Disclaimer: Don't own anything from Shaman King. I only do this for my entertainment and for the entertainment of others.
Warning: None in particular. Has nothing offensive.
Note: My favorite Shaman King character is definitely Faust, so I wanted to write something with him. He's so sad, and what happened to him was too tragic. That's when I thought; what is he like when no one is looking? So here you go, my take on Faust's thoughts, and sorry it's short. Enjoy!
Note 2: Thank you to Anna for telling me how to do the title in German. My mon told me it was der, but I had a feeling she was wrong. I really appreciate the help. Thanx!
Die Liebe und Faust
Faust was sitting at his desk, writing by candlelight. He had been writing for hours, and now it was close to sunrise. He had been scribbling down medical notes, things he had noticed in his travels and needed to record. He would always stay up like this, and by this point in his life he could go weeks without sleep. But his lack of sleep was beginning to kick in now, and his lids began to droop shut. He didn't want to sleep though, it hurt too much to dream of her.
Faust looked up and gazed at the skull of his love laying on a soft purple velvet pillow on his dresser. The candlelight was casting menacing shadows through the eye sockets, making the skull look almost alive. Faust let out a sigh and wished for the millionth time that Eliza was still with him, that he could hold her in his arms and kiss her sweet lips. But fate was a cruel mistress, and Eliza was taken from him forever. Well, maybe not forever. If he became Shaman King, then he could bring her back. It was all he ever thought about.
Faust stood from his seat and walked to the dresser. He gently stroked the skull, running his fingers over the smooth contours and then over the gaping bullet hole. The memories of finding her body came flooding into his mind. He could remember coming home, just knowing something was amiss. He rushed to the house, and that's when he noticed the broken glass. He threw open the door and ran into the house, calling Eliza's name. He looked all over before he finally found her already decaying body lying in a pool of blood, a gaping hole in her beautiful head. He could remember staring in disbelief, his mind still trying to deny her death even in the face of it. He ran to her, and drew her up into his arms. She was cold, and rigor mortise had already began to set in. Her blood stained his clothes, but he barely noticed. He held her for hours like that, just crying and yelling indiscernible curses at no one.
The memory made his heart ache, and tears began to sting his eyes. He needed Eliza, now more than ever. His mana began to swirl about him, and he grabbed the skull tenderly and moved to a curtained area near the far wall. He tugged the cord and the flaps parted, displaying a skeleton devoid of it's head. He carefully placed the skull onto the neck, and infused his mana into his Eliza's remains. The bare bones began to grow flesh, and long golden hair began to grow in ringlets from her head. Eliza formed before his eyes, and after a few moments she appeared like she had been all those years ago before she was murdered.
Eliza stood unmoving, and Faust brought his lips to hers. He kissed her tenderly, but he didn't feel any warmth from the reanimated body. He doubted his own lips held any warmth now either. He was practically a walking corpse himself, being made of different skin and bones not his own. Permanent anesthetic ran through his veins, numbing his body to any kind of pain. But it had no effect on his heart, which after all these years was still torn from his loss. After Eliza died, he became obsessed with being the Shaman King. It kept him going, it was his only reason for being.
He clasped Eliza's hand, and brought it to his face. Tears streamed down his face, and fell silently onto her cold flesh. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, and didn't even register anything around her. She was a husk of his dearest love, and he knew it. But he couldn't part with Eliza just yet. He had spent his whole life with her and being without her now would be impossible. He knew deep down that it was twisted, him walking around with the body of his wife tucked into a trench coat or having her corpse walk alongside him. No one seemed to notice she was dead, even though she had a blank stare and her complexion had no sheen. It didn't matter, as long as she was there in some form or another.
Faust, still clasping her hand, led her to the bed. He lied down and gestured for Eliza to join him. She complied and laid down beside him. They were facing each other, just like they did when they were married and happy. Faust moved closer and wrapped his arms around her petite waist, trying to ignore how hard she felt to him. He just wanted to lay like this for awhile, not caring about anything as he dreamt of their life before that fateful night.
The sun began to rise over the German mountainside as he finally drifted off to sleep. He hadn't slept in weeks, and he needed to rest. Eliza lay prostrate, not moving or even closing her eyes. Faust called her name in his sleep, and gripped her tighter. He looked like a little child in a mother' arms, and slept peacefully for many hours as he continued to dream of what was, and what could have been.
A/N: if anyone's wondering about the title, it means "the love of Faust" in German.