Disclaimer - Escaflowne and characters mentioned here (with the exception of Lani) do not belong to me, nor do the song lyrics from "What is a youth?" of the 1968 version of "Romeo and Juliet". Just wanted to let you know =). Please enjoy the story.
Foreground - This story features the Dilandau/Lani romance from "Blood, Sorrow, and Rage", but is in a totally different setting. The story still takes place in Zaibach, but other than that, not much of the setting is even the same.
"What is a youth? Impetuous fire. What is a maid? Ice and Desire. The world wags on, a rose will bloom ...It then will fade; so does a youth, so does the fairest maid."
Shielding his eyes from the radiant sun, a slim, pale boy stepped out of the dark alley way and into the crowded streets of Zaibach. He shuddered to himself, finding the brilliant color of the morning exhausting. Wrapping his billowing cloak around his fragile body, he sought to retire from the city life as quickly as possible.
The boy broke away from the common traders and craftsman, heading toward his own personal Brahmin*. Along back paths and more dark alley ways, lied a place that the sun's rays couldn't touch. Not a single star shone in this dark, cold, and sacred land. Only the villians of deepest shame and nightmares were aloud to walk upon it's scorched surface. Admitted was the fiery tyrant, Dilandau Albatou.
Small and vulnerable, a wooden house stood upon the forbidden lands. The boy retired into the house, closing the door after him. Settling himself onto a chair, he unfastened the cloak from around his neck. He propped his elbows on the table, and set his head on top of his knuckles.
Image upon image of a girl he had. Skin pale and glowing such as his. Short, straight auburn hair. Seemingly silky body. An angel of desire.
Often had this girl crossed his mind. The image of her caused his heart to soar. Never had he spoken to her before, but he knew that any words from her very mouth were ones that he needed to hold on to. This pure heart was not one of the common herd.
Nestling himself into the comfort and warmth of the chair, he slowly closed his eyes, and began to drift off to sleep. His dreams were far more of a paradise than his own impractical being. Sustaining him were only the images of his angel of desire. Losing her he simply could not be.
Awakened hours later by a pounding on his door, the boy became irritable. Rarely did he receive visitors worth while; usually they were only from curious children wondering if the shack was yet abandoned. Stepping out of his chair, the boy rose up to answer the caller. All at once, he had a feeling of immense impracticality. Sensing..knowing..the owner of the knock was his angel of desire.
Foreground - This story features the Dilandau/Lani romance from "Blood, Sorrow, and Rage", but is in a totally different setting. The story still takes place in Zaibach, but other than that, not much of the setting is even the same.
"What is a youth? Impetuous fire. What is a maid? Ice and Desire. The world wags on, a rose will bloom ...It then will fade; so does a youth, so does the fairest maid."
Shielding his eyes from the radiant sun, a slim, pale boy stepped out of the dark alley way and into the crowded streets of Zaibach. He shuddered to himself, finding the brilliant color of the morning exhausting. Wrapping his billowing cloak around his fragile body, he sought to retire from the city life as quickly as possible.
The boy broke away from the common traders and craftsman, heading toward his own personal Brahmin*. Along back paths and more dark alley ways, lied a place that the sun's rays couldn't touch. Not a single star shone in this dark, cold, and sacred land. Only the villians of deepest shame and nightmares were aloud to walk upon it's scorched surface. Admitted was the fiery tyrant, Dilandau Albatou.
Small and vulnerable, a wooden house stood upon the forbidden lands. The boy retired into the house, closing the door after him. Settling himself onto a chair, he unfastened the cloak from around his neck. He propped his elbows on the table, and set his head on top of his knuckles.
Image upon image of a girl he had. Skin pale and glowing such as his. Short, straight auburn hair. Seemingly silky body. An angel of desire.
Often had this girl crossed his mind. The image of her caused his heart to soar. Never had he spoken to her before, but he knew that any words from her very mouth were ones that he needed to hold on to. This pure heart was not one of the common herd.
Nestling himself into the comfort and warmth of the chair, he slowly closed his eyes, and began to drift off to sleep. His dreams were far more of a paradise than his own impractical being. Sustaining him were only the images of his angel of desire. Losing her he simply could not be.
Awakened hours later by a pounding on his door, the boy became irritable. Rarely did he receive visitors worth while; usually they were only from curious children wondering if the shack was yet abandoned. Stepping out of his chair, the boy rose up to answer the caller. All at once, he had a feeling of immense impracticality. Sensing..knowing..the owner of the knock was his angel of desire.