A Teen Titans Fanfiction

Love Like Crystal Roses

The people have spoken. During my hiatus, I've gotten some reviews and mulled them over as I thought about my story. In the end I decided to scrap it. This time around, I hope it will be much better. I won't be able to post as much as I normally would. Each chapter will get the utmost scrutiny and will probably take longer, but I will try my best to make it worth while. Thank you and enjoy the story!

Prologue:

Angel

She walked down the hallways slowly, taking in the scenery and sounds of the house she'd come to know as her own. The walls were of sturdy Oakwood; polished to perfection and adorned with various pictures and portraits. There were also mirrors and baubles and anything else that could be hung; it was her idea to add variety, yet remain true to the décor.

Her husband didn't mind in the slightest. If anything, she thought he gave her too wide a berth to be considered proper. Regardless, he doted on her and wouldn't settle for anything less that what he could give, so she allowed it.

His room was at the end of the hall with the largest painting in the house next to it. It was a painting of a woman wearing a pure white dress adorned with pearls. Her long, ebony hair was piled atop her head and centered with a tiara of the finest silver set with many diamonds. The woman smiled shyly as she clutched a bouquet of brilliantly white long-stemmed roses. They were her favorite, her husband knew, so he sent for the most perfect roses he could find and presented them to her hours before the ceremony.

It never ceased to amaze her how wonderful a man he was.

She walked in without knocking, the only one in the household allowed to do such a thing. It let him know that it was her, and he had nothing to hide.

"Rayne….come here my dear."

She obliged him, sitting beside him on the large bed he bought especially for her. Finely crafted from the purest wood and carved with decorations of winding ivy and roses, it was easily a masterpiece. She was happier at the look of her husband's face when he saw her delight; she didn't think he could smile that widely or lift her up as he did. Sometimes the smallest amount of strain could do him in, but that day, he was ten men.

"Tell me about your day."

He pulled her under the covers with him and bundled her up, taking in the scent of her hair and the warmth from her petite frame. She was like a doll in his arms, a pleasant doll he couldn't help but spoil and pamper. And she was his; that was the best part.

"I went walking through the park. Circled around it three times before walking into the city. It was starting to wake up a little. I had a cup of warm milk and a bagel. I window-shopped for a few minutes, found this beautiful dress that looked like it could be silk and bought it. Then I ran through the bookstore, picked up one particular book that caught my eye, and came running home to jump until the covers with you."

"…let me see it."

"See what?"

"The dress. Let me see the dress."

"Okay…why?"

"Get the dress." he smirked and smacked her bottom, "Right now."

She squealed and hopped out of bed, laughing as she ran back down the hall to retrieve her bags. She ran back to the room, set down the other bags and held up the dress for him to see.

He rolled his eyes, groaning a bit as he sat up a little farther in the bed, "On you darling."

Grinning, she stripped off the white sweater and jeans she threw on that morning and slipped on the dress, ignoring the static cling of her hair to the collar.

"The dress doesn't flatter you at all."

"That's a nice thing to say to your wife."

"I know what flatters my wife. If you want a silk dress, I will buy you one. Please do me the courtesy of not wearing that atrocity in public."

"The things I buy you never like." she teased, pulling off the dress and throwing it at him, "Silk is expensive; this is just as good."

He tossed it on the floor, "For any other woman; you are my wife. And money is no object when it comes to my beautiful bride."

It was silly and playful banter between the two, as it has been for a year. The teasing and endearments, while it may be a bit much for others, was the norm for them, reminding them of what they had and how impossible it could have been.

Slade Wilson changed throughout the years, more than anyone would ever imagine. He had a hidden compassion that lied dormant in his heart, damaged by the deaths of his previous son and wife. With the hand he'd been dealt, he began to hate, and he began to plot. Years and years have been eaten up by those demons he carried with him, the enemies he made, and the bonds he created with untouchable evil. The very last victim within his grasp was only spared by an evil much greater than himself.

Slade was dying.

While his heart was eaten by darkness his body was eaten by cancer. So vicious and voracious was the cancer that in a matter of weeks, he was helpless. All muscle tone had all but vanished; his appetite declined and his breath shallow and weak. He withered away in the shadows, a shell of his former self lying at death's door. And he would have died if she hadn't helped him. The captive that was supposed to have died herself; she managed to perform a series of healing spells, though she was severely weakened herself. In a matter of a week, he was able to stand and the sorceress was spent. He learned the truth upon inspection saw it the end of his days, until persuaded and aided by the sorceress. In two years, the trust was gained.

In two years time, Rayne Roth became his wife.

In case noone else has notice, my signature writing style tends to stem more from the Elizabethan era, even though I'm an African American teen from the South. It can be flowery and full of metaphors, and I can't (and don't want) to change that. I can change the way I write my stories that that it appeals to a majority crowd. So if you bear with me and help me out where I'll fall short, there's no reason why this story cannot be finished by the end of the month. Thank you!

Sakure of Ice