The Sin of Innocence - Chapter 1: Prologue
A/N: Hello, everybody. I've revived from the dead to remind others that, yes, I still exist. I've finally decided to start a small—or large, depending on how much time and effort I will invest into it—project to kick off the new year. At long last, 2012 is over, and hopefully, people's insanity will gradually decrease. Anyway, my stories customarily focus on Alois, and this is no exception. This project, I have yet to delineate and capture the entire plot, so it should be an adventure for the both of us. (There is a need for more Alois and OC stories, or my community will wither and rot.)
As of late, I've been interested in the supernatural. And thus, a large dose of that element shall be added into the story. I'm particularly intrigued by the concept of vampires—and, I feel like I must emphasize this every time, but I am not referring to the sparkly kind (seriously, that saga has severely altered people's views of vampires)—but the ancient, mythological creatures. My desire is to explore more on this species, and the setting of the series, that is the Victorian era, is ideal for this.
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji.
Innocence is a blissful thing. It is an unruptured beauty.
It is not meant to be broken.
At least, they say, not as cruelly as this.
Because the moment innocence disperses, your view of the world, too, will change just as drastically. The world will emerge, it will reveal its genuine colors, and so will its inhabitants.
Disgusting creatures, they really are, hiding preposterously behind the upturned lips, the soft whispers of comfort.
The world you have lived in suddenly seems chimerical; a wildly fanciful dimension that truly does not exist. It is a mere, childish reflection of the actual realm you are dwelling within. A tantalizing means of escape from the rotten place, filled with contemptible savages.
Time is defied; it is not meant to be so early. This unorthodox tearing of me from my illusory reveries has not been planned to occur.
I was still too young.
But, what better did I know? I was once a kid, naive and ingenuous.
Shielded, I was, with my limited knowledge of the world. And thus, I ventured. I explored. I inquired. I wished to apprehend intuitively, the complex workings of this place we reside in. I yearned to understand its constituents, and to experience myself all of its wonders unfolding before my eyes.
Nature was my friend, they say. I was utterly fascinated with its sophisticated yet peculiarly simple functioning. A principal cycle, is what it is. Birth, growth, then death. All was subject to the domination of Time, yet in each passing moment, so many little things can happen. A green leaf descends from a tree, a squirrel scurries by, a bird in the distance soars, and the brilliant sunlight kisses the forest.
I was mesmerized, by everything. I was a silent observer, an inconspicuous spectator who lacked imposition on the tranquilizing atmosphere. It was breathtaking for a child like me, to scrutinize such fine details.
Then, a flutter.
By my ear.
I looked obliquely, and my vision captured something wondrous, at the very least.
Iridescent colors, much more resplendent than the rainbow itself.
It was moving quickly, rippling as it flaps its wings, the colors undulating along with it as well. It took the form of a butterfly.
A beautiful butterfly.
I remember the air being caught in my throat, my gasp truncated by the mere astonishment of beholding such a view. Enthralled, I inclined toward its direction, an invisible force pulling me to it, emboldening me by instilling curiosity.
I should not stray too far, but my mind was elsewhere, my gaze collectively pinned to that fascinating butterfly.
Thus, logic was thrust aside, abandoned without a second of hesitation, and I followed.
One foot at a time, I stepped. Slowly, carefully, so that I would not induce loud noises that would frighten the butterfly to take immediate flight. My feet brushed against the grass that was accentuated with the gold of the sun. I pursued my guide, plunging into the divisions of the forest.
I do not recall how long I had traveled, but the butterfly led me to a clearing.
That moment was the milestone, when my innocence was appropriated from me.
For, that marked the first time I saw her.
A girl was situated by a large tree, where its dense roots tangled and emerged from the ground, dusted with dirt. The sunlight peered intrusively between gaps formed by the intertwination of the branches, riddling her body with mottled white patches.
She was queer, even my little self could discern that much. Her integumentary covering was pale, dreadfully so, for it held a phantasmal lack of intensity of color. Her hair was long, tumbling into black curls that reached the full extent of her back.
She seemed to be immersed in a heavy slumber, as her eyes were closed and her neck was slightly tilted to the side. The surroundings remained undisturbed by her presence, as though she was merely an addition and nothing more; birds proceeded with accelerating through the sky and the intermittent rustle of a nearby bush signified the excursion of a purposeful creature.
Nonetheless her peaceful situation against the tree, when the butterfly flew over, easily and unhesitatingly as though an inherent connection tied them both together, and rest upon her shoulder, that was when I began to take notice of two important factors.
First, the remarkable girl was entirely unclothed. Where I was raised, the aspect of nudity alone was vehemently censured and warranted unnecessary attention. Simply, it was celebrated as a transgression of morals, particularly for females, to expose such secrecy. For whatever reason I did not fully grasp the meaning of then, the women that unashamedly display these sort of things were often considered "promiscuous harlots."
The second factor, however, seized my attention and trampled my respiration as though a cold, relentless fist had clutched my windpipe and painfully pressed.
For, there was blood.
Streaks of blood dribbled down from her chin, and trickled from there down to her chest; patently resembling flaring ribbons that encompassed her in a red, morbid fashion.
The girl seemed to struggle for air, sporadically hitching her breath and gasping, but the curtains to her eyes never raised to reveal what was hidden beneath. The butterfly that alight upon her shoulder appeared to have increased her anxiety; it generated more prominent movements from her, for her fingers—accoutered with the disturbing sanguinary liquid—drove into fists that viciously clenched the soil.
"Stronger..."
The single word passed from her lips in the most furtive manner, that I nearly did not perceive its transitory exit from the throbbing corners of her throat. But, her voice—strung with an alluring, melodic excellence—inveigled me to her, much like how water draws the moon; an irresistible attraction.
My feet possessed a will of their own, and advanced to the intriguing girl. I stopped before her, careful to distance myself by a least a foot, but sufficiently curious that I did not step away any further than that.
The occasionally spasms that wrecked her body came to a cessation when I approached, as though she was holding her breath expectantly.
"Miss," my voice erupted from within the depths of my chest.
From her, a slight, fleeting and evanescent twitch, at my call.
"Miss, are you injured?" I kept my tone level and equable.
Silence ensued, and I discerned that as an invitation to incline toward her; she looked harmless and innocuous, for she was submerged in serenity, hardly changing her position if not ever.
Officious I might have been, but my childish impulses reigned. My fingers, insignificant projections from the palm, delicately swept against her cheekbone to actuate some type of acknowledgement from the odd girl.
"Excuse me, Miss..."
A sudden, convulsive utterance was extracted from her lips, but I failed to comprehend what she was trying to say. She began to percolate; beads of sweat, lustrous when basked in the sunlight, exuded, and shudders of her body frame grew turbulent. Whatever had agitated her, I was not aware of, but I was stunned to a fixed, stationary stand while observing her violent efforts.
Tentatively, I leaned forward and tilted to the side until my left ear was close to her mouth, and my sight was cast on the butterfly that had obliviously perched on the suffering individual.
"May I ask that you speak louder, Miss?" I murmured. "I didn't quite hear you before..."
"Stronger... need... stronger... hurry..."
Then, pale hands forcibly grasped my shoulders to deny the opportunity of escape. The vigor of her limbs, despite their ostensible feebleness, was astounding, and I quickly fell prey to her staggering power.
Immediately, my instincts blazed, like an abrupt burst of flame; something innate bleated that peril was impending.
Run.
I wanted to. I needed to.
But, I could not. At all. Stricken with overwhelming fear, I was frozen, susceptible and predisposed to the bare and abhorrent face of danger. It mercilessly butchered my senses and penetrated me, infusing the thick ink of mind-crippling poison into my veins.
Then, out of my peripheral vision, I saw her eyes open—the two orbs depicted a grotesque hue of gold that was glazed over with menacing hunger, as though those voracious eyes had the potential to swallow one whole simply by gazing into them. Hopelessly compelled, I was struck with rustic wonderment.
The margins of her mouth parted, ever so gradually, and protruding was fangs. Her tongue slid across the dry lips to moisten them, cleanly swiping some of the blood before returning to its origin.
The strange girl smiled, as though the taste was enticing, and it was a nefarious expression that frightened me profoundly.
I realized, then, it could not have been her blood.
I could feel her soft, breathy whisper against the ear that I had so asininely offered:
"You're perfect."
They grabbed me, unscrupulously, and in such a expeditious manner that I could not react; her fangs, they pierced into the side of my throat, nearly crushing me from the intensity alone.
And that was when my innocence shattered.
My mind accelerated through innumerable thoughts of death, my heart pounded erratically, my hands were cold and clammy, and a prickling sensation riddled my skin—I was trembling tumultuously, feeling as though I was being eaten alive. Raw, vulnerable, and excruciatingly exposed.
I could not assemble the strength to shout for help, to even lift a finger. Vertiginous, my head was whirling eccentrically; ineradicable blurs blinded me, and a numbing heat that I could not describe seared me from where she was feeding off of my essence. My energy depleted, greedily consumed, relentlessly devoured. Effete and destitute, I could not respire or articulate a single word of protest.
Pain. Agony. It hurt so much, and I was shaking, succumbing, yielding to the prospect of perishing as long as I did not have to endure the torment I was cruelly subjected to any longer.
Make it go away! Make it go away—
The deleterious fangs plucked themselves from my throat, freeing me from their bind and yet I was far from feeling relief in any form.
Master, her voice purred.
From the inside of my head.
The butterfly took flight.
Then, I screamed.