you're a beautiful
She could feel the blush come up on her cheeks slowly, partly because of what she was staring at and mostly because she knew she WAS staring. The exotic looks had been expected when she had first taken note of his hair color; he had been sitting majestically atop a military horse, but covered head to foot, so she couldn't get anything from him besides the FEELING of power and strength.
But now the decorative helmet was lifted, and her jaw was practically sitting on her chest. The strands of gold glinted and shimmered as they settled back into position, almost but not quite obscuring the intense eyes, and just accenting the ivory skin into looking more perfect. Few things could make her mind completely stop and focus - despite popular opinion - but the absolutely flawless, cold beauty this man exuded froze her in place.
a beautiful fucked-up man
There never anything else to do, so she had gone looking for him. Found him in the first place she looked: down in the dungeons. She curled up in a less dirty spot and rested her chin on her knees. His arm lifted again and again, biceps flexing slightly, shoulder blades retracting and relaxing, with her idly watching his morning exercise.
He left her every day before dawn - got dressed in only breeches and a thin shirt no matter what the chill - and made his way out into the darkness. She always woke to a bed grown cold. She always waited until the sun rose, then went to find him. Every day, she hoped to find him elsewhere, to not have to watch this and know she was losing more and more sympathy. Every day, she found him here, watched and felt herself grow more and more detached. Every day, realizing how dead his heart must be to be able to inflict this, how that dead heart couldn't see or feel this simple creature's pain. Realizing such a dead heart wouldn't love.
Ashitare barely whimpered. The whip kept its pace.
Every day, over and over, again and again. Every day, she came down here to kill her own heart.
you're spreading out your
It was good that her fingers only shook a little bit. It meant she was strong, didn't need anyone. The broken porcelain drew a neat red line across her left wrist; didn't need herself.
"That girl left you."
Three months later: she wished her fingers would stop shaking. Wanted to yank to door open and scream scream scream at them both. Stupid little liar, greedy little liar who was taking him away her, taking her away from.. her seishi, who would look at her calmly. Steadily.
"She didn't care when you were in pain."
Give a miko a choice: Miaka chose to return for her love and lie to her best friend; the best friend decided to be make a show of being honest. Her fingers stopped shaking when she wrapped them around the red scroll.
Three weeks later, she was in a warm bath listening to him spit and drivel accusations. Her fingers were only shaking because of the chill in the air; his angry steps slowed and her hands stilled when she clenched them into fists.
"You'll allow her happiness?"
razor wire shrine
He'd left his miko back at her strange home. Now, his opponent was the only familiar thing to him in this city of height and sound and metal. Smiling grimly, he considered the thought a bit, followed it to its ends. His family, lying slain inside shadows; his "older brother" buried under snow. Chiriko insisting on death inside Byakko's temple; Mitsukake spent and crumpled in a make-shift hospital. Hotohori tossed to the ground to die on the battlefield.
He wished any of them were here now, but he'd fight alone because he had to and he wanted to - to win for them. He turned to face death, and its blue eyes regarded him coolly.
------------
"Building A Mystery" © Sarah McLachlan
"Fushigi Yuugi" and the characters of Nakago, Miaka, Soi, Yui, and Tamahome © Watase Yuu
http://www.geocities.com/sirsta
-t.e.d. 3/2/02
She could feel the blush come up on her cheeks slowly, partly because of what she was staring at and mostly because she knew she WAS staring. The exotic looks had been expected when she had first taken note of his hair color; he had been sitting majestically atop a military horse, but covered head to foot, so she couldn't get anything from him besides the FEELING of power and strength.
But now the decorative helmet was lifted, and her jaw was practically sitting on her chest. The strands of gold glinted and shimmered as they settled back into position, almost but not quite obscuring the intense eyes, and just accenting the ivory skin into looking more perfect. Few things could make her mind completely stop and focus - despite popular opinion - but the absolutely flawless, cold beauty this man exuded froze her in place.
a beautiful fucked-up man
There never anything else to do, so she had gone looking for him. Found him in the first place she looked: down in the dungeons. She curled up in a less dirty spot and rested her chin on her knees. His arm lifted again and again, biceps flexing slightly, shoulder blades retracting and relaxing, with her idly watching his morning exercise.
He left her every day before dawn - got dressed in only breeches and a thin shirt no matter what the chill - and made his way out into the darkness. She always woke to a bed grown cold. She always waited until the sun rose, then went to find him. Every day, she hoped to find him elsewhere, to not have to watch this and know she was losing more and more sympathy. Every day, she found him here, watched and felt herself grow more and more detached. Every day, realizing how dead his heart must be to be able to inflict this, how that dead heart couldn't see or feel this simple creature's pain. Realizing such a dead heart wouldn't love.
Ashitare barely whimpered. The whip kept its pace.
Every day, over and over, again and again. Every day, she came down here to kill her own heart.
you're spreading out your
It was good that her fingers only shook a little bit. It meant she was strong, didn't need anyone. The broken porcelain drew a neat red line across her left wrist; didn't need herself.
"That girl left you."
Three months later: she wished her fingers would stop shaking. Wanted to yank to door open and scream scream scream at them both. Stupid little liar, greedy little liar who was taking him away her, taking her away from.. her seishi, who would look at her calmly. Steadily.
"She didn't care when you were in pain."
Give a miko a choice: Miaka chose to return for her love and lie to her best friend; the best friend decided to be make a show of being honest. Her fingers stopped shaking when she wrapped them around the red scroll.
Three weeks later, she was in a warm bath listening to him spit and drivel accusations. Her fingers were only shaking because of the chill in the air; his angry steps slowed and her hands stilled when she clenched them into fists.
"You'll allow her happiness?"
razor wire shrine
He'd left his miko back at her strange home. Now, his opponent was the only familiar thing to him in this city of height and sound and metal. Smiling grimly, he considered the thought a bit, followed it to its ends. His family, lying slain inside shadows; his "older brother" buried under snow. Chiriko insisting on death inside Byakko's temple; Mitsukake spent and crumpled in a make-shift hospital. Hotohori tossed to the ground to die on the battlefield.
He wished any of them were here now, but he'd fight alone because he had to and he wanted to - to win for them. He turned to face death, and its blue eyes regarded him coolly.
------------
"Building A Mystery" © Sarah McLachlan
"Fushigi Yuugi" and the characters of Nakago, Miaka, Soi, Yui, and Tamahome © Watase Yuu
http://www.geocities.com/sirsta
-t.e.d. 3/2/02