My Scarlet Phoenix

I met her in Court of Masks and fell in love on sight.

I didn't even know her name, but I knew I loved her and that I always would, even when my eyes could no longer see and my skin peeled away and my body rotted to ash.

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In my curious little country, an island off the coast of the western giant, parties were everything and masks were even more. The Week of Red Silk was when we in our little island, whether we be nobles or peasants or some homeless man starving in a gutter, all became equals in an extravagant display of silk and lace and sweet wine and strong ale and food fit for kings and, most importantly, masks. Masks of feather and lace, of stones and gems; with your face hidden behind a wall of silk, with nothing but your eyes peering out at the world, your place in society no longer existed. You no longer existed. The lowest born peasant girl was a queen amongst queens, her old identity, her old life, shred in an instant.

I enjoyed the Week of Red Silk for that reason mostly, because, really, there was nothing the high ladies like more then a mysterious man in a mask. They can deny it if they wish, but I know it to be a fact. I can't say how many I've lured into my bed during those fleeting seven days, all of them giggling and blushing and pretending not to want this, but, gods, they did.

I suppose you could call me a womaniser, but whatever. I certainly wasn't the only man in the crowd with bed business on his mind.

The Blue Plaza was where most people gathered, for it was huge and brightly lit and pulsing with music and heated bodies. Men and women danced and laughed and clinked wine glasses together and feasted on roasted pork drowned in sweet sauces and chocolates from across the wolf's ocean and swayed and spun to the stringing of violins and the beating of drums and the bellowing voice of some blue haired singer I knew not.

I waded through the crowd, dressed in black as usual – I owed no fancy clothes, and even if I did I wouldn't wear them – and marvelled at the decorations the plaza was swathed in. Curtains of blue silk and ropes of milky pearls hung from buildings, and crystal birds and fish and mermaids, all glistening and glittering in the glassy moonlight. Most people were dressed in blue, too. Though the week long holiday was named Red Silk, most dressed according to where they planned to visit; the Green Square was choked with men and women draped in emeralds silks, while Rose Harbour shone with reds and pinks, and Blue Plaza was a sea away from the sea, waves formed from blue clad bodies that talked and danced.

That's probably why I spotted her so quickly.

She was a ruby amongst sapphires, a rose amongst bluebells. Scarlet hair cascaded down her back, smooth as silk and shimmering like liquid fire, and her dress was all crimson and red, with rubies and roses glittering and blooming proudly about her waist. The folds of red material swirled around her body at the faintest movement, free and loose below her waist, while above they hugged her torso shamelessly. Straps of red criss-crossed over her otherwise bare back, and a single red rose was perched beside her right ear. Her hands were wrapped in skin-tight black lace – fishnet, I think the girls call it – and her finger nails looked as though they had been dipped in blood. Her skin, in contrast, was milky white and smooth as marble, and glowed silvery white in the half-hearted light of the moon.

I'd seen beautiful women before, but this girl transcended beauty. She was on another level entirely. She was otherworldly, a goddess of immortality parading amongst the mere mortals. She didn't belong here in this crowd of mindless blue fools. She should have been somewhere better, somewhere grander, somewhere that matched her inhuman beauty.

She must have felt my shell-shocked gaze boring into the back of her head, because after a moment she turned in a swirl of red silk and black lace, and ruby eyes staring out from a mask of phoenix feathers and tongues of fire met my own mismatched eyes.

I couldn't read her eyes at all.

It might've come as a shock to me if it had been anyone else. I prided myself on my ability to read a woman's eyes; most were like open books, with their seductive smiles and girlish giggles, but this red woman was better then me, so much higher and so, so beautiful...her gaze was closed off, barred by obstacles unseen.

In that instant, I fell in love with her.

Vaguely, I was aware I was moving. I couldn't hear the clamour of the plaza any longer, only the rapid thundering of my heart and my blood roaring in my ears. Icy sweat trickled down my hot skin. My mask of black and white feathers seemed somehow heavier and I wanted to tear it off, to reveal to her my true face, but my fingers were like bricks at my sides.

I reached her.

"Dance with me," I pleaded.

Her red eyes widened slightly, as if she was surprised, and then a soft smile curled her pale pink lips upwards.

"No." She said, dead-pan.

I didn't falter. "Why not?"

"Because." She replied vaguely.

"I'm not giving up simply because." I laughed. "Give me a real reason to go away and I'm gone, but if not, you're dancing with me."

Her eyes widened. "Will you force me, Chessboard Knight?" She taunted.

I grinned. "Maybe."

"That's not a proper response."

"Neither is because."

She giggled, a silvery, sweet giggle that sent a thrill ripping through my body.

"Very well. You've convinced me, chessboard." She held out her hand, all red and black lace. "Just don't step on my toes."

"I'll try not to. No promises, though." I took her hand and pulled her close, and then we were dancing, dancing like I'd never danced before. She wasn't like other women, who simply submitted to the man's will and allowed themselves to be thrown about like a rag doll. She danced with a fire as wild and fierce as the blood-red glinting in her eyes; untameable, uncontrollably, and but I didn't give up, either, and as we swirled and twisted and side-stepped, we weren't just dancing, we were fighting, too, and somehow that only excited me more.

She stepped around me and her dress ballooned out, swirling and rippling, and around me she circled, around and around, grinning wickedly over her shoulder. I grabbed her arm and jerked her closer and a breathy laugh burst from her lips as my arms curled around her waist and her shoulders, trapping her against me.

"I thought we were dancing," She said, breathless, cheeks flushed rosy red.

"We are," I replied and then I kissed her hard. She didn't miss a beat. She bite at my lips and her tongue demanded entry and I was more then happy to part my lips. Another battle for dominance ensued, our tangles warring amongst hot breath and wet saliva, and she tangled her fingers amongst my white locks and I gripped her hips and our bodies pressed together. Her heart thudded against my chest and her blood surging with my own. Her fingers dug into my skin and, god, it felt good.

When I realised I was quickly suffocating from lack of oxygen, I reluctantly broke the kiss and we gasped in some air. I went to kiss her again but the finger on my lips stopped me; instead, she kissed the tip of my nose, her lips hot and wet.

"Your name?" She breathed and she dropped her finger.

"Piko." I murmured and I kissed her forehead, and then worked my way down the side of her face, and then on her neck, nibbling lightly at the skin. Her breathing quickened and I felt her pulse hammering and shuddering.

She poked at my cheek with another breathy laugh. "Oh, you're good. Do you treat all women like this?"

"No," I replied through her skin. "Just you. I've never met a woman like you."

"And you never will again." She purred, and then wriggled away, much to my bitter disappointment.

"What's your name?" I asked, or pleaded, or begged. I had to know her name. I had to. I was like a man possessed.

As she glanced away, I caught a flash of purple somewhere in the crowd, bright and vivid, and, somehow, I knew that purple was going to tear us apart. Her ruby eyes rose and met mine once more, so strong and wilful, but I saw some sadness in the scarlet depths, and a bitter streak of uncertainty.

Then it was gone and she was grinning her wicked grin, the grin that left me speechless, and she pressed her fingers to her pink lips.

"Its a secret~"

My first PikoxMiki oneshot. And Gakupo somehow became the bad-guy...I always make him a bad guy D:

Anyway, a reviewer informed me they liked PikoxMiki, so I decided to give it a shot. I hope you all enjoyed it. This may become a story after I've finished the two I'm currently working on...maybe...

I apologize for any grammar mistakes.

Reviews would be loved!

- ravenbynight