Dedicated to Kasaki_Kyo_Tanoshi and her brother. Apparently, he died a few months ago, and she asked for a Dilandau fic since they were his favorite. Well, I wanted to write a happy one, but it turned out kind of morbid. Gomen.
Glass Soldiers (Shatter My Soul)
Broken. The mirror had been recently smashed with such furor, and sharp, jagged pieces were littered all over the floor. What glass had remained in the frame had not one inch left intact, with deep valleys changing into spider web cracks like a mighty river and it's tributaries running across a vast silver land. The glass was stained with rich blood, the same color as the anger-filled eyes of the boy who shattered the mirror. His lily-white hands were balled up into fists, uncountable cuts and gashes marring their delicate paleness.
His breathing was ragged, as the glared at his blood. Tentatively, as if he feared they were not really there, he licked his wounds, savoring the sweetness of his liquid life trickling down his throat. When he was done, and the cuts no longer bleeding, his lips were ruby-red and a streak of crimson graced his cheek. The pain was lovely this time, not like when the cursed black-haired boy sliced open his cheek. And now the fleshed had healed, leaving a dull red scar. The scar that, at least so far as his opinion went, had ruined his formerly perfect face.
Dilandau glanced back up at the mirror, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards at what he saw. The reflection was too distorted to see the scar now. All there was left was colors, swirling, fading, confusing his very soul. He smiled. Colors were nice. They gave nice depth to things, contrary to the black and white world he had grown up in. The world was not so simple as to have just two sides, good and evil, life and death. Dilandau clung on to this belief, in hopes that he would never die, at least not completely. Becoming old and feeble was horrible, yes, but what was worse was oblivion.
He would not welcome death, not like his Slayers had. Why had they not run if they knew they could not defeat the Dragon? Instead, in a moment of such blind bravery that made him sick to the stomach, they had literally given up their lives and they futures in a vain attempt at heroics. Dilandau growled. He hated heroics.
He was feeling lightheaded now, and swaying unstably. Perhaps he shouldn't have taken in so much wine. But sleep was out of the question; sleep was oblivion. He glanced at the syringe and bottles lying on his nightstand. He grinned. It had been such a long time since he had used drugs by himself. Occasionally Folken had pumped him with sedatives to make him do the Strategos bidding, but he had never taken drugs out of his own free will since he was ten years old. As if in a trance, he loaded the syringe with an unknown clear liquid and pumped it into a random blood vessel in his wrist.
Unlike what he wanted though, and wave of calmness swept over his body and he felt his eyelids droop. His knees buckled and he fell, landing on the floor with a hard thud. And then there was the lightness, like he was floating sea foam riding alight blue-green waves with and worries at all. He took in a breath, and the salty sea air filled his lungs. A dream, he knew, and yet it felt so real. He could feel the waters caressing his body, taste the salt as it entered his mouth, and hear the seagulls calling in the sky.
And then the ocean dried and disappeared, leaving just dry earth. But gradually, a sprout poked it's virgin face out of the hard soil, and more, and more, until a lush jungle emerged from the barren wasteland. But before the beauty of this utopia could be fully appreciated, a red blur snaked across, leaving destruction in it's wake. All around, muffled, inhuman screams were silenced abruptly, as all the diverseness of the emerald world became the same colored, same sized, and same shaped piles of ash.
When the fire was done with it's angry outburst, it disappeared, but not before shrinking into a warming, comforting flame. And all that was left was air. Air, and the stars, the sun, and the moons and planets revolving around it. Everything existing in perfect harmony, destroying and healing at the same time. For one thing leads to another, everything finds a way to turn out okay in the end.
And suddenly, the raw, uncivilized, and yet beautiful world disappeared, Dilandau found himself in a somber, desolate chamber of darkness and shadows. Four cloaked men hovered over a table, and piercing screams cut through the cold air. Dilandau recognized the tall figures; they were the four sorcerers of Zaibach: Paruchi, Kuaru, Foruma, and Garufo. And we he stepped to the left a bit, he could see through the gaps between the four sorcerers, revealing a little girl, no more than six years old, strapped down on a board in he same fashion he had been such a short time ago.
A foreign emotion trickled into his body. Not hate, and certainly not love, but…pity? Dilandau had almost forgotten the word existed. And though he knew he was dreaming, it was too real to be fiction, but too surreal to be reality. It was an In-Between, he decided, regardless of the fact that he had not the slightest clue what he was talking, or rather, thinking about. As he listened closer, he could hear words in the girl's toneless shrieks.
"Don't leave me alone! Please don't leave me alone! Allen! Jajuka! Where are you?"
"She's become hysterical. We'll put her to sleep. Then we'll take her to the capital to perform the fate alteration." Dilandau's eyes widened in surprise.
"Don't leave me alone! Chesta! Gatti! Dalet! Where are you?"
"He's become unstable. We'll keep this from Folken. Once we put him to sleep, we'll return to the capital to perform another fate alteration."
And, more recently…
"Where is Chesta?"
"He's dead."
"And Gatti?"
"Dead."
"Dalet?"
"Dead."
"VIOLE?"
"Dead."
"Who are you?"
"I am Jajuka. I am in your command. I alone."
"ALONE?"
"Jajuka?" Dilandau whispered. "What does this girl know about Jajuka?" However, the girl and the four sorcerers were gone. In their place was a five year old boy, with pale skin and silver hair. Dilandau recognized himself, lying on a slate gray cot, deeply asleep. Two shadows passed over his younger self, one of which belonged to General Adelphos and the other Strategos Folken. The subject of their discussion, it seemed, was himself. Curious, Dilandau moved closer to hear.
"He might as well be a demon, Folken, and not a boy. I've never met anyone, especially not at his age, with such a liking to blood. It's unnatural. Dilandau Albatou is not a good omen."
"Give him time," Folken said cooly. "He's bloodlust will fade eventually. It's not his fault he is a creation of of the Empire. I'm sure you would be the same if you were born from the dark side of the a little girl, General." Adelphos looked insulted, but bit back his reply. Dilandau, however, boiled with rage. Him? Born from a girl? Forgetting, that he was a phantom, and nothing more, he was about to hurt the younger Folken, but the scene was gone before he could act.
Dilandau was back in Allen's fort after he had burned it to the ground. Walking in the ash, and charred wood, a sparkling something caught his eye. Reaching into the ashes, he pulled out a little blue music box. He pressed the gold button and the top sprang up, showing a miniature couple waltzing as a delicate melody began to play.
Dancing bears, painted wings
Things I almost remember
Once upon a December
Someone holds me safe and warm
Horses prance through a silver storm
Figures dancing gracefully across my memory…
More in fear than surprise, Dilandau shut the music box fiercely. If he didn't, he feared that he might begin to believe what the younger Folken had said. That he was a girl…
And maybe he was. The little girl did look a lot like him. The other side of his mind screamed, refusing to believe.
I am not a girl.
I am strong.
I am a man.
I am feared.
I am powerful.
I am Dilandau.
Dilandau
Dilandau dilandau dilandau dilandau
I am I am I am I am I am
Am I? It struck him odd that the two words in different orders could be so very different. "I am" was sure, confident, and strong. "Am I" was weak, doubting…but "I am" didn't ring true to Dilandau's ears.
Someone holds me safe and warm
Dilandau screamed silently and wordlessly. The song would only drive him deeper into insanity and unstableness, he knew.
Horses prance through a silver storm.
I am I am I am I am I am I am I am I am I am I am I am I am
Figures dancing gracefully
Am I?
Across my memory
All it took was a single "Am I" to shatter a million "I am"s. And now the song wouldn't stop, the voice running over and over in his cluttered mind, driving driving driving…
Far away, long ago
"Chesta! Gatti! Dalet! If you were still here, I wouldn't be like this! Why did you have to die? You left me alone! Alone! Damn you! Damn you all!"
Growing dim as an ember
"We tried"
Things my heart used to know
"What?" The ghostly faces of the Dragonslayers swirled around him. Each fading and appearing again, changing into different soldier as they spoke. They were not individuals anymore, they were a whole. A single body of death.
Things it used to remember
"We were too scared to fight. Too brave to run."
And a song someone sings
"We were just children. We're sorry, Master Dilandau."
Once upon a December
And then they were gone, as Dilandau woke up, eyes lit hysterically, beads of sweat running down his face. Still, the song haunted him. He had cracked. He was gone. Dilandau berated himself for being such a fool, for overestimating himself. He had once thought of himself like a steel sword. Hard, deadly, and beautiful.
He never dreamed he was just another glass figurine waiting to be shattered.
A/N: Not much to say. And to Lina/others: before you threaten me for not putting up Beschattete, I had it all written (it was the last chapter, too), but then my dad's computer crashed and he had to use mine, and somewhere in there it was deleted. I can't write it again because I don't got no computer no more. (Excuse my poor grammar.) Reviews are appreciated.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Sunrise. "Once Upon A December" belongs to Twentieth Century Fox. Used without permission.
Pointless Note: I'll occasionally advertise things I like in this section, so: go listen to Li Wen or Coco Lee or whatever. I personally like her Chinese songs better than her American CD, but that's just me.
Advice: When trying to make a dramatic exit from an argument, generally tripping over something in the process of walking out doesn't do you much good. Unless, of course, you like having people laugh at you and the other person winning the fight.
~Meliae