For anyone reading my Terazuma fic, no I have not abandoned it, I just have too many plot bunnies for my own good. There should be another chapter of that out sometime...
The night was still. Small whispers of wind would find their ways through the open windows, drifting in with gifts of a taunting mist upon their backs. It was not true rain, rather the kind of spring drizzle that languidly decided to let itself fall from the sky and wander its way to the earth. The kind of rain that would leave no sound, but only the damn feeling of wetness that was not quite there. But wetness all the same that chilled to the bone.
He did not mind it.
Steam slowly rose from the cup of green tea that sat before him. It was fresh, just brewed and only a fool would drink the tea before it cooled. Only those who were not wise in their ways went forward without first planning the steps to be taken.
And that was precisely what he was doing. All that he needed was before him, sitting serenely in the figure of one simple doll. Her face was perfect, smooth skin, porcelain pale, with honey-brown curls and eyes as blue as the sea. And through her, he would pull the strings of his own doll, a doll that was much more precious.
He was already kneeling on a tatami mat placed upon the floor. His eyes were closed with concentration. The preparations for the spell had just begun.
Spiritual energies shifted in the air, gathering and flowing everywhere. Silently he willed them closer, pooling the powers about himself. They streamed closer, rippling and whirling into a tight circle. The very air of energy set about the room. A faint ethereal glow grew, softly thrumming and fading in and out as the energies drifted about him.
Only then did he open his eyes. Raising one hand up from where it rested in his lap, he held up one finger, letting it hover just above his lips. Turning the palm to face his lips, he let the finger fall away, a slow arc of soft lighting following in its path.
Beyond the doll before him, the steam rising from the tea twisted itself and rose on its own will from the cup. Slowly it gathered in the glow of the mystic lights before reaching out in the form of a serpent, slowly gliding across the air towards him. It crept up onto his finger; its not-real scales and claws only a few shades lighter than his own striking pale skin. Curling his fingers in, he drew the small beast into his palm and turned it outward, toward the doll.
Obedient to his master's bidding, the serpent crept forward towards the doll sitting on the floor. As it moved, its body slowly shifting and undulating through the air, the light gathered by its master converged. Small waves of the glowing power crashed onto the nonexistent scales and were absorbed into the body, now glowing softly with the newly gained power. Once it had gathered the light from the room, but still shining no lighter than a firefly, it spun itself in the air, spiraling upward at a quickening pace before it dove in a vertical drop directly toward the doll.
There was a brief flash before the light vanished.
The doll looked no different than she did before. However, as her master's hand retrieved her from the floor the once-navy eyes flashed emerald.
This was only the beginning.
Closing his silver eyes, Muraki Kazutaka let himself slip into the familiar trance that would give him the power to penetrate dreams and mold the patterns of reality.
It all started out the same.
The blood spilled forth from the sky in shimmering patches, dying the faint pink petals a deep sanguine hue. The entire field seemed to be red with flowing blood that did not pour upon the ground, but rather seemed to float through the sky like mist, tainting everything yet touching nothing. Only few patches of the white petals managed to maintain their purity. But when the winds swept through the branches above, the crimson fog extended its hold over them as well.
Nothing could be saved, and he knew it, not even himself.
He was there as well. And for once, the white garments, the pale skin, and the silver hair did not keep themselves as something separate from the blood stained surroundings. Everything was tinted the same color, and it made no difference who was who.
He was never able to run, nor did he try to. It was almost as if he was content to simply stand idle and watch the blood of an innocent spill through the reddish fog and stain the pink-white petals below. Sometimes it seemed to him like morbid fascination, the odd pondering of what it would feel like to die like that, brutally murdered with no remorse. Yet now he knew that feeling, the rough heat of a fever and the agony of days wasted in bed as his own life slowly slipped from his fingers.
All because of him.
And he was there now. Finished with his sinister deed, as always he turned, eyes glistening red in the tainted light. However this time, something different happened. He did not feel himself starting, tensing himself and readying to flee, as he knew he did. Nor did his killer chase after him, grabbing at the fabric of his kimono, pulling it from his body, leaving him bare to the wants of the crimson moon.
None of those things happened, because this time his killer instead calmly walked toward him, the blood faintly vanishing from his clothes, leaving him immaculate once again. It wasn't really the place to ask how such things could happen, because everything was true in the land of dreams.
Every wish and nightmare that the imagination could conjure…from the most beautiful to the most horrid. And this was no exception.
"You've noticed, haven't you?" the silky purr of his killer broke the silence, "Dreams have a way of changing themselves, bouya."
Something sparked at the edges of his empathy. It was a feeling, something vivid…something almost…real.
That can't be…he thought to himself, this is just a dream…
"But then dreams are just the mind's way of twisting reality." The killer continued as he approached. "It's hard to tell where the dreams end and where the real world begins sometimes, wouldn't you agree?"
"What do you mean…?" he questioned slowly, trying to find an explanation for the very real dark emotions that played on the edges of his senses.
Suddenly, the killer was before him, his hand gripping the fabric of the kimono as he carelessly pushed it aside, revealing the pale bare skin beneath.
"How do you know that this isn't real, and what you live is a dream? Every night you visit this place…where I made you mine. Yet during the day you try to convince yourself otherwise. You try, futilely, to convince yourself that I hold no sway over you…yet is that really true?"
Emerald eyes narrowed with anger and confusion, but somehow he could not will his body to move. And the killer knew this.
Leaning closer he whispered his silken words gently into his ear.
"I think it's about time you had a little reminder of what is real, bouya."
Before he knew it, he was on the ground, the body of his killer looming over him; he could feel the blood. It was sticky on his skin…but there was something different this time too.
As he looked down, he did not see the words of the curse; there were no markings across his arms. The only brand made in blood were two kanji centered on his chest.
"Ningyou…" the killer whispered. "You must remember…you are my doll…"
The pain sparked through his body as he felt the blood upon his chest burn itself deep into his skin, onto the very fabric of his soul.
It was then that he screamed.
For this fic, basic concept is...not easily explainable. ^_^;; I'm really nasty to Hisoka, so yeah. That's my basis.
~*~
From Dreams to Reality
Prologue
Ningyou- n. doll.
The creation of the master. Wrought through time and skill, perfected only after years of work, and even then never absolute in its creation. A figure formed by one hand, born by one hand, given both life and death at the same power of that one hand, holding the power to create, destroy, and control.
~
~*~
There you have it, the prologe. First chapter's in the works...but it has lots of kinks, so don't expect anything soon unless I get a really good plot bunny
