Disclaimer: Don't own Sailor Moon. Belongs to Naoko
Takeuchi.

"I want to return to I don't know where." – Shion Zaites,
PSME Keyword

Kick me not. I haven't gotten around to figuring what I
was going to do with this. (Bless my editor! She offered
her assistance in this endeavor.) ^^;;

Avalon
Chapter 2:

Ignorance was bliss.

Such was the predicament of Usagi, wife, lady and
lover of one very lucky White Prince. There were dreams
that beheld her unconscious mind at night, stirring her
vivid imagination like a pool of chaotic colors. Logic
laid dormant during her dreams, within the deep, feathery
bed of reality.

Hovering near dawn, logical thought would resume once
more, forcing her mind to drop the burning embers of her
memorable dreams, allowing them to sink into the oblivion
of forgetfulness.

Usagi fanned out her crimson velvet dress underneath
her, gracefully descending upon the solid oak chair. The
engravings were of swirling entities entwined around each
other, like braids in slippery strands of silken hair.
Gratefully, she accepted a warmed cup of peppermint tea,
uselessly blowing away the dancing steam rising from the
heated liquid.

A basket of flowers settled close by on the rough
wooden stool half-hidden behind the wall's ledge. Floral
fragrances drifted from the bundle of wild blossoms, fresh
from the Fields of Dawning, waiting to be placed in their
newest home until they wilted. As if in answer to the
silent question, a servant girl with plump, rosy cheeks
hefted the basket with one arm, steadying the woven
creation and its contents on the small of her hip. Her
dyed, woolen dress was going to smudge with dirt from the
fields. Usagi smiled faintly as the little girl bobbed her
head once at her in reverence, then dutifully turned to
help her mother in the kitchens.

Overall, it was going to be a quiet day, again.

Demando was away on official business, as usual. He
had promised to return tomorrow evening, 'whilst the stars
winked down upon her,' he had said, giving her a quick,
chaste kiss. Usagi was far beyond accustomed to these
frequent departures. She understood the duties bestowed
upon him according to his royal lineage, as she herself,
understood that she had duties as a courtier. Thus, she
could do nothing but to wait, and have her tea in utter
peace and silence.

Her touch confirmed the temperature of the bland
peppermint tea to her liking. She peered over the lip of
the cup as she brought it toward her lips. It would do her
no good if a bug had flown into the drink. She chased away
the last strands of curling steam with a gentle breath,
sipping the hot fluid carefully.

She blinked, uncomprehendingly. The tea was sweet.
The honeyed, sugared taste tickled her taste buds lightly,
in combination with the soothing refreshment of the
peppermint.

She didn't understand. She had specifically asked
for unsweetened tea. Perhaps the maid forgot that she
always took her tea plain. The thought did not bode well
in her mind, however, her maid knew her for far too long to
make a common mistake such as this.

Might as well not let the tea go to waste. With that
thought firmly implanted in her mind, she took another sip.
Again, the sugary taste overwhelmed her senses, like fresh
honey combs from the hive.

She opened her eyes, catching sight of the odd
swirling of her tea. She froze, lips connected with the
edge of the cup. The liquid drew dangerously close to her
lips, but she avoided it as best she could as if it were
ground hemlock. A strange chill crawled up her fully
clothed spine, tickling her as it traveled toward the
standing hairs on the nape of her neck. It was the type of
tickling that elicited far more horrific sensations than
laughter. She had not seen her reflection in the cup.

Fear traveled along the length of her body. The soft
material of her dress wrapped around her did not stir, nor
did it rumple with movement.

The mists of steam parted slightly, giving her a tiny
peek of images seemingly plucked from a child's tale. They
were images caught within the sinuous web of a dream
catcher's netting. Instead, this case did not include a
dream catcher, but a tea-cup.

A single image focused, swimming in the rippling
pools of the herbal concoction. It was an image that
defied all laws of physics, yet, it seemed...akin to the
world. The world was full of marvels, who was Usagi to
decide what existed and what did not?

The image of a small, pale figure gazed back at her,
head tilting sideways in curiosity. It's body was clear,
and naked as the eternal dawning. The part of it's anatomy
that surprised Usagi was that of the translucent wings
mounted between the small shoulder blades.

Usagi sat there, entranced with the vision. The
figure, in itself, tugged at something untouchable hidden
beneath the depths of her mind. It tried to weave out of
the maze of common sense, only to find itself lost within
its own reasoning.

The figure raised two fluid limbs. Something was
clasped between it's hands, but what the object in question
was, she could not tell.

The tiny body seemed to inhale deeply, small body
expanding slightly, before giving a great sigh of an
exhale. A great sunburst of a shower of petals flew toward
Usagi, blinding her of the little person's image.

Eventually, the image was once again engulfed in the
misting steam, and the tea was as it was before. Shakily,
Usagi set the cup on the polished wooden table. With
delicate fingers, she smoothed out her skirt, staring at
the back of her hands.

It wasn't real...It wasn't real... she murmured
carefully to herself. She was hanging onto sanity with a
loose thread as she used all her willpower to climb that
thread. Ignoring her doubts and her fears, steadily, she
returned to a state of calm that she deemed acceptable.
However, her eyes continued to glaze over the area that she
smoothed her skirt with trembling hands. The bleeding
fabric mirrored her true blue eyes, merging the colors
together to create a crimson scarlet.

The tea lay on the table, forgotten.

***

Usagi retired to bed early in the afternoon in an
attempt to destroy any memory of the occurrences earlier.
She would sleep, she concluded, and she would forget. She
would forget the tea, the little flying figure, the petal
shower, she would forget *everything*.

She was tucked safely under down-filled coverlets,
hands clutching a bottle filled with warm water. She had
blatantly refused the housekeeper's offering of tea to deal
with the chills. It wasn't a particularly chilly day,
however, she had enough chills of her own to deal with.

So, she dreamt again. Dreams that meant everything,
yet nothing at all to her. Dreams that her coherent mind
made no sense of and dismissed them as useless delusions.

Before her lay the everlasting mists, drifting closer
with every passing moment. They sought to swirl around
her, to caress her, to engulf her. She saw nothing of her
forgotten forest, however, but saw only the impenetrable
mists.

She waited for an eternity as it came, passed and
went along it's merry little way, standing steadfast on
something that was vaguely solid. She tugged one ear in
contemplation.

To her surprise, the haze filtered slightly,
revealing a pair of all too familiar marble columns. They
were cool to the touch, she noticed upon running her
fingers upon the rigid texture. Yet, they hummed with a
warmth unknown. The merest touch seemed comforting to her-
until something blinked right back at her through the thick
fog.

A pair of eyes stared back at her, laughing
cheerfully at her without so much as a sound. They were an
exact replica of her eyes, in shape, color, and clarity.
The only difference that Usagi could pinpoint was the depth
that they held. Her mirrored eyes held so much more wisdom
than she could ever comprehend.

A long arm plunged from the opaque white vapors,
beckoning Usagi with the slightest crook of a slender
finger. The eyes were still smiling, still cheerful. They
were inviting her to approach the mists, to enter through
the marble gates once again.

She almost did, as she leaned forward, a hairsbreadth
away from the merry gaze. The fingers that had beckoned to
her invitingly slid around her arm, gently pulling her in.
The reality of the illusion seemed to grasp her at that
moment, dragging her away from the misting portal by her
other arm. She took a step backwards, only to find that
the once soft and tender grasp increased the strength of
it's hold. As she attempted to take more steps backwards,
to retreat to the calm, foundational world of her reality,
the iron clad clasp held her with unimaginable strength.
It seemed impossible for an arm so petite, so lithe to have
the power of several burly men. The thought alone caused
Usagi to shudder noticeably. How could something so
harmless, so gentle, seem so dangerous? The age old quote
came to her mind, 'looks can be deceiving'...

She struggled with the vise-like grip, following the
tug of reality. Her attempts only served to tighten the
grip at her arm, the nails digging into her flesh
painfully. Small half-moon marks would be left on her
forearm later, possibly short-term scars.

The mortal game of tug-of-war continued, as Usagi
desperately struggled to free herself. Something
undeniably alien flitted across her face—fear. Usagi was
truly afraid, and made no motion or false expression to
hide that fear. Stray tears escaped from the confines of
her eyes, streaming down in a fine, glistening rivulets.

Abruptly, as if coming in contact with hot irons, the
hand slid away, withdrawing back into the mists where it
had previously come from. The eyes blinked once, a
concerned expression settling over their consistent gaze.
Within the next blink of an eye, they melted and merged
into the haze in which they were created.

Usagi fell in a mass of rustling cloth and nightgown,
back arched over her folded knees. Sobs erupted from her
undersized frame. She buried her face in the mass of
flimsy material of her layered gown. She rocked back and
forth miserably, desperately seeking a coherent thought as
evidence that her sanity still existed.

A firm pair of hands caught hold of her quivering
shoulders, kneading them softly. They had an adverse
effect, as a result. Usagi froze at the touch of the
utterly unknown presence, fearing to turn her face around
to meet the gaze of her captor.

A face pressed itself next her ear, unhampered by the
waves of golden hair. The cool breath of their whisper
stroked her cheek like a goose down feather.

"Why do you deny us?" A voice whispered
enigmatically, sotto voce. It was terrifyingly close to
her, sounding extremely fearless.

It was then when she willed herself to wake.

***

She gasped for breath, inhaling in the night air
deeply. A hand sought to hold hers. She flinched at
first, however, upon noticing that it was Demando, she
relaxed significantly. Demando must've crawled into bed
when he had arrived home from his journey. It was
considerate of him to refrain from waking her.

He sat up, allowing the sheets to slip from his
gloriously bare torso. Two arms encircled around her
waist, steadying her.

"Something wrong?" He whispered close to her ear,
planting a soft kiss upon the tender spot underneath her
ear. One of his hands began tracing faint patterns on her
shoulder.

After a moment's hesitation, she shook her head in a
negative response.

His hand trailed lower down her arm, en route to lace
his fingers with hers. She flinched when he passed by her
forearm. Instinctively, she rubbed the delicate spot
carefully, tending to the sore.

"Usagi?" Demando asked quietly, lifting her arm in
inspection. "Did someone hurt you today?" A slightly
protective lilt entwined in his quizzical voice. He was
trying to restrain his anger...

"Hm? No," she answered automatically.

He ran a finger gently over her skin. Again, she
flinched, and again, she could feel his chest tremor ever
so slightly in concern.

It was far too dark too see any bruising of any sort,
particularly light bruising. However, small, curved nail
marks had punctured her skin, not very far from bleeding.

Her eyes fixed on the area of her skin that was
damaged, darting from one tiny wound to the other.
Confusion and calamity fluttered from one end to the other
within her mind, thoughts running a mile per minute.

Her hands flew to her face, eyes wide with the fear
of a cornered animal. She turned abruptly to Demando,
burying her face within the crook of his neck, crying out
his name between sobs. He caught the odd fragment and
phrase, trying to pin together the phrases to create a
complete, coherent thought. All he gathered was her
constant whimpers.

"Make them go away, make them go away!" She shrieked
into the night.

***