Some part of her seemed to tear into parts. She had broken it – had ripped open something fragile.
There was a tear, a crack, a change. And from that one decision a dozen new timelines were formed, each with a different future. A different Len. A different Rin. With time spinning on.
The world was cracked, but kept spinning. The worlds lived on.
She was cold – too cold. Her hands were frozen against his skin. White cracked skin, which was once velvety now rasped, tapping against his shoulder as she nudged him.
"Ciel... Please? Can I go outside?"
"No."
"Ciiiiiiiieeeeelllllllllllllllll."
"No is no, Soleil. 'No', you know, a two letter word? N–O? Usually, it's a negative response."
Pout. She tried to be happy for him, he knew, but her expression soon turned into a cough. A harsh sound and pain ripped through her throat. He knew.
And that was the reason why he forced her to stay inside, after all.
Ciel begged. He pleaded. He demanded. He screamed at her not to go. It wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth it. It was just a flower. Couldn't she just stay inside and sing, like she always did?
He couldn't remember exactly when the disease first showed its symptoms. Maybe it was the blood, the cough. Maybe it was the flu. So many symptoms, so many unhealthy signs. He should have realised it sooner. Then again, even if he had seen them, that would've changed nothing. Even if they had known sooner, she wouldn't have been cured anyway.
Incurable, the doctor said casually, like it was an everyday occurrence. The virus would eat away her immune system until there was nothing left, and eventually she would come down with something like a cold.
Her life, from that moment, was counted day by day. Death lingered, lurking in every dark corner and leering at her, waiting – waiting for the right chance to steal Soleil away. To trap her smile, her light, in darkness for ever and ever.
It was the worst in winter. The temperature dropped to freezing, and snow inhalation wasn't good for anyone's health – let alone hers.
She just wanted to get out to find a rose. He knew. It was her birthday. She would always ask for a rose. Nothing but a rose.
"Why?"
"They are beautiful. That should be enough for a reason."
She was so lively back then...
The boy sighed. His eyes lidded, stress and sorrow pulling them shut.
He placed his teacup down. A dying sun, huh? She was already perishing in front of him...
A breath escaped his nostrils, misty and gray, a cloud of steam blurring the world.
"Soleil, I will get you a rose, okay? Just stay here."
She didn't reply.
(He should've known she would sneak away. There were just so many things that he should've known.)
"Soleil?"
His voice raised an octave, colored with unhidden fear and suspicion.
"Soleil?"
The door was open and wind was blasting in, slicing his skin with cold cuts, allowing silver moonlight stream in.
He knotted his scarf and hastily put on his clothes. Soleil, Soleil, Soleil – find Soleil. Where is she? Deep down, he already knew the answer.
Her footprints were fresh on trampled snow, tumbled and darkened with dirt, and he knew.
Her figure sat there peacefully, back pressed against the tree. Between lithe fingers, blooming colorfully and contrasting brightly against the paleness of her skin, the sky and the snow, was a rose. Beautiful and lonely.
"Soleil?"
Her head raised just a little to see him approaching. Dull eyes lightened up a little, her breath a little too shallow.
"Ciel!"
She smiled happily – yet the smile so painful. It was splitting her face – too forced and too cold to be real. It was usually bright and lovely, and this was just... too strange.
He wanted to yell at her. He really did. He would scold her for not listening – he would drag her inside if he had to. He wanted to do many things.
Her smile pained him.
Instead, Ciel sat down next to her.
"I told you not to come out, Soleil."
He shouldn't be sounding so relieved. Shaky fingers brushed against her porcelain skin, rosy cheeks and icy lips. Soleil. How ironic it was – a cold sun.
Somehow, he knew. He could finally tell her to go inside and she would never again be able to fight back. He could keep her warm forever, as she wouldn't go out like this again.
Her finger was bleeding – a thorn picked at her skin. The lone drop of red froze midway in its journey.
"Sing for me?"
He silently shook his head – she should be the one singing, with a sweet voice and hope brimming in her eyes as she instilled life into her words and told stories through melodies.
"I don't want to sing a sad song..." Her voice trailed off thoughtfully at the end. It sounded more like a plea than anything.
"...No," he croaked out. Words clawed at his throat, flickering dangerously in his mouth. They tasted like ashe and dust, filling his lungs, suffocating him.
Her palm opened. Light white dust gathered in her pale hand, contrasting sorely with the blood red rose, smothering the dot of color into something duller, more listless, more dead.
"What does my voice sound like now?" she asked, calm and quiet. The flower now lay on cold snow, thorns digging into the pile desperately, fighting. Bleeding, crimson color oozed out as half–bloomed petals.
"Soleil. Listen to me. Listen to me," he murmured. Her name was so distant, withered on his lips.
She didn't hear him, didn't hear anything. Lips parted to form something. A word. A breath, frosted on his skin, shattering loudly. A ghost of a word floated ghastly – so small, so brittle – and he wondered, oh, he wondered if that rose would feel ashamed. She was so pale, compared to her red hot blood draining out into a far more perfect fantasy – where everything was flawless and they got their happily–ever–after. Where she wasn't riddled with that accursed fate, and instead, was somewhere singing and dancing. Where he had the chance to say what had been heavy in his heart for a long time now.
(His voice reached out, caressing damaged hands.)
He held her hand and hoped she was somewhere better.
Somewhere. Somewhere.
Anywhere.
Icy snowflakes bit her hands, but she couldn't feel anything anymore.
Gretel watched as another girl with golden hair and big eyes played with her brother. Sure, there were differences between them: The other girl was shorter and had cerulean eyes, her hair was pulled in a more complicated style and she flitted around in expensive, frilly dresses. Gretel, on the other hand, had golden eyes and wore a simple maid attire, with her hair tied to the side.
They were different, and most important, she wasn't Gretel – wasn't the holy twin.
But that girl – the princess – had everything else. Money, fame, and most important, Hansel. Something – Gretel swallowed with a dry throat, tongue darting out to moisten her chapped lips – she could never have. Not in this lifetime.
"Princess R–"
Bong. Bong. Bong.
A silent cry filled the cramped atmosphere. The woman sighed contentedly, a lone breath drowned by pants and moans. Sweat drenched her torso and golden tresses flowed freely on hospital bed, sorely contrasting with the dull white color surrounding her.
The man – her husband – stood aside, eyes wide with wonder that made her feel so accomplished, his arms carefully cradling two little bundles.
"Well?" she managed to breathe out a word, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips. "What do you think?"
Dell continued watching his – their – children, the corner of his lips turned up.
He could watch them all day.
No other words were needed.
Serenity rang eerily in the air, and both parents gave out a small laughter as little bodies squirmed slightly under layers of blanket, little mouths forming two identical 'o's. Ann picked up the infants, tucking them in her embrace while humming softly, trying to lull the kids to a peaceful sleep.
No one noticed two tiny hands joined together under fluffy cloth.
For a moment, peace was bestowed upon them. The king, the queen, and those twins.
Twins.
Twins.
Twins.
Realization dawned upon them, and they looked at each other in dread, fearing for what would come. What would come, if everyone knew of the twins…
Children of devil. I know that.
They are bad omen, I tell you.
They invite misfortune.
Misfortune.
Misfortune that made twins, misfortune that is long–lived because of the royal bloodline in them, misfortune that has been born.
His wife begged, pleaded – please, please keep them alive, please, they are our children, our flesh and blood, please…
The king swallowed.
We only have a daughter.
Their mother nodded. Tears and sobs replaced laughter and happiness.
Joined hands never got to hold each other again.
::oOo::
Rilliane reminded him of a rose. A beautiful, thorned flower. Intricate patterns and delicate petals, flitting and dancing elegantly – flimsy fingers wrapping around sharp, hard edges, fluttering oh–so–sweetly against the curious fingertips before drifting away in just a mere second.
Maybe she knew it too. Or maybe she was just fond of beauty in general, like any little innocent girl would a beautiful plaything.
Allen knew a lot of people would beg to differ that description. Literally and metaphorically. And if he hadn't been the one close to her, maybe he would have been there, one of them, cursing her name with everything he had.
Witch, the maids called her, and he struggled to keep his face blank, settled in a calm state of no emotion. Daughter of Evil, the peasants whispered during calm nights, flasks of orange flame licking their faces.
He hated those names.
(Who are they to judge her like that?)
She was nothing like that – pure and cold, a little snowflake that dance merrily. Naive, soft, sweet and so very malleable; the embodiment of her being. Everything about her was so simple– one dimensional, plain. White, like the snow that framed crimson so gorgeously. Everything was perfect for her, luxuries and wealth – everything. She lived in a pink bubble, happily ignorant of the pain and starvation. He wouldn't call that a sin. It was never a sin to live.
Allen could see their point, however. He could see the way she smiled – so innocent and one–sided that it looked artificial – while she sent people to their death. She laughed at their struggle like a funny joke – and maybe to her, it was a joke.
He stood by her side as she ordered the guards to drag yet another peasant out of her sight, a smirk never leaving her face and fingertips waving mockingly. He watched in mild horror and sick fascination as a woman, fierce red hair falling on her face and a tattered dress, yelled at Rilliane with everything she had – we were short on bread, your majesty, please have some mercy!
"Let them eat cake then." She waved her hand dismissively. Curses echoed on the delicately painted wall and a bell tolled loudly.
The princess beamed at him. "Allen, it's tea time!"
"Yes, Milady."
::oOo::
Allen stood by her side as his twin – his princess – stared at golden locket in her hand so intensely. Her gaze lingered on the face of a blue–haired man, a small smirk engraved on reflective surface with starlight eyes.
Fingers closed around the face, clutching so tightly that snow skin stretched thinly on her hand and knuckles went white with force, blue veins tattoed on velvety surface – he could almost see blood rushing in those veins.
Translucent blood rolled down, leaving a glistening path in its wake. She choked, a sob curled in the back of her throat. The bright smile was swallowed by trembling lips, faltering and cracking and forever slipping through his fingers.
He could do nothing but to watch (and to hopelessly, hopelessly stand there – reaching his hand out but he could never help her with the problem) with a boiling hatred toward that unknown man. Oh, how he wished to strangle that man – just for making her cry.
His rose was tainted with cuts and dried blood. Fire burnt him too.
She spoke, voice void of emotion – like all the sobs and red rimmed eyes he saw were just an illusion his mind created. Cold.
"Kill all the girls with teal hair."
He bowed.
"Come back before tea time."
::oOo::
The girl with sunny eyes, pink lips and green hair. Another flower; another rose he loved and cherished. A smile wavered on her face and eyelashes fluttered closed. A thin line of redness streamed out, and the dagger glared at him – sneered.
Choose.
One girl for another.
He pressed the blade further into her heart – forever slicing it in half. Petals withered away into gray ash.
A part of him went numb.
The world spinned on.
::oOo::
Her smile welcomed him. It was cracked and distorted – but it was more than nothing. Blooming and bright, not yet, but soon enough.
Bong. Bong. Bong.
Rilliane smiled at him over the rim of her delicate cup. A brioche and a cup of tea – her face lightened immediately as she took the first bite.
It was nice, he decided. To see her smile.
::oOo::
They wanted to trample on her smile; dirty it with their blood–thirst, crushing the flower until there was nothing left to save. Damage her and leave behind burnt pieces that never could be recovered.
She was shaking. Trembling visibly.
"Am I to die?"
"No," he assured her, trying to keep his voice steady and his face calm.
(Yes.)
"It's only a revolt. The guards will stop them – don't worry."
She stared at him dubiously. Fear shone dimly in bright orbs.
"Milady?"
"What?"
"Do you want to play a game?"
A few sparks of suspicion gleamed, but Rilliane was an innocent girl. A fourteen year old. His twin.
"What are you proposing?"
"We can switch clothes. It would be really interesting to prank people, don't you think?"
He had his hair down. A rose was placed neatly in golden locks and her dress, frilly and ornate.
Roses, she liked roses. It was no wonder her attire was adorned with her favorite flower.
She was wearing his clothes – simple and monochrome. A blazer and white dress shirt, black trousers and messy ponytail pulled up with haste.
Rilliane no longer looked like a rose anymore. No-one would ever mistake her for it again.
The sound of metal clashing and yelling seemed far away, almost like a dream. He wished it was a dream. He really did.
Alas, all Allen could do was to smile sadly.
"With those clothes, you should be able to move easily."
Her head tilted just the slightest bit.
He pressed a chaste kiss on her lips, and strong hands forcefully shoved Rilliane into a closet.
A whisper brushed her ear breezily – "Hide."
Late realization dawned on her face. Too late, too late, too late to do anything now.
He casted a discreet wink toward her direction. They stormed in and she watched through tearful eyes as 'herself' was dragged out.
I just want to protect your smile.
How much strength does a person need to do that?
The hood fell on her face, curtained blue eyes from the sight of him. Her lower lip trembled as she prayed, prayed with all she had for a miracle – he didn't deserve this end.
He tilted his head, a perfect imitation of her haughty expression masked his face.
Curses and yells and even bricks were thrown at him. One hit his forehead. Her own blood lashed out. A nasty cut marred his forehead. His smile didn't falter.
If the devil's your lord, as the masses curse your name,
Then I'm a demon too, for our blood's one and the same.
Another teardrop rolled down her face.
His eyes caught sight of her, as always. Brief surprise crossed his eyes before it settled into a cold glare.
Run. As far as possible. As fast as possible.
Can you hear my wish?
Bong. Bong. Bong.
It was her favorite time, Allen remembered. The only time of a day he could see her smile so genuinely and freely.
It was also his favorite time too.
"Oh, it's tea time!"
"Allen –"
The golden rose in his hair rolled down. Redness splashed across yellow petals.
She would never be mistaken for a rose.
Never again.
A forgotten doll, left in the dark attic. That was the most fitting description of her.
"Who are you? Why –? How are you in my mirror?"
He looked at her amusedly, obviously surprised by her questions. Immediately, she looked down. A shy voice reached his ears.
"I'm sorry..."
Leo chuckled.
"No, don't be. I'm sorry. For surprising you like that."
"Why are you in my mirror?" came the same abashed voice. He took his time, digesting the sight of her background into his eyes. She seemed to be alone. Her dress had already lost its colors, leaving a bland ashen color on white cloth. She had a face just like his and eyes downcast, like a guilty child.
Hot, fresh sadness welled up in his heart. He should be the one feeling guilty for destroying her life instead.
"I'm a magician."
That wasn't a lie. Technically.
"Why–why are you here?" Her voice shook at the end. "Did I do something wrong? Are you here to punish me again?"
"No!"
Perhap he answered a little too hastily. She peeked at him again with weary eyes.
"No. I'm here to grant your wishes."
::oOo::
It started with simple things at first. She didn't believe him. It was too good, too miraculous to be true – the most wonderful thing in her life so far. It even took him two days just to learn her name, and she kept worrying if he would disappear anytime soon.
(Her name, he learnt, was Raina. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, he promptly said, and she blushed profusely. Thank you.)
"Will you be my friend?"
He smiled warmly.
"We are friends."
::oOo::
Her wishes were always simple. Sometimes she would just ask for a rose. Sometimes a dish of pastry – preferably brioche.
Her smiles were sunlight that lit up the dark attic. Her laughter filled an empty void.
"Thank you," she kept repeating.
"For you, a thousand times over."
::oOo::
She asked for something more. Nothing ridiculous. Just a cure for her sickness.
He tried to hide his limping in front of her. It was all worth it, however, when she beamed at him. She thanked him over and over and over again, and he smiled back, his finger pressed against her lips in a silent gesture.
"For you, a thousand times over."
::oOo::
Raina told him about her dream – to be a princess in a magnificent castle, where she was loved and cherished, where everyone acknowledged her existence. It was just a dream, she told him, just something her mind cooked up. Her wishful sigh didn't escape his attention.
The next time they met, he was in a dusted attic, dark and cold and unwelcoming. She was at her dream castle, flitting and dancing around cheerfully. The smile never left her face. It was enough for him, he thought. It was high time he gave her back everything.
Soldiers burst into her room one day, telling her something about 'bringing their princess back'.
"Thank you!" she sang out. Her hand held his tightly, warmth soaking his skin from the other side of the mirror.
He let out a tiny smile, trying to stand still.
"For you, a thousand times over."
::oOo::
Leo stood in front of her. His smile was still there as ever, but something was off. Very off.
Sadness clung to her heart.
"What happened, Leo?"
He hesitated. His voice faded. Fingers threaded against her own.
"It's time."
"What's time?"
Fear seeped in. Unreasonable and very illogical, she knew. She couldn't explain her emotions either.
Was he going to leave her?
"Raina, I can't stay here. Not without making you miserable." His words were eerily calm, but the hand against her own was betraying his facade. He was shaking, vibration running down his spine.
He was.
Hot tears were already rolling down her cheeks, burning like poison on baby soft skin. His other hand wiped away the drops.
"It's the opposite from your world, Raina. You were supposed to be a princess as always, like in your dream, and I in shadows… And if I stay here, don't you think – don't you think I'm gonna steal away your happiness too?
"On the other side of the mirror is a world where everything is reversed, Raina." He waved his hand. A ghost of a smirk flickered across his lips.
"I should do my best to grant your wishes, right?"
She choked on her tears. Words rumbled, trying to piece themselves together into coherent sentences, but he was drifting away, already drifting away – "NO! STAY, PLEASE!"
Her hand reached through the mirror into his side, trying to grasp him, but it was already too late. His reflection was shattering, pieces by pieces, patterns and colors exploding everywhere. She could only hold a handful of her memories of Leo with tear–blurred vision.
"Please, I beg you – please stay..."
Wind whispered hoarsely in her ears and a frail smile wavered.
"For you, a thousand times over..."
She was a forgotten singer. Her best friend was executed that day.
They were a pair of human-sized puppets, living in an odd family. One night, a villager, a girl with teal hair, came. The family never saw daylight again.
She was a doll, wanting nothing but praises and compliments from her creator. So she kept dancing, kept singing – even though he was no longer there.
A marionette, slowly falling apart after decades of life. A porcelain doll tried to comfort her. "You are beautiful," he whispered, despite the cracks on her body and her broken arm. Her eyes closed and a "thank you" died on her lips.
She was a cursed princess, awaken by the prince's true love kiss. They jumped out the tower afterward.
He was a prisoner and she was just an unknown girl. They exchanged letters through paper planes. One day, she never showed up by the fence again – the officer beat him until the heart in his chest was silent forever.
She was a suicidal girl, wanting nothing but to end her misery. He was the silent boy sitting in the garden. They met and he saved her from her own beast. But she couldn't save him from his disease. (I'm yet to join you.)
An android went berserk when they were strolling down the city. He died using his body to cover her own, shielding her from the bullet flying towards them.
He was the heir of a fortune. Life twisted his vision of humanity – drummed into to him that everyone was greedy and cruel. He bought a diva from the club thinking that she would fall in love with him – or at least, his money. But she refused to sing or eat for a long time.
And on and on and on.
Time and worlds merged together – cracking and spinning on mercilessly, opening ripples of wounds and holes.
Time changed. They changed too.
Lives and universes twisted their minds. Something once so pure now heavy and dark, weighing them both down. They couldn't escape their fate, couldn't escape their love. No matter what.
Love is the most condescending way to describe what the source of magic is. It's the best word that can serve as an epitome of greed, desire, revenge, friendship, romance, care, family, destruction, obsession, and more.
Their love was a contradiction.
A curse.
But then, that timeline never was, it never happened – yet it happened all at once.
She was perfect, too perfect that her beauty was on the verge of inhumanity. Then again, no blue bloods were supposed to be human. He would know.
There were rumors surrounding her every step she took, death lying at her feet when she made her path through the crowd. They swooned at her, worshiped her; her perfection too much for them to bear. It sliced through their skin swiftly, sweetly – an apology ghosted on their eardrums and their lives ended. Mutely and willingly.
Everyone knew she wasn't human. Yet these men, foolish, naive, stupid men just came to her, one after another, again and again and again, with nothing but their blind admiration and the wrong belief that 'maybe I'm an exception' and 'true love'
He stood back in silence and darkness; and counted.
She fell in love quickly. A wink, a charming look, harmless chatters, and she fell somewhere between a secluded room and a ball. The new and in love couple burnt bright, shone light the moon – vows and promises exchanged 'in the witness of the moon and the stars'
(But moon and stars can be clouded too.)
Sooner or later, she would came back. Tears running on beautiful face and ten red glaring scraps of blunt nails digging in soft skin, she came running back to him – him, her twin brother, not one of those guys she loved. Him.
(They couldn't – wouldn't – contain her – her love – her blood – her being – her. She wasn't human. She wasn't one of them.)
A white tulip. Always a white tulip. He would give them to her whenever she came – pure white, petals translucent and sheeny. An apology, she wondered idly, why would he apologize?
But of course, the thought only flitted through her mind. And if it stayed, she would just brush it off. He probably didn't even know the meaning behind a white tulip.
It became a cycle – one so tiring and horrendous.
She came to him more often than ever. Someone's name played on soft lips, her murmur was the only sound in silent room.
He's shot.
He stroked her hair.
Poisoned.
Fingers brushed against her forehead, white skin crinkled in a frown.
Drown.
A sob escaped.
Burnt.
He sat next to her, her face buried in the crook of his neck.
(He could feel the hollow under her jaw, blue veins pulsing soothingly, her vocal chords curled and she choked on unspoken cry.)
Impaled.
A lone droplet fell down her face. Leonard wondered if it was just the candle's light or her face really seemed ghostly and pale.
Electrocuted.
Her voice strained.
Tired.
There wasn't a single tear.
Nameless faces and unfamiliar names blended in together, red, black, white, dead.
Irene just fell in love times and times, and he lost count at the fifteenth one.
::oOo::
She was inhuman. Everyone knew that. He knew that. The dead's family knew that. Their own parents knew that.
Everyone knew.
Everyone but her.
The blood flowing in her – his – their bodies weren't red. The hands he touched weren't warmth with life force, the features they both shared were just solid and perfect and distant – miles and miles away from such things as breathing and sweating and loving. They were just flawless like that.
Was that perfection a cover for the curse she carried in her chest? The thing that kept them from being actual humans?
No, Leonard answered swiftly, his hand twirled her blond curls as she pressed her face against his chest, inhaling something akin to body warmth from him.
The white tulip smirked at him.
Yes.
::oOo::
Another man fell prey to Irene. Nothing new.
He scoffed.
"Another plaything, dear sister?"
She frowned at him, brows squeezed together and eyes narrowed into a heated glare.
"What was that supposed to meant?"
It meant you were alluring another one to his death, it meant you were out there trying yourself at the role of a lover – just to feel human – wasn't that right, Irene?
You're just sucking the life out of that man, all for your selfish sake.
"I just want to be loved!"
Just as I thought.
He stood up and left the room.
"Never mind."
::oOo::
They were two different beings – opposite pair, two halves, two sides of a coin. Black and white, male and female, bent and bestowed upon the curse.
She was the embodiment of the fear, the succubus, the temptress under her beauty.
Did that mean he was their hero, their saviour?
::oOo::
Sorry, the white tulips spoke again, gentle color cupping red droplets, contrasting so nicely. Masquerade prey number twenty–first stared at him with white eyes and dilated pupils, an accusation glaring directly at him even in death.
Ah, how annoying.
Steel gray metal slitted through wide, dead look, the spongy sense so sickening and weak and breaking, breaking, breaking, crimson fluid leaked through open cracks sneakily and he thought,
how would red blood taste like, hmm?
::oOo::
Somehow, it hurt. It hurt to look at her, it hurt to be near her presence – a thousand needles stinging his eyes; spellbound, mesmerized, was that what those people felt when they saw her?
Her hand traced the tombstone belonging to another man – someone he didn't recall. (And he was pretty sure she didn't, either.)
A distant sickness writhed across unblemished skin and a porcelain smile very tight against her throat.
"I wish I remembered their faces. The scars just… heal too fast."
The frown across his face pressed against inner muscles.
This he knew. Because their bodies didn't remember the pain etched (burnt, tattooed, glassed) on and on and on again on their minds; and there were times when he cut into his hands and wrists, metal slashing against skin so pure and majestic and human – but the next morning he would wake up, skin healed and unblemished and unpolished, a grim frown of wicked recovery.
She still turned around a little everytime the door opened, hoping to find a face of someone very long gone.
And he wore gloves now.
::oOo::
Femme fetale, they hissed behind her back, and he couldn't help but agree.
::oOo::
They grabbed his collar on the street one day, yelling desperately at him to return their brothers, their sons –
– what could he even do? Their souls were devoured by her – by her perfection – by her flawlessness – by her – already.
Surely they knew.
::oOo::
Another man. The portrait made him out to be intimidating and tall, eyes piercing and jaws sharp, while in reality and up close, he was a little too short, his smile a little too warm and plain a little too human.
She glowed too – her breath humid and warm across his chin, so alive. Too alive, in fact.
Leonard studied the individual curve of an eyelash on her cheek and wondered how long would this one last.
::oOo::
His eyes were cold, almost gloating. Dark and perfect and flawless and nothing.
"Leonard?"
She raised her brows in surprise.
"What are you doing here?"
Yes, what are you doing here – in the garden, sowing another white tulip and –
and –
why is the scythe red?
His voice was honeyed venom, a velvety kiss against the tip of her tongue.
"You can't play this love game forever, you know..."
Soft murmurs tangled themselves in her hair.
"It – it's not a game!" – A stammered, hesitant statement.
She took a step back.
"Oh? It isn't a game?"
Scared and hurt, confused and alone. Just like him.
Her legs tumbled, caught in the frilly cage called dress. He shrugged.
"If that is what you want to believe, sis."
Her tone turned defensive.
"I didn't think love is supposed to be that hard!"
Surprised and obviously taken aback, being thrust into this whole mess of intricate layers and damaged daydream, a flawed flawlessness. Just like him.
He gripped her tightly, his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at his mirrored eyes; a frozen sky color crushed her breath.
"Let me take care of it, then," he purred, a fleck of studious glare directed at her identical eyes. "You are terrified of me, aren't you?"
A large gulp was the only reaction Irene gave.
"And you should be, after all."
His hand cupped her chin, yanking so their lips were a mere hair's breadth apart.
"You are harmful for them, you know," frosty patterns gathered on her skin where his breath touched it, "you've got the leech in you, the black blood that they couldn't – can't – contain. No one can."
"Give up."
She turned away, trying in vain to untangle herself from him.
"Don't be like that. I'm only trying to help you, and I'm actually kinder than you deserve, darling," his words stung, "I should be breaking every single bone in your body, should be wringing your neck until the redness that you love so much drips down your throat..."
She was silent, ever so silent; her head pounded so hard and everything didn't stop spinning, spinning, spinning.
His fingers clamped down around her wrist, twisting and crushing until a satisfying crash echoed and her bone snapped. Her face reflected the hurt expression, a wince evident.
Leonard nodded.
"Better for you to be hurt than them."
His teeth bit her before she could protest or make any attempt to escape.
A warm liquid flowed into his mouth.
He released her out of his gasp, a wet noise chewing on his skin – unblemished, untarnished skin – and forced her eyes on his.
"Look at me."
"Look at me, and don't you dare look at anyone else."
::oOo::
Darkness colored her face. Her smile widened just a little when the white tulip was dyed in crimson fluid, a bloody apology, and oh. She finally got it. The feeling, to be inhumanly human. The scythe whistled lovingly, almost serenely, and oh, it was death. One thing they would never, never be able fix.
And it was very, very human.
They called her red-eyed China doll.
He didn't understand the meaning behind this. Rina was the last thing from delicate, frail or weak. She was not glass nor porcelain. She didn't break when being dropped, hit, violated, impurified. If anything, she was flame. Red and fiery and straight, single-minded and honest, and she burnt. Burnt out blindly, her flame carved in those crimson eyes, twisted and deformed but standing still. Red like fire. Red like blood. Slow and tendious, licking and biting and clawing her way out no matter what happened.
These men were wrong. Rina was solid. Beautiful, hard underneath the soft charade, and painfully, painfully solidified.
And they could act lovingly and nobly all they wanted, but those men were the ones created the porcelain sex toy that was once his sister. A geisha.
::oOo::
He was different. Starkly different.
Because where Rina was hot and daring, impatient and flare and full of anger, Ren was calm. Frighteningly calm, always smiling, always peaceful, always, always, always. Soothing and silky and slicking. Because they were two opposite sides of a coin, a pair of twins, a pack, one deal. Sun and moon, light and darkness, fire and water. Red and white, crimson and pearly. Purity and deception.
Because no matter how much she knew, no matter how much she thought she knew about pain and hurts and defilement; Rina would never, never know the way men look at him. Never, never know the twisted, cruel, sickening fascination way they look at him – him, not her. She would never know. She would never understand. How he was a vile, twisted being.
Ren liked to think that he was water. Calm, tranquil, and concealing. Reflective. Shapeless and unfathomable.
::oOo::
Forever twins, m'kay?
::oOo::
The promise was made for a long time ago, before they even knew their circumstance, before they knew that their parents had abandoned them in this whorehouse.
::oOo::
Ren watched her eyes trail after yet another customer as the man walked out. Defty fingers flew up to trace the contours of her lips, and she gave him a smile, dreamy, lovely, innocent.
"He understood, Ren."
Oh, did he?
He commented nothing. Instead, a knowing smile tucked at his lips.
"I'm glad."
::oOo::
But that man knew nothing. That man and Rina and everyone. The pity in their eyes made him want to vomit – did they even know what they were looking at?
The life of a geisha was never, never simple. Never like that.
It was sickening. She knew that, at least.
The same distant sickness writhed in his eyes.
::oOo::
The man Rina was talking about was an average one in all aspects. Mediocre look, intelligence a little above normal. Like every other men out there. The only difference was that he loved Rina.
Ren could see that. Blind, trustworthy, weakening, affectionate, disgusting love. The warmth in his gaze, the familiarity in his voice as he called her name were unmistakable.
The man set his eyes on him and his sister's name immediately spilt out his lips.
Ren smirked.
::oOo::
He didn't understand. She didn't understand. No-one did.
::oOo::
A flirtatious wink, a charming smile, sweet voice and half-caresses. Love, she – he – decided, was blind. Weakening. Nothing. They were just an empty, endless abyss, a shade of black color searing nothing out. (Just like their parents' name.)
It was nothing.
White pupils stared at the man in front of him before standing up and kiss the guy sweetly on the lips.
I will wait for you to free me, my love.
::oOo::
Rina dipped her hands underwater. Cold liquid draped her fingers, wettening the silky sleeves of her rope.
She was about to open her mouth and speak something – anything – when another one of them ran in, surprised and shocked.
He watched her eyes brighten while silently untying her favorite red ribbon out of his flaxen hair.
Ren! You won't believe it! He will buy me out!
She sang, hugging the thin sheet of paper closer to her chest.
I'm so happy, brother. And, oh! Don't worry. I won't forget you. Never will. She all but sang out. Forever twins, right?
Even when I'm a disgusting human being, he wanted to ask, but in the end wisely kept his mouth shut and mutely note.
::oOo::
She came tumbling in his room, wide-eyed and excited.
He let her sleep in his bed. Just like old days.
::oOo::
She almost ruined everything.
An ending to all of it. Her skinny shoulder set and her narrow jaw stubborn and the berry lipstick stained her lips the color of wet blood and for a moment, she doesn't need paint or jewels or anything to be red.
There was a crazy shift in his eyes and a smile slurred across his face for just a breath.
"Rina?"
"Hmmm?"
"Can I kiss you?"
For a moment, the flare burned the shadow out of his face and the man looking back at her is a breath away from wet paper. Begging to tear.
She held back her own breath and breezed out the answer.
Hi lips closed in on hers even before the door shut.
::oOo::
Just once, he kissed those red, deadly lips.
Geishas were supposed to please their customers, and she may regard his words as an instinctive attempt to treat her like one; but he whispered it anway.
"I will always, always love you..."
::oOo::
She looked at him with smiling, guilty eyes, and he tried to reciprocate.
"Forever twins?"
He didn't answer, instead only ushered her into the carriage.
::oOo::
Forever twins?
::oOo::
Ren wanted to say something to the man – her husband now; because he had finally realized that Rina's smile reminded him of being miles underwater and looking up to see glitter upon the surface; and love had never been so real like this.
And maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just as fake as a geisha's love confession, but they could never take away the images of poison-red lips or sideway-glass crimson eyes from his memories.
He carefully picked up the dagger a customer gave him as a gift, and smiled; rubbing it between his thumb and forefingers, relishing in how smooth and delicate it was.
Metal blade flung across his nape, cutting through their promise, through his veins. Words solidified on his lips, and a color reminding him so much of Rina flowed out uncontrollably, stealing away his life.
"Finally, the nuisance is gone..."
::oOo::
Forever twins?
No.
I want more than familial love.
She had asked for forever.
He had said yes without hesitation.
A thousand years later, everything was different. She had white, wavy pigtails and a pair of mismatched eyes. He had short black hair and the eyes mirroring her own. And she was grown in a huge testtube instead of being a real human, his clone, his split personality.
It was love. In whatever form, it was still love. Twisted, sickening, vile, cruel. Beautifully so.
She eyed him with wary regard. Eyes bled out his blood. Dark, black blood. His blood. Her cry clattered on the floor. The hollow under her jaw widened, and a crooked smile mixed in with their history.
"This wasn't what I asked for."
It wasn't what he had asked for, either.
But the more they wanted to be together, the more they drifted apart.
(This is a contradiction. They were a contradiction.)
Oh, and now she thought it was all his fault?
She looked at him through stranger's eyes. It just wasn't her anymore. Not the Eve he fell in love with.
Not anymore.
She was Sakuhi.
And he wasn't the same, either. Now, he was Rei.
They weren't the same. They didn't have that spark.
They were strangers to each other now. Strangers who were once in love, once sharing so many secrets together, now faltering, falling so quickly, broken into themselves. A thousand years had made it effect onthem, worn them out. Scarred and bruised and scared.
She was the blemished, tainted innocence once known as the girl he loved.
He was impaled, blinded, and matured out.
The last remnants of their love balanced on the red thread, stretching them painfully far apart.
(Oh, but it was the red thread of fate. They could be stretched, could be pulled apart, could be scarred. Jarred and cut and dyed, interwoven and messed, but never, never ever drifted apart. The tie was there, and would always there.
Always, always, always.)
Love and lust and everything splashed on them as they fell.
.
She plunged a needle in his red eyes.
He stripped her of her innocence, her happiness, her virginity.
Together, they played a jet-black symphony, twisting in their dance, strutting down the starlit path to the next unknown.
Eve – Sakuhi – asked him again.
The serpent – Rei – was silent.
As silent as the heart in her chest.
.
Love was never supposed to be this hard.
.
He pressed a kiss on her cold, unfeeling and very much dead lips, and murmured their usual farewell.
.
"Thank you."
And on and on and on again.
Maybe we've lived a thousand lives before this one and in each of them we've found each other... I know I've spent each life before this one searching for you. Not someone like you but you, for your soul and mine must always come together.
- Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook.
So. By now you probably realized that this is PVs-based.
... Right?
Can you tell all of them - and by all of them I mean the one-liners too?
Well it's actually understandable if you don't. Because let's face it, if it hadn't been for Google, maybe even I wouldn't have known half of them anyway XD
So, here's the list. Feel free to check!
Part one:
1. Out of Eden (Well, sort of XD More like based on the title XD)
2. Abandoned on a Moonlit Night.
3. Synchronicity series.
4. Soleil.
5. Sword of Drossel/Knight of Letzel.
Part two:
6. Soundless Voice/Proof of Life.
7. Heartbeat Clocktower (I think... It's more based on the novel of Evillious Chronicle than the PV.)
8. Story of Evil (Don't tell me you didn't know this? :v)
9. Magical Mirror.
(One-liners)
10. Boy of The End: Hansel (Again, it's more based on the novel than the PV itself, so it's understandable if you can't tell this...)
11. Night ∞ series.
12. Dolls.
13. 69 (The PV actually has nothing to do with, um, adult content XD)
14. The Apocalypse 13rd.
15. Prisoner/Paper planes.
16. Girl and Boy series.
17. Kaito ga Uninstall.
18. Purgatory and the Canary Girl.
19. Prisoner of Love and Desire (I spent three freaking months to write this part, and one to write the rest of this story... The struggle is REAL. All because a certain someone said she liked this song~)
20. Crimson and White Spider Lily Song.
21. Kagerou Project.
So. Done. I'm gonna miss this, you know...
Who am I kidding I WILL PERSONALLY KISS THIS GOODBYE MYSELF AND LET IT GO OFF TO THE UNKNOWN BYE XD
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Remember to leave me a review~ About anything, really: If I should cut this more, is I should change anything, hmmm. I won't bite. Well, unless you ask me to, then it's a different story XD
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Oh wait, leave me a review first. Then you can go XD Review it, ladies (and gentlemen too~ XD)