Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne or any of its characters.

The setting sun is so beautiful. It relaxed her, calmed her. The shower of golden rays against her skin felt so warm and soothing. It purified her, healed her, reminding her of a fairy tale where the prince and the princess lived happily ever after, riding off into the sunset. She smiled a delightful smile, feeling like a child again, sitting in the courtyard waiting for her mother to prepare dinner. So lovely, so lovely is today; white fluffs against a pink background. Then, suddenly in the sky was a glisten of red; a sparkle. Squinting her eyes, she looked again at the red sparkle that was getting distinctively larger, followed by a black one and many blue ones. When she was certain it was them, her master, Celena, and the dragonslayers, Deré hurried off excitedly to tell Folken the good news.

But of course, Folken had already known. She realized that they must have communicators or something, how silly of her! Nevertheless, he walked with her towards the hanger. She felt her heart flutter; she hadn't seen him for a week. How is he? Had he missed her? Missed me! No, why was she thinking like this, why should he think of her! She was just a servant to him, he could care less, he probably never thought of her anyway. She shook these thoughts from her mind and thought about Celena.

How she missed the girl. Celena was the one who brought sunshine into life, the one who brightened it with laughter and fun; she was the rose-blossom amidst the field of hyacinth. Everyday, Celena would bring her breakfast and they would chat together about life and things they both enjoyed doing; things you share with a friend. Also, Celena had given her a lot of insight about Dilandau-sama. He happened to be one of her favorite topics, whether it be his habits or his personality. It was nice having a friend like that; it had been so long since she had someone close to talk to.

As they neared the stairway to the first floor, thunderous landings jolted the Vione. Upon arrival, she searched the area for him, and there he was, standing next to Celena at the head of two perfectly straight lines formed by the dragonslayers. His face looked cheerful and happy and he was grinning; however, it also seemed very tired, and there was something else, something subtle and dark that almost went unnoticed. She wanted to embrace him, Celena, all of them, glad that they had returned safely, and to show how much she had missed them; except, it didn't seem right.

A high pitched squeal interrupted her thoughts, "DERÉ! I missed u so much! You now what, we totally ambushed them! It was so funny! Cause they weren't prepared and we snuck up on them, oh! You should have seen the commander's face! I swear he was so scared he was going to pee his pants! And there was this one guy, after his head fell off, his eyes were still blinking! It was so weird! And there was this other guy, he was going to get Dilly-chan but I saved him even though he won't admit it and then there was this other guy . . ." Celena clung onto Deré, giving her a welcoming hug, while talking non-stop as she told excitedly of the battle.

Her once shiny black amour was covered in a thick layer of dried blood, and there was a nasty bruise on her forehead; but she didn't seem to mind or care. Deré gently touched the wound and the girl winced at the pain. "Celena, stop a minute, you have to treat this or it'll get infected." Taking the girl's hand, Deré lead her away to the medical wing, she glanced back at her master; he was reporting to Lord Folken and hadn't taken any notice of her.

She was waiting for him. He was late; he always came a little after mid-night. She remembered the last night they had spent together, when they had talked together, it was when he had said that he wanted to keep her. To keep me. It had been hesitant, and unsure, but she believed that he had meant it. In a way, it gave her a safe feeling. Ironically, she always felt safe with him, never having been afraid of him before.

Ever since the first day, she had never been afraid; maybe of her surroundings, of what he did to others, but never afraid of him. Perhaps it was because he treated her differently; he made her feel helpless, yes, but also showed her moments of his weak side. It was another him that many did not know of, and would never have guessed existed. Even if they did, they wouldn't live to tell about it. It was his conscience, his humanity. She had begun to realize that he didn't enjoy killing as much as one would have thought. In fact, it could almost be said that he felt guilt? No, not guilt, but a drawn back sense of regret. The joy and evil fun of it had disappeared, leaving only the dread and emptiness.

It has become something that he did, that was him, how everyone knew him as; almost like a shell that he had to keep up and support. He had nightmares, horrid nightmares of the battlefield. In the night, she often felt him grip the sheets and bury his face in her chest. She stroked his hair sometimes, held him sometimes, cared for him, but never would they exchange words. Never would she break the moment; and as always, the next day would carry on as if nothing had ever happened, as if he had never been there. And they would again, play their respected role of the servant and master.

With these thoughts in her mind, Deré slowly sailed into a whirlpool of dreams. She dreamt of an angel, with blood covered wings. The feathers dripping with a thick red liquid; he was treading in a pool of crimson blood. Struggling, the angel tried to stay afloat, his arms flailing wildly as he labored to breathe. Then, with a final thrust, the angel leapt into the air, and for a moment, it almost seemed as if he had made it, as if he were free. But the wings, drenched in blood, were too heavy. Red splattered everywhere as he struggled to fly, to get away, but he was falling, falling back into the pool of red. The heaviness seized him, the weight, the burden too much, too unbearable. He fell, plummeting into the redness, and this time there was no more movement, no more panic or exertion. The surface was quiet, clam, undisturbed. There was no trace of the angel ever being there, except a single bloody feather, left buoyant.

She dreamed a series of red dreams, all similar, all leading to the same idea. What is it? What are they trying to say, to tell me. The moon shone in through the balcony casting a silvery glow. The night breeze blew gently and the air felt misty. In the night, the planet was different, like another world; like the other side of the mountain. The moonlight reminded her of a song, a sad song:

Moonlight moonlight how bright you shine, come, come to me and ease my mind. Erase my memories and let me dream, let me forget the yells and screams. With you it's different, with you it's the same, you always sooth me but bring me back again. Moonlight moonlight you who see all, tell me, come tell me, when will I fall. And when I do, will it be heaven or hell? Tell me, come tell me, will there be angels at all?

How curious, it seemed for Dilandau-sama, it worked the other way. It was backwards; only in the night and underneath the moon, did the truth surface. The hidden is revealed, and the gates are unlocked.

It had been three days now since his return and every night she had waited, but no one came. Deserted, she felt deserted, but then, did she even have a right to? There was an awkwardness thinking of him sleeping in a different room. She had gotten so used to his familiar figure next to hers, his arm around her waist; lonely, it felt lonely. It was different from when he had been away, because at that time she had known he wouldn't come, because he wasn't there. But now, she expected him, almost wanted him to be here. The thought scared her, why is there this sense of need, wasn't it the other way around? Was he not the one who needed her? It was frustrating, figuring these feelings out.

Life had been so simple once, on the streets you never thought about anything but food and sleep. Maybe she should go to him, ask him, talk to him; maybe something was wrong. Even during the day, when they saw each other or walked by one another, he would take no notice of her. Before, there had always been a glance or gesture, but now, even when she was on the balcony of the second floor watching the dragonslayers practice their swords, he would not look at her. He would not glimpse up, their eyes would never meet.

It hurt; there was a feeling of hurt. Why was he avoiding her? Does he not like her anymore, is there someone else? The image of her Dilandau-sama with someone else made her feel betrayed? Why was there a tightness in her heart, did she love him? Do I love him? Could I love him? When had this begun; when was it, that she saw him as more than just the master?

These ponderous questions kept her awake, it was only a few hours past midnight, perhaps he hadn't slept yet, perhaps she could still talk to him. Quietly, Deré got up and silently left her room. She faintly remembered the way to that dark, dreary hallway where his room had been; at least she assumed it was his room.

Tiptoeing, she headed in the direction of the familiar corridor. She paused as she neared the room. There was a sound, a crash, like a chair being turned over or a table being cracked. She listened again more closely; there definitely were some weird noises coming from his room.

Cautiously, she edged towards the door with the ruby cross. There was a slit, a crack where the door hadn't fully closed. She timidly peeked inside. He was on a rampage, throwing things, kicking things, it was terrifying. There was so much negative discharge around him that it was almost tangible. "Dilandau-sama," she whispered, what was happening, why was he being like this.

She wanted to run in and stop him, to calm him, and comfort him from whatever was torturing his mind, but she was too frightened. Then, something was thrown at the door and she gasped, making a sharp sound. Quickly, she put a hand to her mouth and listened. There was silence, absolute silence except for the low humming of the engine deep below. She knew what was coming, he had heard her, but maybe there was still time to run away.

All of a sudden, before she had a chance to blink, he was there, with his sword to her neck. But there was surprise written on his face when he realized who it was. Without removing the weapon, he asked in a deadly voice, "Why are you here?"

It was more of a threat than a question. There was a painless prick on her neck as she felt blood trail down slowly. His hand was shaking, causing the cold steel to dig into her flesh. Then, abruptly, he hurled the sword aside and seized her lips with his own. She could hardly breathe, it was so rough, his mouth was so hot and the contact so unexpected that she felt ready to faint.

Dizziness caused her to loose her balance and he caught her by the waist. It felt so right, his arm around her wait, as if it should always be there. She relaxed and shut her eyes, melting in the warmth of the kiss. Funny, she had missed his lips much more than she had expected. There was a lasting moment of collected calmness. Then, he drew himself away and backed up against the opposite wall, his breathing deep and labored.

He was clothed in black leather pants that hung a little below his waist, his upper body was bare. Her eyes searched through his flaming red ones, what was he thinking, why is he so upset. Unconsciously, she turned her gaze to his chest, he had such nicely defined muscles and his skin was so pale. She was so lost in her observation that when he spoke, his voice startled her, "What, are you trying to do to me? TELL ME! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!"

She didn't understand, what was he talking about, she hadn't done anything to him, how could she, they hardly talked! Keeping her eyes locked onto his, she remained silent, it was better not to say anything, for there was nothing worth saying right now to calm him. He grabbed her then, forcefully by the shoulders, "ANSWER ME!"

When she didn't reply, his voice trembled, "Answer me . . ." There was a wild confusion in his eyes, it looked chaotic; mad. He seemed to be search for something in her, demanding that she reveal it to him.

"I don't know what you're saying . . . I'm sorry!" She began to cry, frantic and not knowing what to say. A great feeling of distress surged through her, making her feel cornered and trapped. Thankfully, her muffled sobs caused his expression to soften and his grip lessened. He watched her for a long time before letting her go. Then, he retreated wordlessly into his room and locked the door.

There were no more sounds. The Vione was silent once more. She huddled there, outside his room, staring at the ruby cross on his door. The tears had stopped flowing and she remained still. Swaying ever so slightly, Deré hummed a light song, the one of the moon. She was at peace, calm and serene; a fragile doll playing music. She would sit there for a very long time, thinking about things, just things.

Waking up again, every morning I wake up, and every night I go to sleep. "Life is so interesting."

Her words dripped with sarcasm. The truth was, she was angry. It's been more than a week now, and her life was a boring routine. Even Celena's daily visits were becoming stale. She missed him. She hadn't realized that he played such a large role in her life. Does he mean that much to me? Just thinking about him makes me angry. How can he just ignore me and pretend nothing's happened! She felt like jumping off the Vione. What was the purpose of her existence! There is no purpose; she existed solely for him.

She felt useless, how sad it was that her life held no meaning. "Deré, are you alright? You seem really sad lately, has Dilly-chan been mean to you? I'll talk to him, are you sad?"

Celena was such a great friend and she cared so much for her. They had just made cards together the other day; Celena had a talent for art, her card had been so pretty, decorated with silver glitter and black feathers. But even though Celena was a darling, a sweetie, the girl wouldn't understand. Deré wasn't just sad, not really, just annoyed, annoyed with everything and her life. She was tired of worrying about how everyone felt; the dragonslayers and why they hated her, the cook and whether he was lonely or not, but especially how he felt. Maybe she should go visit Lord Folken; she hadn't done that in a while. Lord Folken had seemed, distracted since Dilandau-sama's return.

"Lord Folken?" Deré knocked gently on the mahogany door of the library as she turned the golden handles. "Lord Folken, I'm letting myself in." He was reading at the round table. She barely missed his hand slipping something inside his cloak, it was something that glittered. "I see you are troubled."

Folken's monotonous voice sounded different today. It was a change and it gave her a sense of freshness. Deré smiled, "Only a lot. I feel so frustrated! So annoyed with everything! So argh!" She balled her fists and punched the table.

"Does this have anything to do with Dilandau?"

"No . . . I mean, yes, but it's not just that." She didn't want to reveal her feelings towards her master yet, especially when she wasn't certain.

"Maybe you need to leave the Vione for a while. No one can stay in this place for long." Folken's eyes seemed distant, as if he were in deep thought. Deré had never seen him like this before. He looked happy, but also worried at the same time. It was very hard to tell as his emotions were always held back and concealed.

"Lord Folken?"

"Yes? I will speak with Dilandau." Then he asked something unexpected, "Is it possible for a cursed statue to love?"

"Yes, as long as he finds his heart." She didn't know where that came from, but somehow, it just felt right to say it.

O4o86