Quatre. My angel; my angel of beauty and peace - his only flaw is his perfection in this hopelessly imperfect world. He doesn't belong here. How can such as he possibly bear to even exist in this universe, fouled and corrupted as it is by the pride and greed of humanity? He is too pure by far; indeed, it is something of a miracle that he has not already fallen victim to humanity's treacherous ways
He came close, yes, driven by the thought of his father - but not close enough to scar him... He fights now with all his heart behind the good intentions which for most people are simply for show. He is everything others pretend to be: innocent... but he is also naïve.
This war will break him, my delicate angel, eventually. He is strong - but that strength has begun to fade. I see his resolve weakening, twisting away from its rightful path, leading him down the road to destruction.
No. I won't let his spirit be destroyed. If his soul burns itself out so soon, his brilliant light will be lost forever. Better it find a different fuel, burn with a different coloured flame, than be extinguished altogether.
With this resolve, I open the door and slip into his room, where he lies sleeping, unaware... The moonlight filters through the glass pane of the window, caressing his bare skin. It surrounds him with a soft, ethereal glow, befitting the angel that he is.
I reach out my hand, but stop short of actually daring to touch him, lest he melt away like a ghost, an intangible illusion...
Yet he is real. I can hear his soft, steady breathing even above my own. My hand moves as though of its own accord to hover just above his mouth. His gentle exhalations warm my fingers. I blink in surprise as they start to tremble, and quickly withdraw them lest they accidentally touch his cherubic face, and dispel the enchantment of the moment.
He sighs in his sleep, turning slightly beneath my gaze. His left hand rests on the sheet above his chest, his fingers flexing each in turn as he plays a silent tune. My own fingers twitch in response, yearning for my flute that I might lull him further into sleep with my melodies. It is perhaps the only touch of beauty I have to offer this world; it is only he who can make my music take on life and joy.
With his goodness of heart, he has given me the gift of knowing such purity of purpose. What gift could I possibly give him in return, to be its match? Only one thing...
I ease the bed-linen from his loose grip, sliding it down the contours of his body. He stirs as the cool night air chills his skin. I wait until he settles, imagining my hands warming him up and down...
Entranced, I kneel slowly on the side of the bed, careful not to disturb my sleeping angel. I lean across him, placing my hands on either side of his head. I bend my neck, lowering my own head, letting my breath mingle with his.
I pause, hesitating for one last precious moment, savoring the sense of his closeness to me. Will he understand why I do this? I can only hope that he will come to see...
I allow my lips to touch his, ever so lightly. He does not wake. I pull back slowly, gazing down at him one last time, removing my knife from its sheath.
Steel slices flesh, severing blood vessels. Dark liquid streams across his body, its warmth temporarily shielding him from the cold night air, dripping down to stain the sheets with shadows under the pale moonlight.
Quatre, may your soul burn with a new light, a new passion, that may burn the evil from this world.
Fare thee well, my one true love, until we meet again in a better place than this.
[MirrorForest - http://www.geocities.com/rhionae/ ][rhionae@hotmail.com]