From Mortal Lips
By:
Setalina Muro
Summary: It is in grief I now tell this, his tale, dead though he is, this dear man, immortal as his love. I still love my master. And so a tale from mortal lips, giving glory to the Vampire I knew so well…
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh or any places, people and/or other things you are familiar with from the show or anything else. The plot, however, is mine.
Secondary Disclaimer: I have a sad infatuation with Anne Rice, and I write strangely after reading her books. I'd like to state that this is not based on her marvelous books whatsoever. I will not take plot, character, or phrase from any of the Vampire Chronicles (New or Old) intentionally (if I find that I have, I will remove it immediately, acknowledging Ms. Rice's request that fan fictions of her books not be place on FFN) . I'm only mentioning them for the sole purpose of people knowing what I'm doing and where my inspiration comes from. Thank you.
A/N: Welcome back. I stand on the precipice of diving into another Vampire fiction. Apologies for that. You should know, vampire fics were never really a forte of mine and (as stated by a reviewer to my last vampire fiction) why mess with something that stands wonderfully on its own? But I have a sad infatuation with Anne Rice, and I write strangely after reading her books. I'm reading 'Merrik' right now. And there's no limit to the peculiarity of her books.
At any rate, I'd like to state that this is not based on her marvelous books whatsoever. I will not take plot, character, or phrase from any of the Vampire Chronicles (New or Old) intentionally (if I find that I have, I will remove it immediately, acknowledging Ms. Rice's request that fan fictions of her books not be place on FFN) . I'm only mentioning them for the sole purpose of people knowing what I'm doing and where my inspiration comes from. Thank you.
Prelude
It is in great despair that I sit here to give this, a statement from my mortal lips. Words and tales of my Master, given in faith and life and love. For with him there was always love, enough to match the glisten of his never changing face, the purity in his eye, the sharp wit in his ever advancing mind.
Again, I state there was love. Love as there is no longer. Not a purer soul vanished from us in such a hideous fashion.
My part in this tale is small and only in the end does it come, but the vision I was given of my Master's past was as if I had live it. He had taken me into his thoughts in such a manner that I saw all from his eye, such brilliant and distinct color, such faces, in beauty, sorrow, anger, such sounds, and smells. All is found indescribable by human word. It is the world of the vampire.
So to begin, we must start at the end.
When my mother came to work at my master's castle, I was but born, unable to walk or care for myself. As it was, I grew in strength and prosperity. Long we live in the castle, his lair, before I was even aware that there was one we served, for he was never spoken of; never given name; never seen by any, save for his most faithful.
It was in shock I found him one night, wondering as I was wont to do when taken by the sleeplessness. My travels usually led me through the library, an empty, solitary room lined wall to wall with numerous written works. It was connected to a study that was always locked. It was not so this night and the door was open. And so I approached the figure, stunned to see a stranger in the house, much less in what I assumed was a private study!
He turned in the chair, and as he sat, I was entranced. His face was pale and smooth, save for few lines of confusion and shock that seemed to mar the otherwise flawless kin. His eyes were a deep redwood in color, yet they shone unbearably bright in his white face. His hair was of a pristine condition and glimmer. It was a silver, not of age, but of grace.
"Strange…" he murmured, but in such a manner that it was enthralling. His voice was soft and clear, but with no real touch of a deep masculinity. It was kind. "I did not hear you enter, child." He paused. "In fact, I heard nothing of your approach at all." He seemed perturbed by the very thought of it.
I felt his gaze penetrate me and in an instant I also felt probing fingers in my mind. It was never a skill of mine, what was later called telepathy. Never before had I been exposed to it, but I recognized it immediately. It was a mind gift, but so was the power to block it. I wasn't even aware I had such skills, but this I did with more force than was necessary, but I did not know better.
He seemed almost physically thrown back by it. But that seemed to please him.
"Come here, child," he said softly, nodding toward a chair near him. "Tell me of yourself and how I missed a night wanderer such as yourself in my castle."
That in itself surprised me. In eleven years I had never wondered about whom it was that we served. We brought no food, no drink, save for what was used by us and our visiting companions. Only one of us took to frequent absence, but the boy was silent and few wondered of him anyway.
Gathering my thoughts to myself again, I moved slowly toward the chair the man indicated for me. His clear eyes watched me intently, and it unnerved me. He seemed almost like cathedral statues of the Gothic style that seemed to stalk you as you wandered long, echoing halls.
He waited for me to speak with no sign of impatience. Finally I said, "I am child to a servant of yours."
"I guessed as much," he stated simply, smiling. "Continue as you will."
"I feel obliged to call you Master, for all technicalities, it is you I serve when I dust and scrub these places. It is you who has lavished such luxuries upon us freely for such little work. Need I say many of us feel indebted to you?"
The soft smile still played at his lips. "No, you need not, for this I understand well enough through another source." He seemed temporarily puzzled and rubbed his left ear with the point of feather-tipped pen. "Do they school you," he asked. "With these fine luxuries I provide to them?"
"Only as much as necessary to keep me entertained," I answered. "I can read decently, and there are many books in your marvelous library. I hope you don't mind my combing it, sir."
"Not at all, my dear!" he said with a soft laugh. "I am often enticed by such things myself, but sometimes, I look and pieces of my collection are not there!" This he added with a sideways smirk to me with which I could only respond by sheepishly grinning. "Tell me, child, do you write?"
It saddened and angered me to admit such an insult. To recall that the letters and words I so cherished were not mine for the configuring. Oh, the times when I had silently longed for such an intelligence! The ability to mark down my very thoughts! It seemed an almost miracle to me.
"… I fear not, good sir." The answer came after a long pause on my account.
He looked troubled for a moment.
"I find that a great pity," he continued after his own moment of measured silence. "That one so intelligent and well mannered is not allowed such a simple pleasure! I, myself, put many thoughts into script," he admitted. Suddenly his eyes gleamed as an idea seemed to strike him. "Tell me," he said. "Is this something you wish to learn?"
At that moment, I wished nothing more then to profane that there could be no greater gift that could be bestowed upon me, but suddenly, it seemed very selfish that I ask such a thing. What was I but a servant in this, his house? My mother would surely die as one. My children as well, should it be fated I bear some, would also die in this manner of servitude. Was I not already graced with the understanding of reading what was written by others? Should I not be content with that?
I should have, but I was not.
He seemed to sense my hesitation and aggravation on the topic. "Speak freely. No word of this talk shall reach another mortal's ears."
The choice of words in his sentence unnerved me. Mortals? What talk was this? But I chose to cast it aside, wallowing in my distaste of wishing to admit an intimate desire of mine.
"I…I do wish to write," I concluded finally.
He smiled. "I thought as much." He seemed taken to thinking just then, pondering some mystery. The white skin of his face, so stark and unnatural in its appearance, yet so enticing, fell into an absolute stillness. For a moment, it seemed the man was no more than stone. This frightened me terribly, and I watched him, my fingers twisting at the line I wore as a night shirt, begging him in my mind to make some movement that would bring the kindness back into him. The light I had first seen. Some movement! Any movement!
These thoughts did not prevail long. He blinked, the gesture alone answering my silent prayers.
"Would you be a pupil to me?" he asked in a hushed tone. "A studious apprentice who would learn my secrets, so that they remain in some script even after my death?"
I was pleased without knowing it, so surfaced was my shock. I stared at him. Was it true? I could scarcely believe such a thing. Was I being offered the title and chance of a scholar?
"There is nothing I could ever wish for more, my Lord," I answered softly, nearly breathless in my shock.
He seemed relieved. "Marvelous," he voiced. "Simply marvelous. Now, tell me child, what is your name?"
I extended my hand to him, for it was becoming customary in these days to shake hands upon introduction. "Shizuka Kawai," I said without further hesitation.
That gracing smile never left his mouth. It even seemed to widen. His teeth were very white. "A pleasure, my dear," he breathed, taking my hand, but turning it and kissing the back as was old custom. "I am Pegasus Crawford…"
To Be Continued…
A/N: A/N: There we go, my dears. Happy New Year! Please R&R.
Lina