Prologue -
It was happening again. That damnable dream. But it was oh so sweet. He could see her, touch her skin, take in her scent, even hold her in his arms. The problem however was the dream always took place in an impossible time. The buildings, clothes, and even the music and food was different there. So much different than anything he'd seen during his long and often tiresome exsistance. Why was it always the same? Night after night it was always the same. But oh, if she were real. If the dreams were something more than subconscious torture. What bliss that would be. Moaning softly in his sleep, his desire playing hell with him as it always did when this dream came to torment him, he feels her. In his darkened room, in a lonely bed, a longing mozaku reaches out for something and someone who will never be there. A thin sheen of sweat breaks upon his pale flesh as the moonlight dances unlovingly upon his silken amethyst hair. Feeling his hands empty, he curls himself into a little ball, and in his sleep cries tears unshed for hundreds of years. Alone in a dark room, a lonely mazoku awakens, angrily wiping the aggravating tears from his glittering eyes. In a darkened room, in a far away land, in an impossible time, on a forgotten island...a lonely mozaku screams......
It was happening again. That damnable dream. But it was oh so sweet. He could see her, touch her skin, take in her scent, even hold her in his arms. The problem however was the dream always took place in an impossible time. The buildings, clothes, and even the music and food was different there. So much different than anything he'd seen during his long and often tiresome exsistance. Why was it always the same? Night after night it was always the same. But oh, if she were real. If the dreams were something more than subconscious torture. What bliss that would be. Moaning softly in his sleep, his desire playing hell with him as it always did when this dream came to torment him, he feels her. In his darkened room, in a lonely bed, a longing mozaku reaches out for something and someone who will never be there. A thin sheen of sweat breaks upon his pale flesh as the moonlight dances unlovingly upon his silken amethyst hair. Feeling his hands empty, he curls himself into a little ball, and in his sleep cries tears unshed for hundreds of years. Alone in a dark room, a lonely mazoku awakens, angrily wiping the aggravating tears from his glittering eyes. In a darkened room, in a far away land, in an impossible time, on a forgotten island...a lonely mozaku screams......
