A/N: ok peoples, this story is in disjointed chapters so if it doesn't make sense right now it will soon. As always, read, review and enjoy!
-Jude
Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail
It's strange to remember how we used to think, as if everything were available to us, as if there were no contingencies, no boundaries; as if we were free to shape and reshape forever the ever-expanding perimeters of our lives. But here there is nothing but boundaries and blackness. Light- such a whimsical daydream such a concept sounds to my own ears. Of course the actual sound of that hopeful naivety is not what is echoing through my ears, my ears are now not my own they are his, he demands it of me.
"What did I do to deserve this?" he asked quietly, though his tone was not quiet, it was yelling, it was screaming in pain, pain I assume I made. What did he do? To deserve? This? I like his question better this way, it's much easier to comprehend, or rather understand his lack of comprehension. He is validated in such a question, he did nothing out of unkindness or brutality but that does not mean what he did was valid. It is true his kindness was profound, something very few other women of our society experienced but did he deserve my thanks? He imprisoned me, though marriage is the proper term. Term, a period of time defined by the conditions of it's duration, till death do us part. But i had parted before death, my body nothing more than a shell with a pleasant smile, bright chocolate eyes that spoke of honesty. But my eyes spoke too much, he would say, lingering over the wrong objects. People were objects here, something to look at but never touch. Touching would be a breach of the rules.
Rules were never something that came naturally to me, drinking alcohol was unladylike, clothing was too suggestive, no matter what I did it never seemed to fit the rules. Although it occurred to me once that perhaps no one truly obeyed the rules, they were merely a form of terror used to enslave us, but that also faded away soon enough, like the hope of a light. I am twenty-three and have never seen the light, only the less dark, but perhaps that was enough.
His stare left the inadequately decorated wall, it was inadequate because everything by definition was inadequate, change consumed everything over and over like a multi-mouthed beast, his stare left the wall to meet my eyes, those always too honest eyes.
"You did nothing." I said, my tone unreadable to myself, but he seemed to divulge some secret message, something I was unwilling to surrender freely.
"Then why did you do this?" he asked, the lines around his timeless eyes converging to create a labyrinth of chasms, one I had once hoped to master till the barren wasteland no longer held secrets I wished to possess. My secrets were enough to fill my mind, spilling from my eyes, revealing 'this'.
"I love him Macao," I said, the words like vermin leaving my mouth, a rat slithering over my tongue from my throat, the air in my lungs burning like wild fire. His eyes widened slightly, the labyrinth changing once more. He sighed, expelling breath from his lips as if in a demonstration of how much breath he had, as if he was being rewarded for being unlike me, not sinful.
"What do you expect to come of this…?" He asked just as quietly, with his rage pouring through like the Nile flooding over the plains of Egypt, consuming everything beneath it and as his wife I am by definition beneath him. This will be the end of me, I said to myself once, the memory firmly planted in the forefront of my mind.
"I want to-" I began, hoping the words would fall from my mouth, words that would make everyone understand, including myself. But the words never got the chance to come to fruition, much like myself, cut at the stem before the flower had a chance to bloom, placed in a beautiful glass vase to slowly wither away into an abyss of nothingness. But the sound that stopped them like a knife to the throat was him, standing at the threshold of the double doors, hair wild, eyes fierce.
"You can't keep her from me." He declared, shoulders squared, his iron will stronger and sharper than the iron blade that had carved the lightning shaped scar into his face over a decade ago. Macao didn't call the guards, this entire event a power play. Though the power running through the veins of the house was shallow, a light flickered as if such a confrontation needed recognition by the earth itself.
"She was never yours boy." He snapped, once again I am a possession, either his or not his. Once again is appropriate however for there are moments where I am not watched, small moments where I am, where I can grow or change instead of being this constant inanimate object, without life or movement- or light. I feel a hand on my arm, the warmth of rough callused skin on my soft pale surface. I look up to see not a labyrinth of ceaseless, ever changing chasms, but the soft blue-grey concerned of his eyes, of the lesser darkness.
"Macao, I want to see the light."