Disclaimer: X/1999 and Tokyo Babylon belong to CLAMP. I make no monies off fanfic and will return borrowed characters in their perfectly dire conditions. Covers too many genres to mention, and fluff is not one of them.

A/N: Set before volume 16 of X. Musing of the Sakurazukamori.

Beyond the broken veil

Time.

Time lies.

Time twists and tames like a patient craftsman, randomly stroking and caressing and pinching and pulling, until the tapestry woven from nerves of pain and pleasure becomes one faceless knot.

Time lulls you into becoming the perfect puppet for possible worship, only to tear you down. That is the only way most people allow themselves to live, without questioning, for they cannot handle true consciousness. It is innate. A lie begets liars. The child shapes his mother. When people are no longer strangers, they only poison each other with false memories. Death is the only absolution.

If only you were as simple as these principles.

You are corrupted. You are the corrupter. You are the reason there are no mirrors, apart from those used in rites. Your essence is a sickness burnt into the waking hours to poison sleep, the visual equivalent of cigarette smoke inhaled daily. Your white coat flares out so dramatically to mimic the wings of a haunted myth, while you hurl power intended to maim spirit and ruin flesh. You should have become my shadow, for spending day after day after day pursuing my will. Yet you somehow defy these laws to remain… untainted.

I warmed you with my lies, and then burnt you with my truth. I gave you a reason to live, while taking your place to die. To do so, I chose to shun a source of deception, of emotional pittance brought about by circumstances. However, ultimate freedom is not within reach, because of my rules… the kiss a mother bestowed upon her son one night, among shadows and blood.

Blood. Mud. Water. Wine. Dust. Others constantly strive to point out insignificant discrepancies between these things. In the end, everything will coagulate into an indistinguishable blot, before vanishing. There is no difference between the crumbling of a castle or a country. Redemption is worthless, as is regret. People adore the illusion of a thrilling romance, which is puzzling as to why they do not enjoy being knifed through the heart.

This hand has touched them all, remaining neither nourished nor nullified.

But the hands of time are empowered, as they strike down each moment without regret. The gears tremble, the stars dim, the wheel turns. That is invincibility, which need not fear death because of their symbiosis. One side despised, the other revered; darkness that has no meaning without light, and vice versa. The earth and sky once met, before separating for the sake of a secret. What I am to you is clear. What you are to me… is forbidden.

I cannot be manipulated, unlike you. Soft enough to merit the sneers of your ancestors, naive enough to still believe goodness exists in every person regardless of what they have done, and weak enough to lack finishing determination. However, it is this oddly pliant flexibility which somehow becomes the impenetrable defence, ensuring nothing can break you. The gullible polish of innocence betrays too much honesty, an honesty crippling with its deception because this anomaly cannot exist… but it does. You do.

Your grief is exquisite, eyes gleaming with unshed tears and trampled pride. Wounded by my games, yet strengthened by my presence. Our bet, my Sumeragi… Denial binds us together in delicious sorrow, and we are wed in vows of damnation. The intriguing depths of your soul easily unfurl, like clothing ripped off skin; the inability to hide a desire confused between past and present while captured in the invitation of parted lips… there are so many things I could do with you. To you. In you.

It always comes back to you. You are selfish, and you don't even know it. You preserve a unique space for every soul; hence nobody is truly precious to you and as a result, you have no idea how many animals were sacrificed in your stead.

You. Heartless. Ingrate.

It should have been you, instead of your twin.

Your cocooned fingers deserve to yellow with age for imitating a smoking habit. You are nothing, because there is so much of it surrounding me. At most, entertaining the nonsensical thought of you with any other paints my vision a divine red. Ah- I've burnt the palm again. That man who made you lose an eye- The mark he has left on you makes me to want to pin and skewer him with the roots of the sakura tree, feeding it with his life... Alas, his abilities are beyond me. Hence I seek a different form of release, to deal with this odd combination of something festering between my lungs.

Would you lose your temper, if you found out about my baiting another creature with the knowledge of Hokuto-chan? The pretty dreamer who safeguards visions for the Angels is an interesting toy: effeminate, unearthly, unchallenging and a bore. Pathetic tears are a welcome sight, as one can almost hear the wish for 'Kamui' to appear, except he won't. After all, we did agree on taking turns to be nice. But that flash of anger when I'm done in his realm, so hot and hateful it might almost be real… I would not be surprised if the dreams are a form of its vengeance.

Yes, dreams. Murderers and monsters can dream. After all, everything once had a mother. Illusions cannot become flesh, but it does not stop the impossible from trying. Trying to guess what foolish fancies are shielded under dark lashes as your distance is overcome, the delicate underside of flexing wrists bound and gripped until bruises embellish my signature, while biting down on skin laced with fear, until truth is tasted. Then the delight of licking, teasing, holding a revealed secret…

In losing life, nothing can be hidden: The salt of pain and terror, the ebb and flow of unquenched persistence, the burst of fierce defiance that needs to be subjugated, and the pulse of desire begging for consummation to an end… These are questions calling out to be assuaged, and I am your answer. To drink of your lips adorned with blood and tears, trailing self-loathing while exploring your limits, hearing you gasp and moan, feeling you beg through shameful unspoken supplications, until my blood cannot help but respond in kind... Wanting to further carve our history into your body and trace fate across every slim rib- To knead and push and pull until I cannot tell where you will finish while I begin- feeling cannot describe the-

As the final shred of resistance is lost to wordless pleasure- You are mine.

Shuddery breath warming the throat as hands are tangled beneath the sheets, I've missed the sound of you around me. Or rather, it is imagination a dream-gazer will not miss, when I release its life by slowly snapping every bone in a failing body.

But occasionally, I am kind. Whenever prey can put up sufficient resistance, such surprises might be worth prolonging. I shall find ways to pass the time with this Kakyō, even as we wait. I am not greedy. That one is ultimately for 'Kamui' to break, and their game of cat and mouse is so sweet. The earthly dragon tantalises with a promise he won't fulfill, and the heavenly maiden resigns itself to the role of a frangible doll, to survive within the lie of memories. Their nauseating game is so resilient, it has blinded both characters to the truth. Truth, which this Kamui refuses to utter: he cannot have substitutes but affairs, and they will perish in the promise of the final battle… save one.

Perhaps I should reserve a special time to converse with this ghostly individual, except the situation has become inconvenient. Quiet sobs are grating, as it weeps in the arms of an inept executioner. But that dies down, to be replaced by a whisper. A considerate whisper is accompanied by inaudible murmuring, and the following disruption is unmistakable.

If you saw, your pallid cheeks would blush at the urgency: The sacrifice doomed for desecration purifying the despoiler, and the feathers… so many feathers. Hazy, scattered and crushed as violence is spoken between devil and angel, despite all contrary evidence. Pensive melancholia is enveloped in the suffocating splendour of its possessive counterpart, as it is fondled and punished. No matter how powerful we are, we insist on deception. And that is the reason why everything is futile, because we cannot escape the prison of self.

Perhaps it is implacable need for a key of truth which is not absolute, as opposed to the impossibility of certainty, driving them through this comical torture. Tousled softness cools sweat-stained flesh, as colourless lips are touched by gentleness. Surety of thorough hands bears no mercy, humbling one beyond humiliation in every possible manner. Purposeful desire pushes aside demure plainness to strip away pretence. In this moment, acting is forgotten, as limits are violated. Suffering is indescribable. Crude. Tender. Agony. Ecstasy. Each cry, each groan a struggle bearing no wish to be free. The ensuing drivel of self-denial is enough to make one retch when it is remembered but oddly enough, disgust does not exist in that moment. Raw sentiment is mutual, for each little death shared.

'Because of Hokuto, I must only hate you.'

'And I must kill you, only because of your Hokuto.'

Then the tides turn, as fate and destiny become intertwined again. One looming over the other, the conqueror concedes to the conquered, thin fingers resting on broad shoulders. Mouth to mouth, sudden forcefulness results in crimson liquid trickling down a slender jawline. A victor claims his prize, gently marking the bloodlust of intimacy on the forehead and across unmoving lips. Completion can only be fulfilled through shattering. Flawless parchment is now marred by ugly passion. The weight of the world is welcomed with a moan and a gasp, its yielding dreams ravaged once more to preserve balance.

Not a subtle one when it comes to pranks, this 'Kamui'. Especially when deliberately showing off such ridiculousness is anything but stimulating. It is hard to believe his passive dream-seer dared to defend with an alternative… vision. It is not worth mentioning, because you are too kind. I will never allow you to sleep in the endless rain of sakura petals beneath that tree.

Not that it matters. Unlike your currently obsessive hatred for me, I do not waste time or energy on you. The cryptic taunt of a certain associate has no worth, since he himself is confused, lax, and cannot sufficiently blind his heavenly seal. After all, what else could such unceasing fixation be, given how I have strengthened you? No, it does not matter.

The man who outgrew an idealistic adolescence of awkwardness framed by carelessly stumbling grace does not smile, even when teased. Is it because the murmuring wind among withered leaves purrs reminders of the past? You've always believed in fate, while I shape destiny. The results are evident in the enthralling ruins of your isolation, even as I dismiss texture smoother than snow and white as the roses that mourn in autumn. And bones as frail as a birch, radiating a source of warmth, always-

Forsaking the symphony of silence for once, why do I stand in the glare of the sun to contemplate this, on an industrial bridge of corroding metal far above passing cars and their fog of pollution? No one should pierce the veil that separates solitude from chaos.

I… Subaru-kun, you will never hear- There is no point. Truth always dies.

Follow me, fight me, loathe me, and do not waver in your dedication.

For your safety and my sanity: Come. Quickly.

Empty your sister's hope. Fill this void.

Embrace our future… through me.