nearly bit him but stopped herself. "Sorry Simon" she said, blushing. "It almost happened again."

"It's okay Marcy," he said, white eyes twinkling behind his cracked blue glasses. "You're hungry, and the urges won't wane until you've given yourself time." Slowly he eased himself up, moving his skinny frame upwards so he could get his little friend some food. Going across the room to his satchel, he spoke to the girl as she played with her pink bear. He still didn't think it was a bear; it's skinny long arms and legs reminded him of some monkeys he had seen some years back.

"Did you have any dreams, Marcy? Anything unusual?"

"Nope," the girl said, rocking the "bear" back and forth. "Just black and quiet. No scary dreams for me!"

"Good, good," Simon muttered, rummaging for an apple or two, "we don't want any of that do we? Ah, here we go," he replied, pulling out an apple for earth of them. "Breakfast is ready!" He tossed one over his shoulder, which Marceline deftly caught. "Eat up, we need to get a move on."

Watching Marceline eat was always a fascinating process. For some reason, she didn't need to rely on blood alone, but also could sustain herself on shades of red. Poking her fangs into the apple, the vampire sucked greedily, the color slowly draining from the fruit and flowing up into her hungry mouth.

Simon contently munched away on his own apple, and slowly drifted in his own thoughts. She's such a little girl, and yet so strong. If Betty was still here...

-You drove her away.

There it was again. He hadn't worn the crown in two days, and the voices were coming back again.

No, Simon thought. That wasn't me, it was the crown.

-You can do so much with that crown, Petrikov. You've seen how it's helped you.

It's destroying me. I can't let it take me away from her, Marceline might not make it.

-Put it on. You know you want to.

"NO! I don't need this! I can't! I -"

His vision exploded into the swirling patterns and shapes as he yelled this last part aloud. Simon bolted upright as he slammed the golden crown onto his head. The crown was always at his hip, within easy reach, and he needed to put it on once more.

Burst of color and abstract shapes like old paintings floated thought his vision, and he couldn't tell which were true and which were hallucinations. He was certain the walls were there, the old camera he always had was real, and the little girl crying for Simon to please be alright wasn't a dream. Simon Petrikov buckled over, holding his head, desperate to get the accursed crown away form him. It had saved him from the War's aftermath, that was no lie, but losing Betty and going insane was not what he wanted out of it. He tore at his white bushy hair, cried into his beard, and yanked the crown from his head and hurled it across the room.

His vision clear, Simon collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily and absorbing what he had done. Ice was everywhere, in clumps on the ceiling, frozen to the door, and one mass had engulfed their stove. His hands were numb with cold; his cold. His ice. He didn't know what he was.

Marceline, hugging herself, stood over him, tears running down her face. Some had reached her neck and were mixing into the two small bite marks, and small traces of blood began to pool over. Simon hated to see those tears. He reached up to dry them, hoping Marceline didn't flinch away. She grabbed his hand, drying her eyes with them herself, then collasping into his arms. She held him for an eternity, the tears and choked sobs lost in the pale beard that reached to his upper chest.

"Don't get the crazies Simon. Please stay nice," she gasped out between sobs. "I like you. I need you."

Simon held her closer, close to tears himself. He didn't want to fall down the path of no return himself. Everything was so perfect right now. He needed to save this little girl; she didn't know it, but she was saving him as well. "Marceline, I will never forget you. I promise."

She pulled back a little, five year old eyes welling with a fresh batch of tears. "Promise?" she sniffled.

"I promise."

"Cross your heart?"

"Crossed already."

Finally, she smiled again. Bigger than the moment he gave her the stuffed bear. Bigger than when he told her to say cheese and took her picture. Bigger than when he played her music before going to bed.

That night, though, as she fell asleep with the same smile on her face, squeezing the recently named "Hambo" close to her heart, Simon Petrikov wrote her a note on the back of her photograph by lamplight. He didn't know if he was going to stay sane for long, but if his promise couldn't hold he needed to tell her what was troubling him so she wouldn't be heartbroken.

She loved songs, and would sing them under her breath when she got scared, so he wrote her something that he hoped she would sing to herself someday.

"Marceline, it's just you and me in the wreckage of the world.

That must be so confusing for a little girl.

And I know you're going to need me here with you,

But I'm losing myself, and I'm afraid you're gonna lose me too.

This magic keeps me alive, But it's making me crazy

And, I need to save you, but, who's going to save me?

Please forgive me for whatever I do When I don't remember you"

Author's Note: I wrote this roughly two and a half years ago, and it got tucked away on an old blog I used to write. I am back into the writing scene, so for those of you waiting for more, this should tithe you over until I polish what I'm working on now. It is not RWBY, but I wanted to unearth a little something until my JNPR Flip Flop work is ready to be published.