A Darkened Whisper

A/N: This is my first fic, so please try to be a little gentle, alright? Umm-if you are wondering why Faust tends to repeat

things that he has once said, it is because people who have suffered a loss tend to repeat things, as if trying to force back the

death or grief that has overtaken the moment…Yes, I do read psychology books, and please do not stuff me in a locker as they do so kindly at school…deathglare I hope you enjoy the story, though it is terrible, terrible angst!

Disclaimer: I do not own Shaman King, (sob) and I am sorry for not adding a disclaimer on the first chapter…Please do not hurt me. I don't own Faust or Eliza, either, they are also from Shaman King and the property of the brilliant Takei Hiroyuki whom if I met my life with be so much more complete. But…Faust and Eliza are my friends, correct?

FaustEliza: (huggles me) Yes, of course! And your mascots!

Me: I love you guys!
FaustEliza: Let's go to Disneyland!! And eat ice cream!

Me: Yay!

Chapter Two: She Does Linger

The madness would never leave, nor would her presence.

I placed her carefully on top of our feathery soft bed, laying her down, and stroking her long, golden hair.

I looked into her once beautiful azure eyes, they were clouded with death, and the expression upon her wan face that had still retained a bit of her agonizing loveliness, was that of pure terror. Humans experience worry, and anxiety during their lives,

but that was terror.

Pure, primal terror.

Almost frightened to hysterics by her glazed, pleading stare, I closed her fluttering eyelids gently. That gaze had been beseeching me, asking me why I hadn't been there. Why I hadn't been there to save her…I knew why I hadn't been there, I had been buying a bouquet of roses to present her with that night…Almost ironically humourous, the roses I had bought were a bright, ravishing crimson, the same as her blood…

Over the past few days, I had tried to lay the blame upon someone other than myself. I had tried blaming god, I had tried blaming the murderer, I had tried blaming Eliza,-yes, even she. But she could do no wrong, nothing…My Eliza was golden, pure, and beautiful as the sun's very rays which I avoid now, as they only remind me of her and those memories…

No. It was my fault, and my fault alone. My fault for leaving her by herself that night. My fault for not being able to salvage her precious life, or at least share her anguish in those final, fading moments. My fault…for loving her.

And absolutely nothing could change that.

Days and nights passed without a thought on my part, I had grown apathetic toward the waves of time, and I had completely shut down…Stopped eating, stopped breathing, stopped moving. I lingered at poor Eliza's bedside, bereft of sleep or emotion save when I looked at her, I could not even tell if it were night or day anymore, even though the window's curtains were not drawn, and the signs of passing time shown clearly through the glass.

I embraced her, longing to feel what we once had, longing…longing to feel.

Suddenly, something rose up inside of inside of me, something strange began to course through my veins, and I did nothing to quell or stifle it, and it came, and conquered me.

Without preamble, I found myself tearing through our house, the house that held all our memories….Tearing photographs from the newly painted walls, casting records and video tapes across the room, felling tables and knocking down bookcases…Anything that could cause destruction…Sweet, bitter, wonderul, destruction.

In a while, I found myself in the middle of our desecrated livingroom, laying on my back, and laughing in uncontrollable disbelief. I did not believe she was dead. I still do not.

I withdrew inside of myself, laughing the entire time, in a half-hearted attempt to recreate the illusion of when we had been children…So innocent, so blissfuly naïve. But this laughter, if you could call it laughter, was not the merry sort of which comes so easily to children and they revel in it, no. This was the cold, mirthless laughter, the freezing cries of a man who has lost everything. And I had.

Within the state of which I was currently entrapped, I was sure nothing could break the barrier…But it all fell down when my eyes caught the glimmer of a book's golden-threaded binding.

When I saw it, I was positive that it could help, I was not sure of what it was, but somehow I knew it would help. I knew it could help me. And I knew it could help Eliza.

End of Chapter Two

A/N: Hi! Second chapter done! Now, on to the third…And six more to go, this is becoming a trifle tiring to write, but I hear the call of Faust wishing for his narrative to be told, and I am filled with bright, renewed energy!! I want to see if I can post the

whole story and write it in one day!!

Faust: ruling Neko-Neko Faust VIII with an iron fist Yes! My story must be told! For once it is, I shall be on my way to stardom!
Eliza: ALSO ruling Neko-Neko Faust VIII with an iron fist Yes, I shalll also be a star! maniacal laugh Oh…and…

FaustEliza: You can't do your author notes in script, you know…

Me: Aha! Yes, yes…I'm aware. But I'm also aware that I didn't put a disclaimer on the 1st chapter…I need to go fix that…

But please, review, and please be gentle, for you now have the knowledge that I am a crappy writer, and I have very harsh

taskmasters!
FaustEliza: We're gonna be stars!

Ja Ne!