My Shadow, The Sadist
By wingedpixie
Disclaimer: Sailor Moon and Co. are the property of people who are not me; furthermore my incredible psychic skills tell me that they will continue to not belong to me for at least the next twenty years. That is all.
AN: This story takes place during the attacks by Zoicite (or however else you would like to spell his name ^.^). It's a one shot thing that I wrote very late at night, so even though the senshi aren't supposed to know their past identities just yet, they do here. Thanks for reading!
Do I love him? That's what she asks as we sit side by side on the park bench, in that strange leafy place where so much happens. I wonder if he is drawn to the coolness of the tree's shadows or the whisper of the wind through their shuddering branches. Almost every night he seems to be here, dancing from trunk to trunk, his hair bouncing with each step. To his victims he grants that feline smile.
But she asked if I love him. Do I? Every quirk, every gesture of his slender gloved hands, the sarcastic tilt to his mouth. I know that he never entirely closes those sharp green eyes, even in laughter, laughing at me. All the fracture details I could stitch together in my mind. Does that mean I love him? Or am I just being Ami the scientist? Again.
I remember the first time I saw him; he took my breath away, although I suppose that could have just been the staves of the corset digging into my ribs. Repeatedly my hands ran down the front of my dress, smoothing lines that had never been there, until he grasped my fingers and kissed them with a lordly bow. My fiancé.
At the banquet they talked, my future husband and Minako's man, who moved rigidly among the circles of colorful guests with a grimace on his face. I don't suppose Mina noticed; at that point she was already half slumped into the punch bowl, where two more of the earth's generals were gaining relief from the terrible awkwardness.
Something within me fluttered, that I could not and cannot identify, and I watched the granite statue with silver hair converse with him, my slender fiancé. I saw his slanted cat eyes widen at some comment, round for a moment in a sparkling of pain, but then that hint of emotion warped and twisted into something infinitely dark, almost violent. I ignored it; God knows I have paid.
But the taller general turned, plucking up Minako on his way out of the room, and Raye sat beside me, her heel tap, tap, tapping against the leg of her chair. Neither of the punch bowl patrons stirred. I felt his arm hook through mine and without a word we left through the opposite door. He smelled like the flowers we passed.
I remember the pink tulips he left for me every month, and the vague, affectionate smile he would give if we happened to pass in the halls. I remember the darkening of his eyes and the lining of his delicate face. I remember the feel of the ice crystal at my throat as he whispered, "Die little princess, and know that I have wished it for years." He made a soft "oh" sound when I thrust the knife into his stomach.
Do I love him? Out of the corner of my eye I can see Usagi, her cheeks pink and her legs swinging over the side of the park bench. Her shoulders tremble with a suppressed giggle, the question forgotten, and I know she has moved into that radiant place of happy memories and hopes involving a bouquet of roses and an opera mask.
Did he love me? That question shouldn't hurt.
And the spring wind moves through the park, making people and the trees alike shudder. Drifting down around us, settling on my nose and in my hair, fragrant pink petals flutter in the breeze. Cherry blossoms, slowly covering my shoes.
Damn him. Always prettier than me.
By wingedpixie
Disclaimer: Sailor Moon and Co. are the property of people who are not me; furthermore my incredible psychic skills tell me that they will continue to not belong to me for at least the next twenty years. That is all.
AN: This story takes place during the attacks by Zoicite (or however else you would like to spell his name ^.^). It's a one shot thing that I wrote very late at night, so even though the senshi aren't supposed to know their past identities just yet, they do here. Thanks for reading!
Do I love him? That's what she asks as we sit side by side on the park bench, in that strange leafy place where so much happens. I wonder if he is drawn to the coolness of the tree's shadows or the whisper of the wind through their shuddering branches. Almost every night he seems to be here, dancing from trunk to trunk, his hair bouncing with each step. To his victims he grants that feline smile.
But she asked if I love him. Do I? Every quirk, every gesture of his slender gloved hands, the sarcastic tilt to his mouth. I know that he never entirely closes those sharp green eyes, even in laughter, laughing at me. All the fracture details I could stitch together in my mind. Does that mean I love him? Or am I just being Ami the scientist? Again.
I remember the first time I saw him; he took my breath away, although I suppose that could have just been the staves of the corset digging into my ribs. Repeatedly my hands ran down the front of my dress, smoothing lines that had never been there, until he grasped my fingers and kissed them with a lordly bow. My fiancé.
At the banquet they talked, my future husband and Minako's man, who moved rigidly among the circles of colorful guests with a grimace on his face. I don't suppose Mina noticed; at that point she was already half slumped into the punch bowl, where two more of the earth's generals were gaining relief from the terrible awkwardness.
Something within me fluttered, that I could not and cannot identify, and I watched the granite statue with silver hair converse with him, my slender fiancé. I saw his slanted cat eyes widen at some comment, round for a moment in a sparkling of pain, but then that hint of emotion warped and twisted into something infinitely dark, almost violent. I ignored it; God knows I have paid.
But the taller general turned, plucking up Minako on his way out of the room, and Raye sat beside me, her heel tap, tap, tapping against the leg of her chair. Neither of the punch bowl patrons stirred. I felt his arm hook through mine and without a word we left through the opposite door. He smelled like the flowers we passed.
I remember the pink tulips he left for me every month, and the vague, affectionate smile he would give if we happened to pass in the halls. I remember the darkening of his eyes and the lining of his delicate face. I remember the feel of the ice crystal at my throat as he whispered, "Die little princess, and know that I have wished it for years." He made a soft "oh" sound when I thrust the knife into his stomach.
Do I love him? Out of the corner of my eye I can see Usagi, her cheeks pink and her legs swinging over the side of the park bench. Her shoulders tremble with a suppressed giggle, the question forgotten, and I know she has moved into that radiant place of happy memories and hopes involving a bouquet of roses and an opera mask.
Did he love me? That question shouldn't hurt.
And the spring wind moves through the park, making people and the trees alike shudder. Drifting down around us, settling on my nose and in my hair, fragrant pink petals flutter in the breeze. Cherry blossoms, slowly covering my shoes.
Damn him. Always prettier than me.