Beauty in Breakdown
Authors Note: Random drabble inspired at some ungodly hour in the morning, first composed longhand before typed on the computer. Dedicated to Cooper Writer Crafter, who is a devoted Misa Amane fan. Hopefully, I've done Misa's character justice in my humble writing. On another note, I also apologize for the brevity of his piece. However, I believe if I extended it, it would've lost its emotional impact. Otherwise--enjoy.
The aesthetics of decadence involve beauty in breakdown, passion in pathos. When Misa Amane heard about the death of her beloved, she did not weep. No, something more profound than the guise of tears afflicted the blonde--all elation and vitality literally seeped out of her. Light was more than a revolutionary symbol of justice; he was her everything. Misa completely devoted herself entirely to him (and Kira); she even would've willingly given up her own life in exchange for his. Such is the profundity of love; how bitterly Shakespearian this all was. Behold the sad-eyed seraphs who bear witness to this tragedy.
Let the sinner mourn in silence; see how she turns, a halo of golden hair obscuring her face from view while she clutches her silver cross necklace in her hand. She's wearing funeral black for the occasion, eyes tinted a seraphic blue and lips glossed over in Eden-red. The blond strides through the streets with the dignity and calm reminiscent of a geisha. Her ruffled dress swirls around her in a theatrical display, a woman resplendent in meticulous lace and silken splendor--how Pygmalion would've wept. Here she stands atop the parapet, still as a statue, milk-white as the famed Galatea as she gazes at the backdrop of the city seemingly captured in infinite dawn, a perfect portrait of Botticelli rapture.
How lovely, how pure! Such beauty painfully wrought into breathtaking blasphemy in a tangle of thorns and a halo noose around the pillar of her neck. Without hesitation, Misa steps off the parapet, still a picture of the utmost grace even while falling. No last words, no sentimental goodbyes. Just the final leap and the concrete waiting below her. She closes her eyes to the vertiginous delirium, senses numbed by the heartstopping plunge. Maybe it's the wind-rushing sensation or perhaps Misa's going insane, but she hears a chorus of angels in the throes of her liberating free-fall. Whether it's the blood rushing in her head or a merciful hallucination her dying consciousness is giving her, Misa doesn't care.
Let the angels sing their lamentations.
Watch as the halo noose fades to black.
