Warnings: This contains hints of slash, but they are only hints. Generally it's rather sad story. But, if some of You feel offended by this, better spare the time and nerves and just don't read it .

Disclaimer: No, I don't own these characters, wish I would though...

Authoress note

Please review, every comment is very very appreciated as it's my very first story here, and even if eons pass by, I still will be waiting for your reviews, because what other way I'd know if you liked it or not? And now, enjoy :3


> > > >

There is no such place like home

Even though for hundreds of years no one appeared on its walls, people still steer clear of the damned stronghold. Place, at its time proud and haughty, towering over the whole area, now forgotten and left in ruin, still bears an atmosphere of dignity, anxiety and sorrow.

Gloomy fortress, embedded lonely among the rocks in the likeness of the ghostly eye, seems to be waiting in lethargy for the smallest sign of motion in the extinct, desolate valley. On some unusually peaceful nights, when even wind isn't blowing between the lofty hills, comes the time in which voices of the past can be heard. Long forgone moans of pain, screams overflowed with fear and despair. Sometimes quiet sobbing.

If it was possible to hear a smile and tears flowing from golden eyes, filled with boundless love, one could try to imagine how those words, which during the whole eternity this place heard only once, sounded. Words, which are still echoing in empty corridors and unoccupied chambers. Words, which lurk in every corner, engraved for infinity within the smooth, chilly stones. Words, seemingly so insignificant.

"I'm home. At last and forever"

As the legend says, azure skinned devil with magnificent wings of an angel had once lived here. Different stories are told about him. They say, that at his sight life died out in all hearts, that wherever he passed, flowers withered, animals and birds falling dead at his feet. That his touch was cold as ice.

Some claim that he was extremely comely, with demonic and reinless beauty. Always attired in robes that even king wouldn't be ashamed of, possessing such impeccable manners that the greatest rulers could envy.

His voice, filtered with lie and sneer, was so melodious and charming, that it attracted innocent victims, to his horrid hideout, the nest of pure evil.

Others say that the dark winds evoked by his wide spread wings, casting shadows upon a village, blew out the last flicker of remaining hope.

Some considered him a mighty wizard, capable of whipping whole armies of the earth surface. They say that he had gained his power from curst, forgotten gods, to which he devoted himself during a bloody ritual.

Allegedly he fought with the brave, courageous Sarafan, who sacrificed their lives in defense of beloved motherland.

They say said that he didn't spare anyone.

However the true events have faded into the dusk of history.

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No one ever mentions thousands of wooden stakes and crosses spreading all over the valley, right under the windows of adamant citadel.

Nobody remembers about the legions of creatures, impaled and crucified, dying slowly under the watchful eye of the knights, calling them "demons". Knights too proud and determined, to even contemplate the possibility that they were equally attached to this world and life as they did.

Was that display of force? Attempt to infuriate the master of this castle, provoke him to abandon his shelter and fling himself into the pointless battle?

Centuries passed, but still no one can, or maybe nobody wants to realize, that he also had suffered. That every scream of despair ripped apart his ragged soul, that even after dozens of years sleepless nights were filled with echoes of days gone by. Almost animal yelps of dying. Begging for mercy. For life.

They say that he was cruel and fierce. Heartless.

However there is no one who can either confirm or give false to those suspicions.

And only forsaken, ruined place knows that another mystifying creature had once walked it's corridors. Only one, that had ever got to know a shred of truth. Only one that knew the fiend with sad, golden eyes was able to sympathize and cry. That his entire life, he desperately craved to feel really at home. Just for a small while. Only one that could understand, forgive and come to love him.

Behind the mysterious walls, concealed in oblivion lie countless memories.

Sometimes, on the surface of cracked pieces of panes and mirrors reflection of a slender wraith with tattered wings and glowing white eyes can be seen. And when the silvery moonlight flows inside through devastated windows, shadows on the walls arrange into the shape of distinguished, winged figure.

The floor still remembers cautious steps of claw-like feet. Within the walls slumber the echoes of long-gone voices, scarcely audible whispers, hazy scraps of conversations…

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- Why so many candles here? – asked astonished voice

- One for every being that died because of me.

- But it wasn't you who killed them! They died by the hand of the Sarafan!

- For a show. In one grand, gruesome spectacle, which purpose was to prove me my feebleness and helplessness, to awake horror and hatred in my heart, freeze my soul. I should have left this place. Long, long before this madness started. All those dreadful things wouldn't have happened if I wasn't here, in this damned castle.

- They would have killed you if you came out.

- I know – gentle voice visibly saddened

- You can't still agonize over it! It wasn't your fault! It was us, that were to swollen with pride, arrogant and self-centered. You would have died in vain! Your death wouldn't have changed anything. It's I who should be lighting these candles now. Not you. Never you.

Silence was the only response.

> > > >

Empty corridors memorized quick pounding of two hearts. In aged stones, silently hummed songs still live.

Before they collapsed downhill with rockslide of boulders and mud, proud gargoyles guarding the entrance to the fortress cherished the recollection of solitary figure leaned over balustrade of the balcony, for entire days gazing into the distance, illuminated by afterglows of the remote fires ravaging the land.

Mirror from one of library walls had for countless years seen the master of castle sitting here over volumes and manuscripts.

Then, for the time how insignificant in comparison to the eternity, there had already been two beings sitting in wooden armchairs, padded with ornate, greenish satin. Happy and cheerful, first time for ages. Reading books, and chattering softly by the warm lights of two candles, standing on a tiny ebony table between them.

For those few years all chambers had been resounding with laughter, mirth and love, and even the shadows of the twilight ceased to replay dreadful scenes from the past on the marble walls.

Then all of a sudden the newcomer remained here all alone. Monsters of the nighttime returned, reflecting new fears and worries, still equally terrifying. Longing, sadness and apprehension triumphed.

As the time passed, shining inlaid floors became covered with dirt and only paths worn in the dust betrayed someone's presence here.

Every evening a miserable demon had been coming to the library, clutching a single candle in his clawed hands. Having lit it, he sunk into the armchair and waited motionlessly. Sometimes, as if wanting to deceive himself, he brought more candles and when one went out, the darkness was instantly illumined by another hesitant, wavering flame. Desperate and hopeless attempt to gain one more chance for his return.

> > > >

One day even those faint paths disappeared. Wraith ceased to leave the library at all. He had sat in the armchair in front of long extinguished candle-end, with his face buried in his talons. Ends of his frayed wings lying about in dust and dirt. This wasn't home. Not any more. Those void, cold rooms and floors. Gusts of icy wind flowing inside through shattered windows, dancing in deserted chambers. Snowflakes swirling in chilly, silent corridors. This place was shelter and haven no longer. Being that could change it into such, left long time ago. The one, that managed to cause that at least for once in his damned life he felt truly blissful and carefree. That he started to love and felt loved. That once more he believed in hope and dreams.

But now even tears abandoned him.

> > > >

One day someone noiselessly opened the door and looked lovingly at a tiny, skeletal figure, cringed pathetically in the armchair. One day someone, once again brought his own uncertain, flickering light into the murk. One day a tear run down someone's cheek. One day someone's hand tenderly stroked ruffled black hair, other resting gently on a slim arm. One day two looks met again. One incredulous and longing, second hesitant, filled with fear of rejection. One day sincere smiles brightened two weary faces. One day someone's faltering voice whispered few soft, quiet words.

And at that moment all the dreams came true.

> > > >

During last storm a lightning has struck already fractured rock and entire fortress collapsed down the high hill, becoming nothing more than a pile of rubble.

And even books don't remember two names, entwined together for infinity.