A/N: I know this isn't clear. That's how I intended it to be: confusing. Yet I'm sure you can pull quite a number of things out of this. :) He is Rokudou Mukuro, and she is Chrome Dokuro.
"How long have you fooled me?" he asked, torn arms laying in their stately manner on the the rests of his favoured crimson Victorian chair. The blood seeping into the velvet would only be noticed hours later, when his corpse was removed and you ran your fingers over the dried blood stains turned brown by time.
You were standing before him. When the years passed, you would reflect on that fact and revel in it; in its irony, its rightfulness, its sorrow. He waited for your answer, ancient eyes no longer having that alluring effect on you, but their perception nearly taking your breath away, nevertheless. The skylight was positioned exactly above him, the moonlight shining through it accentuating his features, his patient smile, his silken blue hair.
His blood.
A smile did not grace your lips. Tears empty of emotion streamed down your cheeks, as you held his sharp gaze, your features carefully blank. Or was it dangerous? At the moment it didn't matter -- you finally had your safety, he his eternal slumber. In hours. Only hours.
"You ask me this," you reply, your proximity to him almost uncomfortably magnifying the volume of your words, "yet you believe you are still missing knowledge? Where is your wisdom now?"
His smile did not falter, as you knew it wouldn't. Still he played his games with you, feigned ignorance for pleasure and entertainment, even in his time of death. There was nothing he wasn't aware of, nothing that caught him by surprise.
"With you, isn't it?" Questions, always questions. Never straight answers, always guessing. This would be where his fingers drum slowly on the edge of the armrest, but the tendons attached to them were shredded, hot thick liquid spilling from the open wounds, trailing down and around the wood of the chair's feet; a sickly pattern. It did not pool on the floor -- at least, not that either of them could see, as a layer of fog, mist, shrouded the ground, their ankles. It emanated from him.
His time was close.
"There is not a thing you have forgotten," you inform him, taking something just shy of a step closer to him. He would have flicked his eyes to your feet, but not only couldn't he see them, you knew he would not want to lose sight of the one to take him to his grave. "You are too selfish to relinquish your treasures."
Obviously you said something that delighted him. His head tilted just a fraction, harsh and tender smile reaching his keen eyes, which stared more intently at you than ever before. "Then why ever do you think you can escape me this time?"
The underlying tones to his cheerful voice caused you to take that nigh step back, head bowing moderately, overflowing tears dripping from your cheeks to fall, disappear in the mist down below. Your dulled eyes peeked up, a hint of anger and adoration glinting over them. "What makes you think I am the one escaping?" you retaliate, and his head tilted the other way, the smirk turning crooked. "The only one I have ever freed is you," you continue. "And now, we will be free of each other."
You decided to take that step toward him again, then another, until your knees were a hairsbreadth from his. All you could smell now was the wet, cleansing, intoxicating scent of his mist, and no longer the suffocating odor of old, dusty books. It was only fitting to kill him where similarities to him were abound -- here, infinite knowledge can die with him.
"We will never be free."
Review, please!
9/6/08