Disclaimer: Don't own GW/SM or Oscar Wilde.

Notes: Angst! Angstangstangst. xD And very forced Christmas references, lol. Actually the story probably would've been better off without the Christmas aspect. xD Enjoy, please. :

…

Black Swan

an angelight "Christmas" fic

…

Artemis did not guide her that night; the goddess was taking her monthly leave to reunite with her brother Apollo, and while the two charmed each other with gifts of stars – white dwarfs from Artemis, red giants from Apollo – she was left with nothing but a raven sky interrupted by the distant burn of cosmic lights. 1

To her right, in the distance, she could see a house decked with off-white and red and green pinpricks of brightness, each flashing on and off until the effect was almost hallucinogenic and made her faint with vertigo. She had been confused at first by this ensemble but had decided that it was just a human attempt to celebrate Artemis's gift to Apollo, a poor imitation for the lights seemed tainted and jaundiced compared to the chastity of the stars.

To her left was the lake.

The lake.

She knew it well and had not needed Artemis's help in finding it, but she had to admit to feeling a little lonely without the gentle goddess's presence as she pulled the golden moon locket from her neck and left it by the willow tree. 2 Its dying tendrils swayed as winter sighed and began to weep tears of ice, adding to the snow already piled around the dormant tree's roots.

Her breath frosted the air in front of her like fairy dust against the blackness; her white dress did little to protect her from the snow, and she rubbed the skim of goosebumps on her pale forearms in an awkward attempt to keep warm.

Then, with a shuddering voice that slowly mellowed to melodic sweetness, she sang to the night. Her voice rose and fell and rose again, trembling but dulcet as she thanked Artemis and Apollo for another year of sun and moonrises. She gazed up at Polaris and Sirius and Proxima Centauri and then at a new white speck drawing nearer and nearer until the wine of joy flowed into her song and she beamed in recognition. 3 Its six-foot-long wings beat the night air and stirred the streamers of her silver-blonde hair; it landed and uttered the long, eerily wild cry of a swan before slipping into the lake, disturbing its misty reflection of the night sky. 4 Another joined it. And then another, and another, and another until the clearing was filled with nothing but the keening wails of swans and the sweetness of her voice.

…………………

"Stop the car, Duo."

"Excuse me? We're two minutes from the house; what do you want to do? Walk the rest of the way?"

"Stop the car. I thought I saw something."

"Jeez, man, I'm not your chauffer." With an exaggerated sigh and a roll of his sublimely liquid blue-purple eyes, Duo stepped on the brake and shifted the Bentley into park. He gaped as Hiiro stepped out into the drifting snow before brusquely calling over his shoulder, "I'm going down to the lake," and slamming the door. Duo stared at his retreating form, stunned for a moment before scrambling to follow, glad that they were already on the estate grounds and no stray car would travel down the narrow road.

"What the hell, Hiiro?" he yelled after him, his tenor voice almost swallowed whole by the gluttonous jaws of night; he jogged up to his childhood friend who had doggedly trekked beyond smooth asphalt, making his way haphazardly through the ensuing copse of trees. "What did you see? This'd better be good or I'm phoning Relena to tell her you're an absolute nutcase." His breath shattered the darkness with its paleness, and he glared at it; it should be a crime to be so cold.

Hiiro stopped abruptly, and Duo yelped in surprise, his long, auburn braid flailing helplessly in a sudden gust of wind. "Listen."

"To what? My teeth chattering?" Hiiro stood erect and taut, every nerve in him shuddering to hear the distant song; it sounded like something from a dream that he couldn't quite remember the ending of.

"Siren?" Duo murmured sarcastically next to him.

Hiiro flinched and continued walking, muttering, "Don't be a prick."

That was when they saw her. She stood out against the moonless night with almost phantasmagoric splendor. Her pale blonde hair was gathered into two buns on the top of her head before cascading down in silvery streamers until it almost kissed the stern ground. She seemed unafraid of the cold in her white dress that flirted with the coquettish wind, the ribbons in the back intertwining gently with her hair like Parisian lovers. At least ten white swans had gathered around her, their pristine feathers fluttering as they unfolded and refolded their wings so that she was enveloped as much in a flurry of snowflakes as of feathers.

Duo nudged him in friendly triumph. "Well, well, look who's right! Who's the prick now, prick?"

"You are," Hiiro growled. "Stay here."

"Be careful lest when you wake, you drown." 5

He slipped toward the willow, attempting to get closer to this strange silver lady without leaving the sanctity of the trees. 6 His arctic blue gaze was fixed entirely on her so he didn't see the golden locket until his foot kicked it and it flipped open. He glanced down and picked it up, pressing it to his ear to hear the same tinkling melody the girl was singing; its sound was lost in the loud euphony of the swans and her voice. Again, he was reminded of some distant dream buried in the graveyards of his memory.

Clutching the locket, he stepped away from the tree.

The swans noticed him first, and three opened wide their wings until they stretched six or seven feet as if attempting to protect her. The silver lady started and turned; Hiiro tensed as her eyes flashed an otherworldly blue-silver; upon reflection, he decided they were a very light blue-gray.

The clearing became silent; all the swans eyed him with bestial mistrust before the exquisite lady's mouth curved up into a smile.

"Hiiro. I knew you'd come." He hadn't changed at all, still the same chocolate locks that tangled with the wind and fell lazily in front of his cold, cold eyes; the violence of color brought out the seamless paleness of his skin, the mobility of his mouth, the aristocracy of his cheekbones. Shadow pooled at the hollow of his neck, and as he swallowed, his Adam's apple twitched, and she was reminded of the Oracle of Apollo. 7

He stiffened. "How do you know my name?"

She looked confused. "Do you not recall? It's me, Serenity." When his expression did not relent, hers crumbled a little. "You called me Usagi. Do you remember Usagi?" Her features dissolved into sorrow, and she turned away. "You do not recall. Artemis has said man's memory is lamentably brief."

He could not fathom her meaning and thus ignored her words with the arrogance of a god. "Come with me."

Serenity shot him a pleading look. "You know I cannot, Hiiro. I must return before Dawn wakes or she will chastise me for-" She stopped short at the sight of the locket he clutched in his right hand. He followed her gaze and smiled in comprehension, the smear of cruelty besmirching his thin lips until his eyes became sharp slivers of cold sapphire; he held it before him as if it were a weapon.

"Come with me," he repeated; there seemed to be the taint of celebration in power residing in his voice.

"No, Hiiro, give that back to me. Please." She shook her head slowly and moved toward him as if to snatch it. The swans jostled each other to get out of her way. "Please give it back to me, Hiiro; I need it to go back home." 8

"Don't argue with me. Come with me."

Her eyes lowered in quiet submission as the locket pulsed once; she could do nothing but obey.

They drove the rest of the two minutes to the chateau, Duo glancing in the rearview mirror occasionally just to make sure this Serenity wasn't a figment of his imagination; she looked as if she'd stepped out of a wintry myth.

"Where did the swans come from?" Hiiro asked her quietly in the smooth stillness of the car. "There hasn't been a single swan in that lake since last year. They stopped coming."

She said nothing.

"Answer me." Serenity shuddered; he was beginning to grasp the power of the locket.

"They follow me."

"Why?"

"Ever since birth, I was chosen by the swan." 9

"What does that mean?" The car pulled to a stop in front of the chateau, but nobody got out.

"It means … it means that I was born under Artemis's protection and will serve her."

"You serve her?" She seemed reluctant to reply so he attached an, "Answer me."

"I am a handmaiden to the Oracle of Artemis."

There was silence absolute before Duo moved to unbuckle his seatbelt and get out of the car. Hiiro pensively followed. "Follow us."

She sighed and obeyed.

…………………

Her room reminded her of Artemis's shrine. The walls were painted pale beige but within it were threads of silver that flashed exquisitely and intricately after she turned on the light. She stared at their patterns for a while, lost in their mystical labyrinth before turning to survey the white and gray sheets of her canopy bed and the immaculate pallor of the thick carpet under her feet. From the pale gray curtains of her bed dangled jewels; upon closer inspection, she decided they were diamonds. They did not interest her and made her shudder a little for they reminded her of Hades. 10

Her situation had seemed so surreal that she could hardly recall it with clarity, Hiiro's cruel smile flashing in and out of her mind's eye like a blurred photograph, an impressionist painting. And to imagine, this was the same Hiiro! The same Hiiro whom she had met the year before during her annual offering of song to Artemis and coaxed out of his lonely palace of glass.

He had said he loved her then.

Loved her.

He had begged her to stay when she was commanded to leave after one sweet day.

Begged her.

He had kissed her that night and proclaimed himself her soul-partner.

Kissed her.

And when she turned back to look at him one last time, he had smiled a smile so tender that she had almost turned away from Artemis's sweet call and returned to him.

Now all she had left were mottled and half-lucid memories, nothing compared to the image of the prince she had met the year before. Now there was nothing but a frigid hopelessness and blue flames of fury, regret, selfishness. She felt so unchaste like a tempest ready to rage through Hiiro's mind shouting shrill accusations of all she'd thought he promised her. Like a spoiled princess, she felt as if she deserved the world from him and the dark thoughts frightened her to such an extreme that she turned away from them, dismissing them as nonexistent like an overly naïve child.

It seemed that like her, Hiiro had become this cold, cruel being who knew all the intimacies of manipulation and power. His smiles seemed almost Satanic now, his gestures stilted, his eyes dulled by sin and a thousand dark desires.

He had, in essence, acquired all the heartlessness of a swan. 11

…………………

She awoke to distant voices from downstairs, and a thick, rose-colored dress had replaced her ephemeral white one on the one chair in the room. She looked around for her own but could not find it and so donned the foreign clothing before hesitantly exiting the room and climbing down the stairs. She headed toward the voices and found them in a dining room. Three pairs of eyes looked up to greet her over mugs of already cold coffee.

Hiiro stood reluctantly and cast her a cold glance. "This is Quatre," he motioned to the blonde young man who nodded and smiled curiously, "and you already know Duo." He sat down again with the casual negligence of those raised to believe they had innate wills to power and ignored her.

He was wrong though. She already knew Quatre as well, but strangely, not one of the three men remembered her. None had changed, of course, especially not Quatre who still harbored a strange mix of sorrow and joy in his gentle features and pale blue eyes. His hair glinted platinum blonde in the white winter sun streaming through expensive lace curtains, a color just a whisper darker than her own. She had known from the first time she'd met him, from his aesthetic flairs, his delicate tastes, that he must've been chosen by Aphrodite just as Duo, with his darting glances and quick rejoinders, must've been by Hermes. 12

And though Hiiro didn't cast her another ice-tipped glance and had instead turned his attention to his coffee as if it could whisper to him the meaning of life, Quatre and Duo both continued to stare at her as she sat opposite of them.

The silence chilled her, and she gazed bleakly at the sun outside the window, begging Apollo to, for his sister's sake, warm her. He did not heed her prayer.

"So why is everybody here?" she began uneasily, the bile of resentment at Hiiro's lack of regard rising to her throat until she almost choked on it.

"Hiiro's parents are holding a masque Christmas evening," Quatre explained. "Duo and I just arrived a bit earlier to relax and eat Christmas Eve dinner with him today."

"And Aspen and St. Bart's get boring after a while," Duo shrugged. 13

Then, the silence resumed, and in it, Serenity tried her hardest to staunch the flow of muckish thoughts of midnight hate and vermillion voluptuousness tempered with silver-white confusion at why they could not remember her. Had she been so insignificant in their minds? She tried her hardest to bar the protest but it burst through the tethers of her restraint – how dare they forget her?

"Excuse me for being so blunt but who are you exactly?" Quatre asked. Serenity looked up from her coffee and smiled wanly; Quatre couldn't help but smile back.

"I'm a handmaiden to Artemis's Oracle and Hiiro's mate." The addendum had been a feat of manipulation, and she carefully gauged the response.

All three men gaped.

"Hiiro?" Duo prompted, a vein of playfulness flowing merrily under his words.

They waited expectantly for his reply, Serenity's eyes glowing almost though with adoration or sin not even she herself could say.

Hiiro turned to her and seemed to be appraising her coolly; the note of arrogance in the upward tilt of his jaw was emphasized by the blandness of his expression. Slowly, the lines of cruelty appeared again around his mouth and eyes, and he replied, "Isn't it ironic that the handmaiden to Artemis is unchaste?"

Her eyes dimmed, and she looked down at her hands in her lap as Hiiro left the room. The most nightmarish thing of the reply had been its veracity.

The maid ushered in to carry away his untouched food.

"Wait." She looked questioningly up at Serenity who shook her head and asked, "May I take that to feed the swans?" The maid nodded, curtsied once, and exited.

Duo timidly broke the ensuing silence with a suppressed chuckle. "So, uh, define mate."

…………………

The wind was surprisingly relentless that morning but the pink dress that she had been given to wear was protective like a mother's embrace, and that along with the cream-colored, short jacket that the maid had provided before she left the house with three pieces of toast was enough to keep all but her ears and face warm. Her cheeks blushed a cool rose from the tenacious wind as she headed down to the lake.

A cacophony of shrills and calls greeted her as the swans swam to her, wings opened wide with welcome.

"It's eerie how they're attracted to you."

She jumped and turned to meet jade-colored eyes covered on one side by overhanging, chestnut bangs. A gander that she knew for his particular pride spread his wings at the man behind her as if to assert his dominance. The man nodded in reply as if the gander had spoken and sat down beside her, staring out over the lake.

"I'm Trowa Barton, a friend of Hiiro's." He made a motion with his head toward the chateau behind them.

She inclined her head and went back to feeding the swans, flustered but determined to ignore him.

"How did you like the others?" There was a quiet thoughtfulness in his voice, and she reminded herself that from the previous year, she had decided he must have been claimed by Apollo. 14

"They are all very cold," she replied and a gust of wind swept by as if to emphasize her point.

"They were brought up to be that way." He gazed back at a swan peering at him and reached over into her lap to retrieve a piece of toast before tossing it; another swan reached over and attempted to steal it, and the two squabbled over the toast a little before a third snatched it. Serenity watched it with a mild frown marring her face; the selfishness reminded her too much of herself. "As was I," he added as an afterthought.

"How so?"

"Well, let's see. Quatre is the son of a Saudi Arabian oil king, a father who spends most of his days in Saudi Arabia. His mother died sometime before he turned thirteen though none of us are sure when because he never talks about it. By the time he was eighteen, he found out his father also dabbled in the narcotics trade into America through Mexico. At that time he had fallen in love with a girl named Minako whom his father ordered shot because Quatre had insisted on marrying her; she was not of a proper social class."

Serenity remained silent, her head bowed, praying for Artemis to cleanse the world and her too, too sullied flesh. 15

"Duo is the heir of the Antinori estates and Italian wine empire except he is not a rightful heir, per se. He was the borne by a high-profile French prostitute whom his father instated as his mistress for the first two years of Duo's life and then abandoned in a decent-sized French mansion. Duo had visited her occasionally in his childhood and undoubtedly she fed him all sorts of poison regarding his father. He was teased at a very young age for being a bastard, and even now the rumor is that the estates might fall into the hands of his cousin Makoto though that in and of itself is an insult because the Antinori aristocracy had never had an heiress, always an heir." 16

He looked askance at her; her face was a glass mask of either horror or rage. He continued, reciting the facts as if they were nothing more than dates carved into history.

"Hiiro is perhaps the most difficult case. He is the heir to the De Beers fortune, and his mother died during childbirth. However, up until a year ago, he had seemed to be the least touched of the four of us. He had only been lonely and a bit antisocial, the characteristics of a neglected child, but had no particular personality faults. However, after Christmas, there had been a spark in his eyes, and we'd thought he had finally overcome his loneliness. However, from January first of this year, his father had begun to train him to lead De Beers. Perhaps he had become jaded, but Hiiro slowly changed before our eyes until he was almost demonic in his coldness." 17 There was a pause into silence before Trowa shrugged as if all he had said before had no meaning to him.

"As for me, I will someday head almost twenty percent of the U.S. tobacco industry," an uncharacteristic sneer almost robbed him of his ability to speak, "but all I want to do is paint. Which brings me to a curious point."

"Yes?" she prompted quietly, the toast already gone though the swans had stayed by her side, raising their heads every once in a while to bicker.

"I have at least five sketchbooks and three paintings filled with nothing but you." Trowa turned to eye her profile. "How is that, my dear muse?"

"You will not fault me for interrupting this liaison?" Both she and Trowa turned, startled by the sharp vinegar of sarcasm infused in those intrusive words. Hiiro answered their gazes coolly and continued, "Against my will, I have been sent to inform the two of you that lunch is served." With that, he turned and strode back toward the chateau.

…………………

There was a sorrow in being in the same house as Hiiro for he seemed almost to her a tragic hero who had fallen and could not upright himself and had long since given up; he reminded her too often of herself and her impurities that disallowed her from ever ascending to become Oracle of Artemis.

Outside, the thinnest sliver of the moon was visible from which Artemis peered at her and seemed to be calling Serenity to return to the temple so that she may once more serve her Oracle.

Serenity nodded in reluctant reply toward the moon before slipping out of her room, its beige and silver walls barely lit. She climbed down the stairs and headed toward the master bedroom.

The door was too well cared for to creak, and she slipped in without a sound, heading for the bedside drawer in which she was sure he kept the locket. Her heart drummed persistently in her head with the tenacity of thunder and her short gasps for breath sounded like hushed torrents of rain. He slept on, and she refrained from glancing at him for fear of losing herself in the perfection of his features.

The drawer stuck as she pulled and released with a soft thud. The locket, shifting in it, opened and began to play. His icy hand grabbed her wrist as she uttered a short cry.

"What do you think you're doing, handmaiden of Artemis?" he hissed, the wan moon catching the blue of his eyes as if Artemis wished to draw her attention to them.

She wrenched her wrist free, but he already had the locket clutched firmly in his hand. "Please let me go, Hiiro. I cannot live without Artemis."

"You cannot? Or you will not?"

"Both! But I need to return and without the locket—"

"You cannot," he finished, a darkly satisfied look laying itself to sleep over his features. "That is why I will keep the locket."

"Come with me, Hiiro," she requested, the panic of being caught dying, replaced by a cold fear at the bottom of her stomach that this could not have been the same Hiiro she'd met the year before, that he had become too similar to herself.

They walked toward the lake, the golden locket still clutched selfishly in Hiiro's fist. The night whispered rumors from the heavens to her, but she ignored it and resolutely walked ahead of him.

"Where the hell are you taking me?" he snarled at her in the night as if he were an unwilling animal being dragged by his captor when it was actually the other way around.

"I want to remind you of something … or to prove myself wrong," she replied in a low voice.

They reached the clearing. Artemis continued to spy on them through the thin sliver of the moon; all the other gods slumbered. "Stand here, Hiiro," she ordered and stepped three paces from him. The swans swam close to the shore and watched them curiously.

She began to sing. A song filled with foreign words that blended into one another and made his heart twitch. For fifteen minutes she sang and nothing happened. He felt as if he were becoming drowsy, but just as her song was dying, a black dot tainted the pure clarity of the moon and headed toward them, growing bigger and bigger until it loomed over them, it's wings blending in with the night. It wailed once and settled at Hiiro's feet.

"A black swan," he murmured, startled. He knelt before it as it plucked from its wing one long, black feather and held it to Hiiro who accepted it and stood again. The swan then entered the lake, its darkness offering high contrast against its white brethren who shied away at first and then accepted him as one of their own. When he turned back to Serenity, she was smiling.

"I was right. You are still swan-chosen. Artemis still favors you."

"That means?" he interrogated, brows arching arrogantly as he studied the feather.

"It means that as a black swan, you are yet my mate." He didn't reply. "But, Hiiro, I do have to return. Will you not give me back my locket?"

"No, I will not."

Her eyes became sorrowful. "What has happened to you this past year?"

…………………

Hiiro entered his bedroom with a faint sigh of relief, the black feather and golden locket in either hand clutched as if they were the last harbors of safety before his fall into the tumultuous ocean in which he would drown as Serenity held his head to her under the water.

He had not known how to answer her question for it was one he often posed for himself. What had happened the past year? He remembered himself turning completely away from the world around age twelve and from then on had ignored all human contact except that of Duo, Quatre, and Trowa. His father had remained distant then, somewhat of a figure in his dreams but nonetheless not one to command or trouble him.

Something happened this last year. It must have been the reinstatement of his father in his life. It must have been the realization of the real world.

His father had virtually forced him to turn back to face the world in all its ugliness and pettiness. He had forced Hiiro to travel to South Africa for the first half of this year and had taken him to visit the mines while there.

The mines were not pretty. Every diamond retrieved was stained by oppression and tragedy.

While there, his father had trained him in the matters of managing an international, monopolistic business, had shown him all the wiles and Machiavellian maneuvers patiently and fastidiously with delight and pride ringing in his ever word, had arrogantly described managing De Beers as realpolitik in the business sphere.

Perhaps it was then that he had become tired of the hypocrisy of the world? Hiiro had always wondered that. Either way, by the end of his stay, he had become an entirely different person even to himself. His dreams were filled with dark, sinful things – blood, quicksilver, mud. His prayers like those of King Claudius never again reached heaven. 17

Then he had seen her, two days before Christmas after a night of Dionysian pleasures in the city. She had seemed to him everything he had lost, and he wanted her close to him so that perhaps he could gain it all back, even if in the process he would take her life.

…………………

The next morning, when Trowa went upstairs to call her down to lunch because she had slept through breakfast and Hiiro appeared to be increasingly anxious, Serenity was still in bed and blinked up at him tiredly.

"You are unwell?" he inquired.

She nodded a little.

"You are dying," he stated.

She nodded again.

There was a lapse into silence before Trowa fished from his back pocket a miniature sketch pad and stub of a pencil and sat onto the bed next to her. Her silver blonde hair sprawled out across the purity of the pillow enthralled him as did her glazed blue-gray eyes, half hidden under lowered eyelids and long, fringed lashes.

"Have you ever heard the story of the nightingale and the rose?" he murmured, and she shook her head slightly indicating no. 18 "I memorized it when I was about seven years old because it had intrigued me so much. I think…" Trowa paused to weigh his next words, picking them out until he was sure they came exactly as he'd intended, "it is very similar to the way you and Hiiro treat each other." He looked back down at his sketch and continued shading. "Do you want to hear it?"

She nodded a little and offered a small smile; there was the joy of a caged bird in her precise features.

He cleared his throat and continued to sketch as he began the story:

"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose."

From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched."

"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale Ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow."

"'The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break."

"Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold."

"'The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her;" and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

"Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.

"Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.

"Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbor, in a soft, low voice.

"He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale.

"For a red rose!" they cried; "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it, she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year."

"One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?"

"There is a way," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you."

"Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid."

"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine."

"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?—"

"Please stop," Serenity whispered. Trowa looked up, half hypnotized by his own words, and saw the tears streaking down her face. "Please, please stop." It reminded her too much of all she was not, all Hiiro was not, all the world was not. She wished so much to return once more to Artemis and pray for chastity.

"You must hear the story. It will do you good," he coaxed, and finally she nodded in agreement.

So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.

The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

"Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-colored are his wings, and colored like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense."


The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.

But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.

"Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel very lonely when you are gone."


So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.

When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

"She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove – "that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good." And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.

He tried to ignore the sounds of her suppressed weeping and pressed onward, shading the delicate glow of her eyes.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.

And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.

And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."


So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

Out of the corner of his eye, Trowa saw Hiiro standing at the door, but Serenity was weeping too hard to notice so he ignored his second listener as well.

And the marvelous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.

But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.

Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.

"Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now;" but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.

And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

"Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!" he cried; "here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;" and he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

"You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose," cried the Student. "Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you."


But the girl frowned.

"I am afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered; "and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers."


"Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.

"Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has;" and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

"What a silly thing Love is," said the Student as he walked away. "It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics."

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

As he finished the story and his sketch, Serenity looked up and spied Hiiro, and she gave a start and sat up. He saw himself as a creature conquered and derided by vanity and selfishness and as he returned her watery gaze, he felt hot tears prick his cold eyes. 19

"I'll go get your locket," Hiiro whispered before turning and leaving the room.

…………………

By evening she was gone leaving him nothing more than small remembrances like the black feather he wore as part of his mask in the Christmas masquerade and the almost inaudible I love you echoing like springtime in the recesses of his mind. For a while he had wondered if he'd dreamt her but decided against it because the pain of losing her had seemed too tangible to be imagined. However, nobody noticed that Serenity was missing, and both Duo and Quatre had looked puzzled when he had inquired after her. Only Trowa smiled.

He had danced three times in a row with Relena – all that was proper even for fiancés – and tried to stop the aching in his heart, an ache, he reminded himself, not half as painful as the consecrated one of the Nightingale – or the desecrated one of the swan. Relena had looked worried but was as beautiful as ever, a sunbeam with hair kissed by gold and eyes of a vivid cornflower blue in the middle of winter flickering across the dance floor, the archetypal belle of the ball. Despite his coolness to her, her love for him overflowed and bubbled vivaciously, spilling over in her ebullient laughter and shining eyes.

Now here was a nightingale, he told himself, but could not forget the swan.

He had excused himself and walked out to the lake.

The swans had left after her departure. The moon was a slightly bolder sliver, and as he looked up at it, taking off his mask, he felt as if perhaps he understood what she had meant by you are chosen by Artemis.

He approached the other side of the lake and suddenly stopped short for a flicker of purest white had caught his eye. He followed it and peered into the bushes.

The black gander who had given him his feather spread its wings to shield his white mate. Hiiro looked over him and saw that she was beginning the foundations of a nest. 20

He was sure that by spring, the lake would be populated by cygnets. And then by the next Christmas when Serenity comes again, a lake of swans will be there to greet her. Swans and red roses.

…………………

Notes:

1. Artemis did not guide her that night; the goddess was taking her monthly leave to reunite with her brother Apollo, and while the two charmed each other with gifts of stars – white dwarfs from Artemis, red giants from Apollo – she was left with nothing but a raven sky interrupted by the distant burn of cosmic lights. – the meeting of brother and sister and exchanging gifts of stars is completely fictional and obviously are references to the new moon each month (when Artemis is "gone"). White dwarfs and red giants are types of stars.

2 .She knew it well and had not needed Artemis's help in finding it, but she felt a little lonely without the gentle goddess's presence as she pulled the golden moon locket from her neck and left it by the willow tree – THE golden moon locket from Sailor Moon, if you'll kindly recall. :

3. She gazed up at Polaris and Sirius and Proxima Centauri and then at a new white speck drawing nearer and nearer until the wine of joy flowed into her song and she smiled in recognition.- Polaris, Sirius, and Proxima Centauri are names of particularly bright stars.

4. Its six-foot-long wings beat the night air and stirred the streamers of her silver-blonde hair; it landed and uttered the long, eerily wild cry of a swan before slipping into the lake, disturbing its satiny sheen. – Just a note for clarification: the wingspan is 6-7 feet, not each wing. --;

5. "Be careful lest when you wake from this illusion, you drown." – Echoes the last line of T. S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

6. He slipped toward the willow, attempting to get closer to this strange silver lady without leaving the sanctity of the trees.- phrase "silver lady" belongs to Kiwi-chan. :

7. Shadow pooled at the hollow of his neck, and as he swallowed, his Adam's apple twitched, and she was reminded of the Oracle of Apollo. – Before we proceed further, I'd like to explain this. Bits and pieces of this fic was inspired by The Light of the Oracle by Victoria Hanley. In this fic, there are Oracles for each of the gods and the gods speak through them to human beings however compared to Hiiro's world, it's something of an alternate universe because Hiiro's world is our own. It's up to you to decide whether Serenity belongs in a more mystical world completely separate of Hiiro's or what though that was something of the impression I hoped to give. These oracles are chosen and represented by birds. More on the specifics in later notes.

8. "Please give it back to me, Hiiro; I need it to go back home." – In this aspect of the story, I seem to have been inspired by a particular fairy tale … I can't recall the title but it was about a swan princess or something taking off her feathers to bathe and a man found it and knew that without it, she cannot leave him so he kept it. I can't remember the ending for the heck of me, either. xD

9. "Ever since birth, I was chosen by the swan." – Again, the issue of being chosen by a bird and receiving its protection.

10. They did not interest her and made her shudder a little for they reminded her of Hades. – Hades reigns over the underworld and is said to possess all the earth's riches – i.e. its jewels and precious metals.

11. He had, in essence, acquired all the heartlessness of a swan. – the infamy of swans for being cruel creatures

12. She had known from the first time she'd met him, from his aesthetic flairs, his delicate tastes, that he must've been chosen by Aphrodite just as Duo, with his darting glances and quick rejoinders, must've been by Hermes. – Even though Serenity exists in a kind of separate universe, to the people of Hiiro's world, she tacks of certain characteristics that she assumes is representative of the god/goddess who chose him. Obviously, Aphrodite is love and beauty and Hermes is wit and speed.

13. "And Aspen and St. Bart's get boring after a while," – expensive vacations? xD

14. she had decided he must have been claimed by Apollo. – I chose Apollo for Trowa because Apollo is patron of arts (though I wasn't sure if it was just music) and of logic (is it? Apollonian vs. Dionysian – logic vs. emotion) and Trowa is, of course, particularly insightful.

15. praying for Artemis to cleanse the world and her too, too sullied flesh – oh that this too, too sullied flesh would melt – Hamlet reference.

16. the Antinori aristocracy had never had an heiress, always an heir – The Antinori wine empire does exist and the family does have aristocratic ties.

17. De Beers – diamond monopoly. Owns a whole lot of the known diamond minds, the "a diamond is forever" ads. Yes, it belongs to the Oppenheimer family but excuse my artistic license. :

18. His prayers like those of King Claudius never again reached heaven. – Hamlet reference.

19. The Nightingale and the Rose – A short story by Oscar Wilde.

20. He saw himself as a creature conquered and derided by vanity and selfishness and as he returned her watery gaze, he felt hot tears prick his cold eyes. – Echoes the last line of "Araby" from James Joyce's Dubliners.

21. Hiiro looked over him and saw that she was beginning the foundations of a nest. – Okay, I'm fairly positive swans do not mate during the dead of winter but again, please excuse my artistic license. xD

Happy Holidays, minna-sama. :D