A/N: Err... I know it's been a while since I've updated but I've been having problems with my internet and couldn't get on for almost two weeks. But the good thing is that I'm almost done with this fic *yayayayay*
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Chapter 14: Requiem
Requiem: n. mass for the dead; music for this
He couldn't remember feeling so much pain before. Every bone in his body seemed to creak with every breath. There were bruises in places he didn't think bruises could exist. Consciousness was a feeble and fleeting thing; he doubted that he could form coherent thought for much longer. But, oddly enough, it didn't matter to him. Sure, he felt like he'd crumble and break if he shifted his body even slightly, or that thoughts swam in a dull haze inside his head. Despite all that, he did not feel remorse for his shattered body or anger at his tormentors. Looking back on it, everything seemed in a sort of far-away perspective, like detachment or lack of care.
Eriol smiled slightly, ignoring how his lips stung when the abused flesh stretched. Whatever happened to him, at least she would be all right.
He remembered a time when he was ignorant and carefree. Everything seemed like such a joke. Everything was two-dimensional, monochrome. There were the poor and there were the rich. The poor had nothing in life, no money, no worth; they were a part of a flat world, in which there was only net gain and loss. He was the rich, and, therefore, automatically better than the poor because he had everything they did not, and that was enough to qualify him as a "higher" being in the chain of life.
There were times when Eriol, in his boyhood years, would rush into his mansion from a long day of tutoring and run around the rooms, scaring the housemaids. He'd inquire loudly and almost boastfully whether all the chores were done when he knew perfectly well that they were not and then, feigning to be disappointed with the servants' reply, he'd dock their pay as punishment, or fire them at will. And then, at night time, he would come thundering down the servants' stairs, which he knew were old and creaked when too much pressure was put on them and would surely wake up the sleeping labourers underneath and he'd demand ice cream especially imported from Brazil. Or he'd insist on a carriage ride to the park on the rainiest day of the season so he could sit and watch from shelter of the carriage as the rain droplets splattered noisily into puddles while his footman sat outside with the horses and the cold water.
Remembering all that, all those times, Eriol realized how selfish he had been. Not once did he think of the servants that were abused, or the money he'd heedlessly wasted on toys he'd never played with but bought anyway just because they seemed pretty in the store window. Would it have hurt then to be a little considerate? Surely not. And now, Eriol felt this gnawing shame creep up on him. Back then he acted the part of a rich man and in the process lost some of his humanity.
But then he met her, Kaho, and she taught him the worth of human life, rich or poor or dying or newborn. She showed him that life was not about personal pleasure, but moments wherein that pleasure was real, times that he could look back on with fondness and smile at the memory. In the end, it did not matter how much money a person had. What mattered was that they were human, like him; that they could feel and think like him, that their life was just as precious as his was.
And when he learned this, despite its painful price, he also realized how unaware he was of the real world. Before, he lived in an imaginary world where everything was as it was supposed to be and nothing else, where he thought and believed himself to be happy because he wouldn't let himself feel anything else. Now he knew that happiness found home with people he cared about. Syaoran made him feel imperfect, and that made him feel more human because imperfection was so much better than perfection. Nakuru made him feel loved; she was always there for him, and she was family, after all. And Tomoyo made him feel needed, made him have a purpose in life. And for that feeling, for those people who made him feel that way, he would live, too.
Through the darkness and the pain and the rain that slowly gathered overhead, he smiled, and it didn't hurt anymore.
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Touya sighed and racked a hand through his hair. The display of almost sickening affection earlier did nothing for his mental health, much worse was the fact that said display was between his precious sister and a boy who'd barely reached puberty. He glanced at Syaoran, who at that moment was trying this hardest to ignore the older man, and trying to spread his foul mood using just his mind.
"I still don't like you," Touya said nonchalantly, almost offhandedly.
"You don't have to," ground out Syaoran, his jaw muscles clenching. "Sakura likes me and that's enough."
"You do realize that if you even dare – no, think – of hurting my sister, you'll come to regret it?" Touya asked, though it sounded suspiciously like a threat. "You'll suffer so much, you'll have to hire a special team of surgeons to figure out which end of you goes where."
The Lord made a valiant attempt at keeping his glare neutral and trained on the "Older Brother," though that did not prevent him from placing his hands on his lap in a shield-like position (over his very vulnerable manhood). He knew quite well that Touya was not the sort of man you would tamper with and still remain... attached... In fact, he was quite certain that the older man would enjoy himself immensely, too. And as much as he'd loath to leave this feud frothing, he'd rather not face the wrath of Big Brother. He wanted to leave a legacy in the world, after all.
"I'm well aware of that, Sir, and I can assure you that not a single hair on Sakura's head will be damaged, much as I'd hate to spoil your pleasure."
"Well aren't you smart," bit Touya grumpily.
Syaoran shrugged. "I try to be. You can't get anywhere in life if you don't have your wits to fall back on. Heh. And it feels so much more rewarding, when you don't have to exert yourself manually."
The vein on Touya's forehead was threatening to pop. "Are you implying that working with your hands is degrading, Sir?" He spat out.
"Why no, Sir," the other replied in a sugary voice. "Working with your hands is perfectly normal. After all, you have to use the equipments that are granted to you." [1]
Touya seethed. "Should I be offended, Sir?"
"Not at all, Sir," Syaoran answered just as sweetly. ''I'm just saying that you have to make use of what you have, rather than of what you don't have, Sir."
The older man cursed under his breath and tried to find a logical explanation to his sister as to why he murdered her beloved. He doubted that they were talking about his occupation anymore, and though he was not ashamed, he was still discomfited how the references rolled so easily off of the viscount's tongue.
"You shouldn't be talking about not being able to use the equipment you were given.... or not...Sir," Touya fired back acidly.
Syaoran glared and prepared his mental arsenal for a war. True, he had started it, but he'd be dammed if he let the other man have the last word.
While the two young men were sparring verbally, (and still managing to sound gentlemanly), Sakura was upstairs searching for her friend. Excitement and happiness bubbled in her chest, making her feel almost inhumanly giddy. She thought she might as well explode on the spot into a puddle of joyful goo. She still couldn't believe something like this happened to her. She wanted to jump up and down from happiness.
And, being the great friend that she was, she wanted to spread her joyful mood to Tomoyo, who she'd noticed was feeling more subdued than she should have. Everything was going on a straight route to a fairy tale ending, Sakura didn't even know whether everything was a dream or not. The only problem now, it seemed, was that Tomoyo was nowhere to be found and her prince charming still hadn't returned from his trip into town.
Sudden foreboding began to gnaw on her happiness. But this was not a fairy tale, everything was not perfect; the princess was scarred, the prince too wonderful to be true, and the evil sorceress was actually the princess' mother. Rules changed in the real world. Happy endings were rare, quite improbable, she had to admit. So maybe this story would not end with a happy ending? Maybe she was a fool after all, for believing in fairy tales.
Now worry was twisting her insides. Something was definitely wrong, Sakura could feel it in the marrow of her bones. Outside, thunder cracked noisy and a chill crept up her spine. Then she heard the telltale pitter-patter of rain against glass and roofing. Her insides shrivelled even more. With feet as heavy as lead she raced back to Tomoyo's room, which she discovered empty on initial check-up. The window in her friend's room was open, allowing the evening and the rain into the room.
Sakura felt her stomach lurch and her throat close up. Tomoyo would not dare... she would not, would she? Quickly, she walked up to the window, shielding her face from the stinging water, and looked down. The ground was barely visible, the falling rain making it look like a vortex. The girl breathed out in relief; it was too far to jump down, Tomoyo would not risk it, but that still left her whereabouts unknown. Nervously chewing on her lip, Sakura studied the room. There was nothing human in the closet, or under the bed or in the small alcove under the writing table.
With a sigh, Sakura plopped onto the bed. So Tomoyo was not in her room, as she was supposed to be, that didn't mean anything. She could be somewhere else in the large house – in the billiard room, or in the kitchens, somewhere where she was safe. Still the worry did not cease. Sakura didn't know what she'd do if her friend disappear, and she had an idea to where she'd go. Eriol wouldn't be able to forgive her; she wouldn't forgive herself...
She got off the bed and moved off to exit the room to continue with her search. While giving the room one last glance she caught sight of an angular object, what appeared to her as a piece of paper. It blended well with the soft cream-coloured bed sheets and was obscured from view when she threw the excess blankets on the bed when looking under it so she didn't see it originally. Warily, she picked it up, though she didn't truly need to read it to know.
It took her scant few seconds to comprehend the meaning of the message and almost immediately afterward she came running out of the room and down the stairs.
"She's gone!" Sakura exclaimed once reaching the den, where her brother and Syaoran were no doubt arguing.
Both young men turned to stare at her, mouths gaping, as if in the middle of saying something. There was an almost perpetuated silence in the room, penetrated only by the heavy rain and the closing and opening of the young men's' jaws trying to work something out. Sakura's eyes began to slowly fill with tears; she bit her lip trying to stifle a little sob from escaping.
Once regaining his wits Syaoran was instantly at her feet, questioning her in worry. "Did something happen? Why are you crying? Tell me what's wrong."
Touya was already up and moving in to comfort his sister. "Sakura, what's wrong?"
The girl shook her head, whether trying to wake up or ward off their concern she didn't know. Desperately she clung to Syaoran's shirtsleeves. "She's gone," Sakura choked out, "I went to check up on her and she's gone."
"Calm down Sakura," began Syaoran, now fully concerned for the distraught girl, "breathe. Who's gone? What happened?"
"T-Tomoyo! She's gone off to see her mother! There was a note and... God, what do we do now? Why do things like this always happen?" She asked, not really seeking an answer because she already knew it. She buried her head in Syaoran's shirt.
The viscount looked over Sakura's head at her brother. Whatever petty dispute was between them didn't matter anymore, they couldn't even remember what it was. Both were concerned about Tomoyo's safety, thus going to such great lengths to ensure her happiness. The older man's brows were creased together, his lips pursed, he nodded to Syaoran in a silent agreement.
"I'll go inform the police, you two prepare to go search for her," Touya announced, already striding toward the door.
"Come on," Syaoran said and held out his hand to Sakura. With hands shaking, she took it, grasped it hard between her palms. He was her pillar of strength at this moment, and she was grateful he offered it.
"Let's find her."
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Rain dripped off her hair, her soaking dress made a wet trail with each step she took. Tomoyo shook her head, trying to distil some of the cold away. A shiver passed through her body but she ignored it. The rain outside was foreboding, dramatic in its irony. The sounds of the heavy raindrops landing on the earth and against the sides of the house seemed eerily out of place in the oppressive silence of the manor. Had it always been so quiet? How come she never noticed it before? Why did it scare her so much now?
What possessed her to do something so stupid and childish she didn't know but it was far past turning point now. Instinctually she knew she was a fool for coming back here, especially after all that she'd experienced within these walls. She remembered all the years being locked up in her room, looking out through her window for the rare glance of the world outside, or sunshine and laughter that she wasn't allowed to have. She remember feel resentful of the little kids she saw playing outside, so oblivious to pain or sadness. But she also needed closure, to reassure herself that what happened was in the past and would not be able to haunt her any more.
Quietly she crept further into the mansion. It seemed so old to her now, even though it wasn't that long ago that she'd been there. She noted that dust was gathering in places; her footprints were clearly visible on the floor, the faint pale light from outside streaming through a window showed little dust particles dancing. The house seemed dead, almost. What had happened to the servants? The housekeeper usually stayed for the night and the gardener worked thrice a week, yet when looking at it, the plantains outside were overgrown and the interior of the house seemed untouched by human hand. Maybe things were always like this just that she never noticed them because she'd grown so used to seeing them?
Shrugging off as shiver, Tomoyo headed for the winding staircase leading upstairs; she used to be always fascinated by its strange shape and the intricately carved banister. She knew, as if something divine had steered her, that Sonomi would be waiting for her there. Her feet on the dilapidated wood made an odd creaking sound. She remembered when she was young she'd always sneak into the kitchens on her tiptoes because the stairs were very sensitive in their old age and she didn't want to wake anybody up. Now she was rather pleased with the creaking of the stairs, it made her believe that this was like all those times in the past, so she wouldn't be as afraid.
Right off the staircase was her old room. She went in and so many memories assaulted her. Her bed with it's crocheted white bedding. She'd used to wrap herself into those same sheets and parade in the room in front of Sakura, pretending to be a bride. Tomoyo let her fingers brush against the worn material, also gathering dust. There was a chest by the side of the bed made of rich mahogany; she used to store all her dolls in there.
Almost without thinking, she walked up to the chest and crouched before it, liked she'd done so many times in the past. Gingerly, she brushed away the layer of dust that settled on the chest and then pushed the heavy lid up. Her dolls lay inside, like they always did, their large, blank eyes staring accusingly back at her. She picked one doll up. Annabelle. Tomoyo still remembered when she got it. She remembered stroking the doll's long dark hair and rearranging the ruffles in her pale blue dress. In a way, Annabelle reminded her of herself. There was an almost imperceptible smile on the toy's lips, though it didn't quite reach her painted eyes. Tomoyo got this nagging feeling that this look of mourning on the doll's face was all her fault. Carefully, she let her finger whisper over Annabelle's pink cheeks and eyes.
After a while, Tomoyo laid the doll back to into the chest, with the rest of the dolls, and shut the lid. She moved off to the rocking chair by the window. There was a crochet kerchief resting on the seat, just as she left it, the sewing needles and thread over by the foot of the stairs. All those times she used to sit here, looking outside and let the rocking gently lull her to sleep, they seemed so long ago. Tomoyo wondered if that really happened, whether everything really happened.
"Tomoyo? Is that you?" She heard a soft call. It came to her like a breeze, sending another wave of chills through her body.
Slowly, warily, she turned to the doorway where Sonomi stood. Her throat suddenly went dry. She was so afraid; she didn't know what to do or what she wanted to do in the first place. "...Mo– mother..." she managed to breathe out.
"Oh my dear child! I knew you'd come back to me! Oh my darling, little girl!" Sonomi rushed forward but stopped when Tomoyo moved behind the rocking chair as means of protection.
"No... Mother, no... I'm here to say goodbye," replied Tomoyo shakily.
"Wha–Why? No! You can't!" Sonomi cried out.
It was strange for the girl to see her mother like this. She's always pictured her mother as strong and proud and so high above the world that she was, indeed, otherworldly. Now this woman seemed small and insignificant and almost fragile, like she had shrivelled up and become but a shadow of the strong woman she used to be. Or maybe that's how Sonomi always was but gave the illusion of superiority. She noticed the puffiness and tiny lines crease the corners of the woman's eyes, like bird's feet, she saw the silver grey stroking her auburn hair, saw the sagging skin along her jaw and neck and it struck her odd that she never realized that her mother aged at all. Tomoyo felt only pity for her now; she wasn't afraid.
"I am, Mother, I am," the girl said slowly, sadly almost. With a sigh, she moved around the rocking chair and toward the door, where her mother was still poised. "Eriol loves me, and I think... I think I love him, too. He makes me happy, Mother. I want to be with him."
"But don't I make you happy, too? Can't you stay with me and be happy?" Asked Sonomi despairingly.
Tomoyo shook her head. "No, I don't think I can stay with you. This place–" she looked at the walls of her room once again, remembering "– is too old, I think. It holds too many unpleasant memories for me. If nothing else, they'd kill me."
Tomoyo moved past her mother, her shoulders straight until her back ached. Sonomi let her walk out of the room, but then at the last moment grabbed her daughter's wrist. Her clutch on the pale appendage felt bony and cold.
"I'm sorry," she choked softly and Tomoyo was startled to realize that there were tears in the woman's voice. "I'm so, so, so sorry. I know... my precious baby, I know... Your father, he – he never understood what I needed, he never cared. He just wanted to please me and make a profit, he didn't know anything, he didn't. Oh, my darling little girl..."
Sonomi fell to her knees still clutching her child's wrist in her hands. Her body shook with tears but she continued babbling as if she didn't notice.
"I thought it would all be better, I knew it would and it was. Oh how you've grown up Tomo, you're all so big now." Sonomi looked up at her but her eyes were sightless. "Always it had been you. You were always there, my precious baby. Remember how we'd go to the park and you'd call me mommy? Remember the little puppy I gave you for your fifth birthday? Remember the pink dress I made you, the one with all the frills?"
Tomoyo shook her head slowly; her eyes were also filling with tears at the sight of the wretched woman. She never remembered going to the park, or the puppy or the pink dress with too much lace. Everything, all those things Sonomi mentioned, they weren't real, they were lies she created to play with, but the lies were so realistic she confused them with reality and thought them to be true. 'So what am I, then?' Tomoyo wondered. 'If everything was her lie and I was living it out for her, wasn't I her doll like Annabelle was mine?'
"You're sick, Mother," the girl's throat hurt when she said those words. "You need to see a doctor."
"No!" Sonomi exclaimed sharply and bowed low again. "I'm not sick! Your father was sick! He was very sick; he was a wicked, wicked man! He didn't want you, said it was a mistake, but I said otherwise and I had my lovely little baby. All that money, he wasted all that money, he didn't even know that it was wrong. Oh, my darling, I'm so glad you're here with me, you love me, don't you? He didn't love me, no one but you does."
Tomoyo bit her lip, hard. "You used me."
"I had to!" Her mother said, as it was the most natural thing on earth. "You are such a pretty child, all the boys in the neighbourhood fell in love with you. I just wanted to be a great mother and find you a good husband so you'd live happily. But then... your father, that bad man, all the money... Your pretty dresses, I couldn't buy you pretty dresses any more and the people on the streets looked at you funnily. Why? Why did they look at you? I know, I know. They wanted to take you away from me, didn't they? Those leeches, only wanted you because you were so pretty. Nasty old men, nasty, nasty."
Outside, thunder crashed loudly. Tomoyo's heart jumped in her throat and seemed to die for just a moment before continuing its erratic pace. Uncertainly, she pulled at her hand, still in the woman's tight grasp.
"Mother – I have to go, it's late."
"No! Please don't go! I need you, my lovely little girl, don't go!" Sonomi cried desperately.
"I can't stay, I have to go, please let me go." Tomoyo tugged harder on her trapped wrist but her mother held on.
"I'm sorry!" Her mother whimpered; her sobs were heart shattering. "Whatever it is I've done, I'm sorry, don't leave. Please don't, I love you." In desperation, the woman kissed her child's hands, silently pleading with her. "Please, forgive me, forgive me..."
Tomoyo wept softly, removing her hand from the woman's slowly loosening grip. "You ruined me, Mother, you crippled me. What am I now? Who would ever want me after what you've done? I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you." She placed her hand over her mother's bent head, smoothing the hair. "Goodbye." She whispered softly and headed for the stairs.
She almost reached the banister when she heard the swoosh of skirts behind her, signifying that her mother rose to her feet. Tomoyo dried her eyes with the heels of her hands and prepared herself for Sonomi's last despondent attempts at persuading her to stay.
"If I can't have you," her mother began, the steel she was familiar with returning to her voice, "then no one else can have you either."
Startled, Tomoyo swirled to face the woman. From someplace among her skirts Sonomi withdrew a small pistol. Breath stilled in her throat, as everything else became a slow moving tableau. Each beat of her heart felt oppressing, the rain and thunder outside was too loud, as was the silence. She couldn't think, couldn't blink or move.... Why...?
Someone screamed her name but she forgot how to think and so couldn't piece the voice with a face.
A crashing sound and a gunshot rung out throughout the house. A piercing scream followed. Then everything was deadly quiet.... And there was so much blood....
*~*Finis*~*
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[1]Dirty joke concerning Touya's sexuality, I know XD, this chapter needed comic relief.
Now for the names: who ever said that I needed those names for *this* story *grins*? So, here's what I decided on:
Tomoyo's daughter: Hikari
Eriol's daughter: Hotaru (I very much like that name, too ^^)
Tomoyo's son: Saeki
(Dun ask how that works -__-u)
PS: Zidane-chan, *NO* I am sorry for the convention – I acted bossy and like a bitch, but you know how much I like boys -___-;; I truly couldn't stop, you didn't see the worst of it, and so be *very* glad... Ya takaya bal'shaya durach'ka....
