A blizzard was raging outside his window. The pure white snow fell from the sky in an angry flurry, pelting the window as though it had committed some kind of crime it was never punished for. As though it was taking out some kind of frustration - nonexistent frustration - on these clear, thin panes of glass. The dark night contrasted with the pure white, showing how black and white could coexist, could compliment each other.
The windows rattled against the force of the angry snow and the harsh wind. It sounded as though someone was trying to break in, as though someone was trying to take shelter from this terrible storm. But that a highly improbable idea, considering that he was on the forty-seventh floor of the Eternian Central Command. The simple idea that someone could scale the tall, imposing structure was a joke. With weather like this, temperature like this, it was beyond even his mind, beyond even his knowledge, knowledge that included how the world - myriad worlds - were almost destroyed by an incredibly dark force.
His bedroom was barely lit, the only light coming a small candle on his bedside table. The light was insignificant, however, once the sheer size of his room came into consideration. It was much too big for him, especially since he barely spent any of his time in it. It easily could have been half the size of Caldisla's king's audience room. This candle, this small candle, only gave light to a small corner of this very large room.
His light blond hair glowed in this faint light, however. His chin, his nose, his cheekbones, all the angles in his face were given much more definition, a sharper, more imposing look to his unimpressive face. His eyes, however, were the most defining feature in this light. These sharp, light blue eyes stared out into the black and white night. His stare was as sharp and as menacing as a Rukh's: uncaring, unnerving, dark, and strong, ready to attack at anything or anyone. He was deep in thought, a pensive look that contrasted greatly with the intensity of eyes was on his face.
These days had started to get shorter and shorter, the days ending earlier and earlier, the nights coming faster and faster. The fact of it irritated - no, frightened - him. He didn't like the dark, surprising considering how he had been a Dark Knight - the Dark Knight. The dark reminded him of too many memories, too many painful memories. Walking around the dark, damp, cold and terrible grounds underneath the once-pious, now-glamour centric city of Florem. Being belittled, hit, beaten, and attacked by people who saw him as trash. The pitying, but never helpful looks. The constant wondering if his good-for-nothing mother was among these women.
He didn't like the dark, the physical dark. There was only one good memory that come from it, and was only because of one person. She was like… a flaming torch on that dark night, something that brightened his night to the point of blindness. She was like this angel, this small yet powerful, blonde angel. It was the one night that something felt different between them. The one night that he didn't feel like some kind of friend, some kind of brother to her. He felt like something had happened between them, something that signalled the coming of a new experience, a new time.
Time and experience had changed the both of them, and time and experience had brought them closer together. Though, he wasn't truly hers and she wasn't truly his, they were close. He held her close, holding her to make sure she wasn't too cold, wasn't as cold as the her that he once held, limp, in his arms. He could smell the alcohol on her breath, but didn't bother scolding her about it. If anyone deserved a drink, it was them - all four of them. He continued to hold her as she held onto him, clinging to him like a child who thought he lost his mother.
There was something he always wondered. He wondered if it was because of the alcohol that they kissed this small, chaste kiss. He wondered if it was because of the alcohol that they shared another deeper kiss. He wondered if it because of the alcohol that they shared another and another and another until things had gone passed the point of just simple kissing. He never found out the answer to that question because the both of them pretended it never happened and, as such, never talked about it.
He didn't like the physical dark, but he liked emotional darkness. Well, he didn't so much like it as he felt…comfortable with it. It didn't bother him as much as it did other people to have dark, hard emotions. They had been with his whole life, whether he knew it or not. Those flashes of sheer anger, of sheer murderous force that would come out many times when he permitted himself to not hold back. Those flashes of gloom and melancholy, of severe sadness that he would never show to anyone, not even the one he cared for most of all.
It comforted him to know that he wasn't completely unfeeling, completely solemn and detached like so many have thought he was. But on the other hand, it comforted him very little. It did little to comfort him because these emotions were always dark; they were never light. They never had the zeal of amusement, the spirit of happiness, the warmth of love. He rarely felt happy, rarely was amused, rarely felt any sort of love.
The love part was something he was used to, though. It wasn't like the one he once loved loved him back, and it was unclear whether or not the one he loved now returned his feelings as well. He had begun to wonder if he was even worthy of whatever love she would give him. Well, he hadn't begun to wonder because he knew - he thought he knew - the answer to that simple question. No, he wasn't worthy. How could someone like him - someone who failed to protect the one he loved, someone who couldn't face the creature that had destroyed the lives of people he knew, someone who watched, frozen to his spot, as people were slaughtered by a lying, deceiving creature - be worthy of any kind of love? How could that person even be worthy of any kind of happiness for that matter?
Happiness - even in this world, on this day, in this month, in this year - was something that eluded him. He thought he was happy, but that was just a well-masked illusion that he had seemingly made up to make himself feel better. Happiness at being by her side every day, happiness at helping the man that had undoubtedly saved his life, happiness at finally having a place to call home. Sure, he was grateful for these things, but they didn't bring him the happiness he so desired, the happiness that he wanted - that he craved.
His eyes stared out the window, barely blinking. They looked tired. They looked like the eyes that belonged to someone who had seen too much in his life, to someone who had experienced too much in his life.
He moved for the first time in what seemed like hours, his long, scarred fingers reaching up to touch an ice-cold pane of window glass. He barely had a reaction to the cold (his eyes blinked) before his fingers moved to open the window. A huge gust of freezing cold wind and snow came into his bedroom, coating the floor closest to the window in white flakes of frozen water. The candlelight flicked greatly with the onslaught of wind, barely maintaining an ounce of its yellow-white light.
He continued to stare out the open window, taking in the weather as though it were nothing but the warmest, calmest weather in the world. He inched closer to the open window. His legs, stiff from standing in the same spot for hours, shuffled through the slowly building pile of snow on the floor. He leaned against the window sill, and his eyes finally looked somewhere else. They looked down at the ground, the snow blanketed ground that seemed to be miles away.
He swallowed the build up of saliva in his mouth and cleared his throat. "It seems like this is it…" he whispered. It felt like he was stating it to himself more than anything else, as though he wasn't sure of what he was going to do until that very moment. He swallowed again, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He closed his eyes for a long, long moment. The whistling wind and the howling blizzard provided the soundtrack to this long, tense moment.
He opened his eyes again, and in one swift, quick motion, he threw himself out the window.
He fell, his arms flailing, his legs kicking, his head moving left and right. He was falling so fast, so fast that it felt like he was going to reach the ground in seconds. But he was moving so...slowly at the same time. It felt like he wasn't going to reach the ground for years. He was scared, but it was only for a few seconds before he accepted what he was doing. He wanted to do this. He wanted to do this.
Time had finally caught up with him, and with one last moment to spare, he closed his eyes and put a smile upon his lips. And then -
Ringabel was...no, Alternis Dim was...no, Ringabel...no. No, both of them were dead, dark red blood spilling, pooling onto the once pure white snow on the grounds of the Eternian Central Command. His light blond hair was dyed a dark red. Although he had died a tragic, self-induced death, the look on his face was peaceful. It was...happy. It was like this was the one thing in his life that he knew would grant him the happiness he so desired.