Sakura Dreams
Disclaimer: YnM belongs to Yoko Matsushita-sensei, not me (damn). I'm just twisting their minds for my own amusment, if they're not already corrupted enough... heh heh *coughMurakicough*...
Prolugue- Memories.
***************************
He smiled, sadly.
The moon was bloody red above his head, casting the hedious red haze over the sleeping land. Not a wind rustled the treetops and all was silent. Dead silence. He could not even hear his own breathing or feel the beating of his heart in the stillness. It seemed to him that he was dead, like the night.
He leapt off the roof of the church and landed gracefully on a grave, not caring who it belonged to. The cemetary was hidden in shadows and the smell of death hung heavy over the sleeping dead.
Stepping down from the stone, the man walked down the dark path and into the shadows. He made his way through the mazes of graves and stopped before a white marble one with a large cross set on the grave stone. Its shadow was printed on the flat slab of stone at his feet, perfectly straight. The grave was partially covered with fallen leaves and petals. Spider webs guarded the dark corners and cracks. It had been negelected long. He knelt down and brushed away the leaves to touched the cold marble, his silver eyes scanning over the tiny words carved into it as his fingers traced the name and smiled again.
Here lies Kurosaki Hisoka, eldest son and heir of Kurosaki Nagare.
Died at 16 of an unknown illness.
May his soul forever rest in peace.
The man noticed that the mother's name was not written and neither was the date of Hisoka's death, but it did say how old he was at the time of his death. 16. So young. So foolish... The pale lips of the man curved into a smile, cruel yet satisfied.
A tiny breeze swept over the silent yard and touched the kneeling man's moonligh-pale hair softly, enough to make it sway a little in front of his eyes. He tensed and stood up, glaring at the grave.
'Kurosaki...' he whispered angrilly, 'Kurosaki was cursed, his family is cursed. Even the young boy.'
Presently, he laughed a little, cold and amused. His mind wandered dreamily into that night many years ago, under the sakura tree and the bloody moon. Lifting his gaze to the heavens he
studied the moon, the same moon that had taken him and witnessed many of his secret activities, including that sensuous night among the flowering sakuras, one of the most beautiful times in his life, perfect.
His laughter rose, escalating till the night seem to shatter with the histerical notes of insanity. Abruptly, he stopped and gazed down at the grave.
'Hisoka... my Hisoka, my doll.' his eyes glinted in the dark. 'No matter what happens, you will always be my puppet. Always.'
He bend down and placed a red rose on the white marble, still smiling. He had to find that doll again.
Muraki turned his back and disappeared into the night, seeking new victims.
~TBC~
Author's note: Well this is only the prologue and short. Please READ and review or else I won't write. I have a very interesting idea in mind. *evil grin*
Disclaimer: YnM belongs to Yoko Matsushita-sensei, not me (damn). I'm just twisting their minds for my own amusment, if they're not already corrupted enough... heh heh *coughMurakicough*...
Prolugue- Memories.
***************************
He smiled, sadly.
The moon was bloody red above his head, casting the hedious red haze over the sleeping land. Not a wind rustled the treetops and all was silent. Dead silence. He could not even hear his own breathing or feel the beating of his heart in the stillness. It seemed to him that he was dead, like the night.
He leapt off the roof of the church and landed gracefully on a grave, not caring who it belonged to. The cemetary was hidden in shadows and the smell of death hung heavy over the sleeping dead.
Stepping down from the stone, the man walked down the dark path and into the shadows. He made his way through the mazes of graves and stopped before a white marble one with a large cross set on the grave stone. Its shadow was printed on the flat slab of stone at his feet, perfectly straight. The grave was partially covered with fallen leaves and petals. Spider webs guarded the dark corners and cracks. It had been negelected long. He knelt down and brushed away the leaves to touched the cold marble, his silver eyes scanning over the tiny words carved into it as his fingers traced the name and smiled again.
Here lies Kurosaki Hisoka, eldest son and heir of Kurosaki Nagare.
Died at 16 of an unknown illness.
May his soul forever rest in peace.
The man noticed that the mother's name was not written and neither was the date of Hisoka's death, but it did say how old he was at the time of his death. 16. So young. So foolish... The pale lips of the man curved into a smile, cruel yet satisfied.
A tiny breeze swept over the silent yard and touched the kneeling man's moonligh-pale hair softly, enough to make it sway a little in front of his eyes. He tensed and stood up, glaring at the grave.
'Kurosaki...' he whispered angrilly, 'Kurosaki was cursed, his family is cursed. Even the young boy.'
Presently, he laughed a little, cold and amused. His mind wandered dreamily into that night many years ago, under the sakura tree and the bloody moon. Lifting his gaze to the heavens he
studied the moon, the same moon that had taken him and witnessed many of his secret activities, including that sensuous night among the flowering sakuras, one of the most beautiful times in his life, perfect.
His laughter rose, escalating till the night seem to shatter with the histerical notes of insanity. Abruptly, he stopped and gazed down at the grave.
'Hisoka... my Hisoka, my doll.' his eyes glinted in the dark. 'No matter what happens, you will always be my puppet. Always.'
He bend down and placed a red rose on the white marble, still smiling. He had to find that doll again.
Muraki turned his back and disappeared into the night, seeking new victims.
~TBC~
Author's note: Well this is only the prologue and short. Please READ and review or else I won't write. I have a very interesting idea in mind. *evil grin*