A really short drabble that's been lurking in my mind for awhile now. It gets kind of crappy towards the end as my brain cells scream for oxygen, but I'LL UPLOAD CRAP IF I WANT TO. Right? Right.
Onwards, then.
UPDATED: May 12, 2004
REASON: Changed the ending, wanted some continuation, yadda yadda yadda. Bite me.
RENTRER
vb.
French.
to re-enter, return
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The sky had been on fire.
It's slightly worrying to awaken to a scarlet dawn that seeps across the heavens and taints the clean night a crimson mix of dried and fresh blood every morning; but I had paid little heed, if any, to the colouring that might have been considered abnormal elsewhere. There had always been far more pressing matters to attend to, a list that had included, but were not limited to: training, being experimented on, and being punished for not doing any of the above to a satisfactory degree.
Abbey residents learned to grow accustomed to this way of life, and, in some cases, had it beaten into them quite literally. Perhaps in some circles, such a ritual would inspire shock and fury, would be branded barbaric and inhumane. But morals are no good if the one you are trying to impress them upon has long since given them up. And both Boris Balcov and Voltaire Hiwatari had sold their souls to the Devil long, long ago.
There had never been any time for me to appreciate the beauty of nature, to bask in the warmth of friendship and give any of the like their due attention. Such things were considered weak, and weakness was one of many things the Abbey would not tolerate. I think humanity was another.
Maybe if I'd been born another way... Maybe if we'd met under more accepting circumstances... Maybe if I hadn't concealed myself behind the stone-cold mask of emotionless apathy...
Things could have turned out differently. Better.
But they didn't, and so here I am, watching the sun rise with lethargic slowness, watching the landscape below fill with the brilliant golden colour that the Abbey somehow managed to mute and hide from me all these years, and thinking. Thinking of you.
You know what they say. 'You're never truly ready for love.' For once, the old wives' might have been on to something. After all, I'd never really been ready for you.
How could I?
You, with your untamable eyes and spirit. You, with the smoldering, blazing fire that all but emanated from your very being, mirrored in the mighty Phoenix that had chosen you as her keeper.
You, who were as unpredictable as the ever-shifting flame.
By all logic, I should hate you. You were younger than me, less experienced, a mere child, and yet, Boris favored you so. Didn't you notice? Didn't you see, how his approving gaze that had once rested on me and me alone now swept over my body to fix you with that gleam of pride?
I had lived at the Abbey, trained to become the best, pushed myself to the limit, only to have it taken away by some kid who they claimed was Voltaire's heir.
Hatred would be a logical course to take.
And yet... there was something about you that drew me as a flame does a moth. Something so irresistibly... you that slowly transformed my loathing to grudging respect to something else entirely.
But by the time I'd figured that out, I guess it was too late. You were gone, out of my life, and I never thought I'd see you again.
But you never do what's expected of you, do you, Kai?
Because when the World Tournament rolled around, there you were, bold as brass, so to speak, wielding the intoxicating power of the Dark Phoenix that not even you could entirely control.
And then you were gone. Again.
I miss you, you know that?
I can't stop thinking about you, and it's beginning to affect me in ways I never thought possible. Not that you know. Not that you'd care.
Or would you?
No matter how much I try to quell the hope that burns in my chest, no matter how many nights I fall asleep attempting to push every thought of you out of my head, you always find a way back into my mind and into my soul. I've tried to douse the fire of my passion, yes, my passion, for you with the ice that is my trademark, but to no avail.
I still love you, Kai Hiwatari, and perhaps I'm cursed (or maybe blessed?) to always love you.
But I can cope. I can handle it. God knows I've endured worse.
The city below is beginning to stir, electric suns flickering erratically on and off like so many fireflies, and I know it's time to leave this place, this sanctuary I've dubbed mine. And yet...
Oh, whatever. Forget this. Forget all of this.
Like always.
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TBC
Let's play 'Guess the pairing!'