TITLE: Grove's Prayer
GENRE: Drama
SUMMARY: Grove has a few poetic thoughts before he dies, in a tribute to Dante's Inferno. In memory of Grove, may he live on in our hearts.
AN: I recently re-watched Bloodlust and I felt bad, all over again, when Grove died. Well, suffice to say, I wanted to do this fic, so please, bear with me.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the Vampire Hunter D characters, nor will I ever. I also do not own the prayer that is scribed here, it was written long ago by Dante, who wrote Dante's Inferno. Enjoy.
Grove's Prayer
By J.L. Stone
The needle sinks deep into fragile, placid skin, but I do not wince. A smile spreads thin lips, dim eyes close and I float, weightless, above my broken body.
When
the dark wood fell before me,
And all the paths were
overgrown.
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I
tilled the sorrows of stone.
Too many enemies and lives have come and gone for me to give up now. Even as I manifest, bright and vivid, I do not waver an instant as the castle grows nearer, my soul stregthens. Is Leila okay? Will she stand and fight when all hope seemed lost? Could she stand and fight when the end arrived?
I
did not believe because I could not see,
Though you came to me in
the night.
When the dawn seemed forever lost,
You showed me
your love in the light of the stars.
Cast
your eyes on the ocean,
Cast your soul to the sea.
When the
dark night seems endless
Please remember me.
A hit, I knows I'm struck, but I will not falter. Onward I float, light as a feather, but how strong can I be? Not strong enough, but Leila . . . she could be dying! I float until I see familiar faces, a flash of pain cuts deep, but I will not stop . . .
Then
the mountain rose before me,
By the deep well of desire.
From
the fountain of forgiveness . . .
Beyond the ice and the fire.
The Dunpeal Hunter! He is a bad man . . . indeed . . . he's not a bad man at all, but what does Leila think of the dunpeal? She loves him. Leila . . . do you love me?
Though
we share this humble path, alone:
How fragile is the heart?
Oh
give these clay feet wings to fly,
To touch the face of the stars.
Borgoff! What's happened to you! I blast his arm to ribbons. His face so wicked and twisted . . . not the same man I once knew . . . she's taken him into her arms . . . I'll take him into mine. I ignite my soul to smouldering whisps of what I once was . . . Leila . . . you're okay. . .
I wake gasping and the air seems thinner than it had moments, perhaps hours before. I cry out but no sound comes from my parched throat and the needle falls away from my grasp to roll away from me in mocking freedom. I raise a shaking hand as if to grasp for it. I take a hitching breath and lay there on my back, sweat soaked hair in my face, lips parted to show gritted teeth. My eyes are mostly pupil now, their natural color pushed back into nothingness. My feet drum against the sheets, pushing them away in frantic fright. I am dying and there is no one here to ease my passing, no sleep to halt the pain that spreads like fire through my veins . . . through my bones and nerves.
Breathe
life into this feeble heart:
Lift this mortal veil of fear.
Take
these crumbled hopes, etched with tears,
We'll rise above these
earthly cares.
I grasp for the air, my lungs hitch and suck vainly at the oxygen, but are denied sustanance. . .
What is this darkness? What is this . . . peace?
Cast
your eyes on the ocean,
Cast your soul to the sea.
When the
dark night seems endless,
Please remember me.
Leila . . .
Please
remember me . . .
Please remember me . . .