Aisubeki Dearest
A/N: I wanted to take a break from the comedy I just finished, and do an OC fic concerning Marco…Yes, I do bash Marco quite a lot, and I pair him with Lyserg, whom I also like with Jeanne, and Ren…ah, so confusing. This is rather serious, and it's romantic as well! Yay! This story is dedicated to KagenoKatana, sakuuya, and Satine89! You are the best!! I hope one of you reads this! Well, enjoy the story, and it may be a tearjerker in the end…gloom
PS: "Aisubeki" means "dearest" in Japanese, this word has a lot of meaning to the main character, Elle, and it shall be explained later on…moreover, if you are wondering why Kye is speaking a bit of Japanese to Elle, it is because he is teaching his little "French Tenshi." - Subarashiki, ne??? (Kye will be introduced later on -)
A/N: In this fic, I am pretending that Jeanne is somewhere around 20 years old, and Marco stays however old he is, ok? And if you were wondering, Elle is 23 and Kye is somewhere around 25 - Funny how age works, ne?
Chapter Two: Stifled Spirit
Elle restlessly shuffled in her hard wooden chair, biting the black tip of the fountain pen with an air of detatchment, and staring at the blank parchment, as if beseeching it to write poems itself.
In the past few days, she had not been able to write, the words had been stifled, censored even, and she hadn't been able to do much else, merely sitting relentlessly in the same spot for hours on end, turning her brain inside itself and looking for inspiration…it was to no avail, obviously so.
With a dissatisfied sigh, she dropped the pen, and looked out of the window, her brilliant, darkly translucent garnet eyes taking in all of the rich Yorkshire scenery.
The velvet gray sky that covered the dim of the sun, the purpled, far-out, wild, grassy fields that only yielded for the wooden mahogany docks, and the wildflowers that grew helter-skelter, sweetly flourishing and feeding on the thick, nourishing air.
"Ah, 'tis the fat of the land that grows and and feeds the angelic children whose violet heads that bob on the moor!" she said triumphantly, with an attempting at an artsy façade…and then she dissipated into another period of gloom, frustrated at her lack of motivation this morning.
Elle swept back behind her ears her shining gold-brown hair and summarily, with a slight laugh, nearly concussed herself with a large midnight hued volume of poetry…
She slumped down in her chair, and then for the first time in a long while, rose from it, and took a feline-esque position on the floor…stretching her slender body with a catlike yawn.
"…perhaps….perhaps I should go for a…different approach…" she moaned pathetically, defeated.
After many fruitless attempts, and much digging inside of the depths of her soul, Elle had finallly thought of something possibly worthwhile…though it did give her an unpleasant pang in her stomach.
It was certainly something she would never show her dearest sister Jeanne, as much as she loved the girl.
As I heard you sigh, a discontented artistry no doubt and a sensual phrase
I utter
You sprang, I flew…a soft collision, of roses and love that never ceases to
Horrify yet amaze me
And my unlearned heart.
And yet a horrible feeling, something unbridaled and uncontrolled
It creeps upon you
And just as I thought I knew you
You turned once again as the hourglass
The love dissolved with the sugarcube
Juxtaposed with a skull
Elle smiled wryly, bemused and yet excited at her work with a sense of completion and yet the need to continue…
The cold wind that seeped through the window grazed her skin and rapped at the window, "wuthering," as they said in Yorkshire…how charming the dialect was…
Her body felt warm, and comforted, for no reason at all, and then felt a sense of happiness for the first time since she had written that letter to Jeanne, and, with a sense of self-satisfaction at predicting the outcome, never was graced with a reply.
Their parents had always loved little Jeanne a good deal more than Elle, however, it was she who had made herself an outsider among them, she supposed…was it not she who had been lingering in her room in the darkness of the night? Was it not she who had run away, causing her father, who had always been far more gentle with her than her cross mother, to become grief-stricken and begin to grow harsh and unyielding? Was it not she…who had chosen to step up to the stakes that night, and while the fire consumed her, to curse her own self and to plead for reincarnation? Was it not she…who had always been torn apart and struggling against the currents of both time and fate, fruitlessly attempting to push the last grain of bronze sand back into the top half of the immortal hourglass…?
Elle shot up, rigid and straight, unmoving, unblinking…and while her body was motionless.
Her lovely eyes cried great tears.
A/N: In the next chappie something unexpected shall happen, watch out! Heh! Umm-thank you to Satine89, who was sooo nice and kindly and wonderful to review my poor, unloved little fic….I don't see why people don't read it. Oh well, I suppose I'll just write on this every now and then, and do some more things…in different catergories.