Disclaimer:The novel "The Picture of Dorian Gray" belongs to Oscar Wilde. The 2009 movie "Dorian Gray" belongs to Momentum Pictures. I claim to be neither and I am making no profit. However, Roderick Lewin belongs to me so yay.
Warning: This fic is slash. Not explicit, not dirty, but still slash. As in 'male/male romantic relationship' and not 'cutting something open'. I very much doubt that there are any Dorian Gray fans who have a big problem with that, but if by chance you happen to be offended by such things, proceed no further.
Author's Note: This is the sequel to 'Accidental Butterflies' and unfortunately it won't make much sense unless you've read the first. It's also mainly movie based but it's readable even if you haven't watched the movie. For a short summary of important movie/book differences, check part one. The good news is that 'Accidental Butterflies' is not too long so you might as well go and read it. The other good news is that this sequel is finished and I'll update as soon as I'm sure at least one person is reading. Which basically means that just like any author I live on reviews. A few words from you will mean a lot. Feedback is greatly appreciated and worshipped.
Prologue
It had happened so fast – almost without a conscious thought. As if a puppeteer had pulled a string and Dorian's hand had struck.
He watched Basil collapse on the floor, blood pouring down his white shirt and disbelief in his eyes. Dorian's own eyes were full of disbelief, too. This seemed surreal. He remembered taking the piece of glass from the broken mirror and thinking 'If he tries to leave now, I will kill him'. But he hadn't actually meant it, had he? He had just been imagining, pretending. He had been angry at the painter for not understanding. Call a priest? Honestly, Basil!
In Dorian's eyes, it was he who had been betrayed and disappointed. Thoughts that were both bitter and spiteful had run through his head as he had watched his friend's disapproving reflection in the mirror.
Why can't you just accept me as I am? Youth and beauty are the two things I have – the only things! What will I do if I lose them? I am good at nothing apart from making people want me. And you know even you wouldn't want me if I was not beautiful.
You are always so afraid and ashamed of what you feel. Do you really want me to be like that too? Oh, Basil, afraid and ashamed is what I had been my whole life before I met Harry. I wanted, I needed something different…
Then Basil had tried to walk out the door. Walk out with Dorian's secret. His instincts had taken over and what Dorian had only been imagining had played out for real.
Now an overwhelming sense of pity seized him as he looked down at the man on the floor – his first real friend – choking on his own blood. Instantly he wanted to take it all back – both words and actions – and make things right again. He wanted to heal the wounds, to erase the sadness from the painter's features. If he were to kiss Basil right now, it would be sincere.
But, just like with Sybil, those feelings came too late. Both Sybil and Basil had loved him and that was their mistake. Dorian had said it himself once – he turned all love into death.
'God, help me!' he pleaded desperately in a rare moment of true regret.
But there was no thunder or lightening. No giant hand reached from the skies to set things right. In the quiet, dusty air of the attic room he could only hear Basil's failing breaths, his own blood rushing in his ears and an odd sound from the portrait behind his back. Like crumpling paper. He didn't look. He didn't want to. Perhaps it was the sound of his painted skin shriveling and wrinkling.
Suddenly he was angry. What use was regret if it couldn't change anything?
The walls closed around his heart again and the twisted arguments he normally used to silence his conscience returned. Perhaps it was his destiny to experience everything, to know what every sin felt like while the rest of humanity was too afraid to live.
He wrapped a piece of cloth around his hand where he had cut it. He had to finish what he had started. There was no saving Basil now. Dorian had to try and save himself. He could not leave the painter dying on the floor and call for help. They would be too late and what use would it be? He would be hanged for murder and that wouldn't bring Basil back. He had to kill him now and get rid of the body. It was the only thing to do.
He took a step forward.
End Note: Yes, I realize this is basically a repeat of the scene in the movie from Dorian's point of you but I promise you there will be no more of that in later chapters. At all. But this is the prologue after all and I had to start where I left over last time. Bear with me and keep reading, I promise you will get hooked if you have just a little bit of patience.
