Disclaimer: I do not own either CardCaptor Sakuraor Weiss Kreuz. They belong to Clamp and the 'man with the funny teeth', respectively. Ask before archiving, please.
Light flickers gently off of the boy's glasses as he backs away.
"Ah, now...the great wizard Clow, 'cow'rin like a wee, sleekit
mousie'?" The strange, one-eyed demon of a man asks as he
approaches, knives held in a casual, lazy...comfortable sort of way.
"I...I'm not Clow!" The boy stammers, nonplussed. He's never been
this scared before. All of his spells bounce off of this pale, callous
madman. For all his skills, for all his vaunted powers...he can do nothing.
He looks behind the advancing albino psychopath to the beautiful,
implacable figure standing there, arms crossed. His creation...his
'Judge'. The wind whips the angelic man's hair about into thin,
ethereal ribbons, momentarily obscuring a face that reveals nothing,
nothing at all.
"Yue...please! Tell him that I'm not Clow!" The boy, who calls
himself Eriol, pleads- sweat beading up behind his glasses.
Yue frowns, looking away. The moonlight frames his features and,
despite his terror, Eriol can take a moment to appreciate his previous
incarnation's aesthetic taste in guardians. Yes, Yue is an angel,
truly.
And, for tonight, at least...an angel of judgement.
The albino lunatic looms closer, now, his body's lattice-work of
scars etched silver by the light of the moon. The word 'lunatic'
once meant a person driven mad by the Moon's beauty. Eriol's
stomach turns over at this thought, shaking at its implications.
"The moon is waning now, twice-born magician." The madman purrs to
him, his voice a rough and carrying whisper, like velvet-covered
steel.
The demon drags the boy up by his collar, surveying him with the
mildest tinge of curiosity, through one impossibly round amber eye.
"Ye're a magician; boy...can you tell me what the waning moon
signifies?"
Damning the stutter which he can no longer repress, Eriol schools
himself to reply. "It...It represents the l-last of the trinity
...the Crone, actually."
"An' can you kin what the Crone did?" The madman says, as if this
were a polite discussion over good, Sri-Lankan tea. The sudden,
disjointed epiphany that Eriol might never taste such tea, again, almost
makes him laugh.
Almost. "I...I'm afraid I don't r-remember."
The madman smiles and it's a brittle-bright smile that would hone the edge on razors. "The Crone represented endings. To parallel Fate...she is Atropos...she
who cuts the threads."
He holds up a thin blade, the surface of which is shot through with scattered beams of moonlight. His smile stretches to impossible parameters. "Fitting, don't you think?"
And then the knife flashes, quickly, straight through the boy's
throat. All Eriol can do now is gurgle, incoherently. 'This isn't
fun, anymore.' The albino murderer thinks, tossing the dying boy's
body to the floor and licking the blood off of his stiletto.
Now Yue moves, like a statue suddenly unfrozen, brought reluctantly
to life. He hovers silently over to where Eriol lays prone, coming to
kneel beside him like a faithful guardian should.
"Why?" Eriol manages to choke out, his vision hazy and his glasses
askew. "I-I told you I w-wasn't...wasn't Clow.."
Gently, almost lovingly, Yue removes the boy's glasses and closes
his eyes with two cool, alabaster fingertips. He leans over and
places a quick, nearly reverential kiss on the boy's forehead as
Eriol's breathing becomes slower, more ragged...then stops, entirely.
Yue watches as the boy's aura dwindles away, allowing a single tear
to trace it's way down his perfect features, answering Eriol's last
question in a fervent whisper. "Perhaps that was why." He says,
simply.
Then he gets to his feet, moving to stand beside the blood-stained
maniac, resting his head on the psychopath's shoulder. Yue gingerly
touches the other man's chest and holds his hand up for inspection.
The wet blood staining his palm has been made dark, almost black in
this meagre light. He tilts his head to the side, a look of childish
wonder coming over his serene features.
Slowly, and with an air of quiet dignity, Yue licks his hand
clean and looks up at his fellow white-haired sufferer. Blood stains
his mouth like the juice from spoiled blackberries and the albino killer thinks that he looks quite beautiful...like a broken, soulless angel.
Perhaps that is what he is.
A rare, almost alien smile graces Yue's features as he wraps pale,
thin arms around the blood-soaked man beside him, lovingly. "You were
a little off, lovely one." Yue whispers, sounding oddly exultant.
"The Crone signified new beginnings, too."
Then the two of them walk away, together, leaning on each other for
the support that neither one will ever admit to needing. Eriol's body
cools in the moonlight, forgiven and forgotten.
"Where were you last night, Farfarello?" Nagi asks, not even
looking up as the Irish psychopath that he calls team-mate enters the
room, dishevelled and covered with dried, crusted blood.
"Corrupting one of God's forgotten angels." The madman replies, as he walks back
to his room, humming tonelessly and twirling a long, impossibly white feather between his fingertips.
Outside, the moon is bright, small...and waning.
OWARI
Author's EndNote: I blame Tosca's Kiss for this one...I usually abhor
crossovers, but the Yue/Farfarello drabble she wrote
left me practically salivating for more. As usual,
comments, criticisms and plot bunnies can be sent