This is a first for me on here. I've been writing for many years now, but have not published anything on to date (started on livejournal - home of emos and sadists!). Not sure this is the best thing I have ever written, but I'm quite fond of it and decided to share. Anyone who isn't into slightly disturbing things, I suggest you don't read.
Title: Augury Of Innocence (one-shot)
Rating: T
Summary: Ryou's life changed the day he heard a voice in his head. But surely the sinister whisperings in his mind only want what's best for him? (Themes of death, multiple personality disorder)
Disclaimer: How I wish I owned Ryou, Malik and various other beautiful people. Unfortunately, Kazuki Takahashi still has full possession. Unlike me with my sanity...
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The tips of Ryou's fingers prickle, but he cannot move his arms from underneath the weight draped across them. He continues to look down at the startling contrast – bronze against snowy white – as he has done for the past however many minutes. It amazes him that in some circumstances even the warmth of bronze can dull to a cold, silent blue. Previously he would not have thought the transformation possible.
But then, there are a lot of things he would previously have believed to be impossible: the strength conferred by faith; the necessity of some unbelievable tasks...
The way a neck can bend so far before it cracks.
The amount of blood a body can contain, even when the heart has ceased to beat.
Ryou feels the crimson stickiness beginning to dry his clothes stiff.
It's over, hikari, hisses the voice in his head, cold and comforting. You have done well.
He sniffs, nods.
You will become used to it in time. The first is always the hardest.
But Ryou does not particularly want to get used to it. 'First' is a word with ominous connotations to him now.
"But why him?" he asks, knowing that he shouldn't, not really caring. He feels a sharp, icy stinging in his cheek, as though the flat of a cold, cold hand has collided with his skin. He blushes furiously, hangs his head.
Fool, comes the voice. You should know better than that by now.
Ryou doesn't gather breath to apologise. The voice knows his guilt.
He wishes he could free one of his hands, to let the fingers dance, pale and spidery, along the delicate tracery of veins on the inside of a bronze arm, to brush them over the torn crimson hole and feel the texture of hundreds of microscopic layers of human tissue, but he will not move yet. Not until he knows that it is permitted.
The voice hisses in his ear once more, conciliatory: Since you are showing such a desire to be clever today, perhaps you can answer your own question.
Ryou smiles slightly. It is a sad smile, but he is content. He knows the answer to this one, and knows that the voice will be proud of him. "It's for my own good," he whispers. "I was protecting myself, because I am weak, and I need to know how to defend myself if you leave."
He shudders to think that the voice may someday leave him. It is a terrifying thought which fills him with emptiness. He doesn't want it to ever happen, because the voice takes good care of him. The voice warns him when he is in danger, and teaches him to fight it. He would be lost without the voice's guidance.
And why him in particular?
"Because he knew about you. He would have told someone, and you would have been taken away from me."
Ryou feels the cold golden glow of approval in his mind. He sees the yawning red smile of praise in a torn bronze neck. They are proud of him for doing right. This was necessary; the cooling body in his arms understood. Numb, Ryou smiles to himself sadly.
Always sadly, because he is not allowed to be cheerful.
The tips of his fingers bloom with a cold blue. He can no longer feel them, any more than his friend
could feel the ends of his fingers any longer. In an odd way, they are now more alike than ever.
And now, Yadonushi, what must you do?
He has been dreading this moment. For some reason he is reluctant to separate the contact between his pale skin and the flesh that was once warm like the heat of the Sun it had worshipped. He takes in the cracked, blue-gold lips, the wide, dull violet eyes, the stillness of a bare chest spotted with bottomless twisted holes.
This is his beautiful masterpiece.
"I must destroy it," he replies, his voice so faint that even the dust is undisturbed.
Very good.
He is doing well today: this is the third time in as many minutes that the voice has been pleased with him. He is learning, he realises. This is all working towards some brilliant outcome in the future which he is being prepared for. He is excited at the prospect of his success, but nervous at the same time. He knows that the voice would never allow him to be hurt. The future will be a glorious thing.
You may begin.
Finally, Ryou removes his arms from beneath the cold, stiffening body. His fingers prickle and burn fiercely. It takes several attempts before they will be persuaded to curl around the lifeless blade. It is hungry, he knows: hungry for work, and he will give it sustenance.
Ryou's knife bites into the dead flesh and begins to sever the limbs of the corpse who was once his friend.
** Owari **
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So, love or hate? Probably hate, for what I do to my beloved characters... Anyways, invisible cookies for all reviewers!