/When was it that I first realized my soul had been worn thin? It must
have been years and years ago, and suddenly, your face no longer caused me
pain, as it wandered the halls of my memories. I can still remember the
numb shock I felt when looking out at the night stars, muttering your name
and no tears stung my eyes, no heavy weight in my chest. Like the light of
the sun, you have left me behind, without even my grief to remind me I once
lived.
And now, Hisoka will suffer, just like you did, dearest sister. I don't mean to hurt anyone; it's just that, I don't want to hurt anymore, either. I'm so tired./
An embrace of warmth lifted him from his thoughts, bringing him back enough to feel the painfully sharp pull of hunger. Like a guilty pleasure, it burned inside of him, consuming his entire being. The scent of blood nearby became unbearable and the frail hands reached into the darkness, weakly searching, though he lacked even the strength to open his eyes.
/It was my eyes; did you know that, sister? We both died for the simple fact that my eyes were such a strange color. I, I tried to destroy them, tear them out, when he told me. But this cursed blood that keeps me alive when I should have died long ago, has power of its own. The only scars I shall ever bear are the ones in my mind./
Hours, years, lifetimes, later, he felt himself being rested down, soft fabric cushioning against his stiff back. His hands tried to stay with the warmth, coxing the blood he knew must be close, into himself. But it retreated, leaving him shivering and starved. In its place, came a voice. The familiar tones warmed a different part of him, forcing back the press of darkness like hands pulling open curtains.
"Tsuzuki, can you hear me?"
Unable to force the words past the dry constricts of his throat, he rolled the thoughts back in his mind. Tears stung at his eyes and he was dimly amazed that he had enough of anything left in him to cry.
/Tatsumi?/
A hand softly stroked back his hair and he almost whimpered. Even this tender touch felt like fire against his taut nerves. Tatsumi must have fed recently, to have a touch that burned in his ancient age. Tsuzuki could smell the blood in him and it made his jaw lock tighter, tongue pressing against the back of his teeth in need.
"Yes, it's me, Tsuzuki. Don't ask a lot of questions right now, try to save your strength."
/Where am I?/ Flashes of the coffin lid shutting down make him mentally wince.
"You're safe, for now. You're with me."
/But-/
"I need you to listen to me right now, Tsuzuki." He said, very softly, "Hisoka's in danger, but he's not dead, not yet. Watari's gone to do what he can to help. But right now, the one he needs is you. You need to be there. You're the only one that can stand up to the Master and you know this."
Forgotten Gifts, lingering deep in his mind stirred, resounding to the truth of his elder's words. The turmoil of emotions only weakened the lilac eyed vampire, even the urgent need to rise up and fight for the mortal he had fallen in love with, was edged with sleep. So weak, so very weak. The darkness was whispering to his despair like a lover.
/I need to feed, Tatsumi./
There was no way he could hunt in his condition. Thoughts of the many rats that lurked in the crypt rushed through his mind. He knew, somewhere, under it all, he had the Gift of summoning. Just like Watari, he could call animal familiars. Something as simple as a rat's mind might open to him, even in this drained condition. He tried to focus on that, drawing it from the back of his mind in a paper thin hope, picturing a rat and calling to it.
There was a shifting beside him.
But instead of the scampering of rodent's feet, a shadow passed over his eyes, as someone loomed above him. Feverishly warm flesh pressed against his mouth, spilling liquid fire against his lips. Gasping in shock, his lips parted to the wound, his mouth filling with the kiss of flames. Senses reeling, he was caught up in a strong pulse as it tugged on him and drew him into itself and there was nothing else. It pounded in his ears, encircled his heart until his own weak rhythm took it's tempo as its own. If he thought something, it never reached the surface of this undertow. There was only this, the feeling unlike anything he could ever give words.
His hands reached up and gripped the flesh, hugging it tighter as his teeth sank into the offered wrist, opening new wounds over the already healing one. No images came from the shadows, no song with the rhythm, only the impossibly intoxicating taste as it coursed through his veins.
He was only dimly aware of a hand softly cradling the back of his head, and a voice muttering gently
~~
"We all have our Gifts, born of the dark blood."
The finger tip arched up, tracing its way over his forearm in a lazy circle up to his shoulder. A deep red line was left in its wake, tattooing into his skin. It didn't hurt, not yet. It was like the push of a razor, slicing the upper layers, but not quite touching the veins and nerves underneath. It was the pressure and the promise of pain to come and that made it so much worse.
"Don't touch me!" Hisoka screamed, trying to pull back. The wires, thin as twine, twice as strong as metal, encircled his entire body, strapping him firmly in place. Rivulets of crimson blood blossomed around the lines they ran into his flesh. The sight of it seemed to excite the silver haired man, looming above him, a wicked gleam shone in his eyes. Unrelenting, the finger continued its slow ballet. The young green eyed man couldn't turn to look, but the methodical rhythm hinted a method to the finger's motion. He could feel an intricate design being given life against his flesh.
"That traitorous Watari can summon all manners of birds, connecting with them so they do his bidding. He's so easy to control. Catch one of his enthralled birds in a silver cage and he remains powerless until its release or its death." His face pressed closer to the youth, his hand moving up as the fingers continued their dance up his arm, like feathers with serrated tips.
"Now Tatsumi is a very rare case, being a Master of Shadows, he can bend and fold the darkness like so much paper." His words rolled off his tongue in thick syllables, aloof and captivating. Glass-like nails cut into Hisoka's arm as they rounded back down to his exposed chest. Encouraged by the whimper of pain that followed, the vampire grinned with a flash of fangs and joined the last of the lines together in a half circle, right above the boy's clavicle
"Believe it or not, Tsuzuki and I are similar. While I have the Gift of carving death curses into the flesh of the living, he gives death to those closest to him without so much as lifting a finger. Beautiful, isn't it?" His voice lowered, dropping to a level that was almost too low for Hisoka's mortal hearing to catch. "It was that aura of melancholy, like a soft mist of darkness and mortality that first drew me to him. But once I saw those eyes," A shiver of excitement ran through him. A feeling that echoed in Hisoka, awaking the first stirs of a connection between the two. More then empathy, it was like he was a puppet and this demon held the strings connected to his very soul. "I enjoyed drinking the life from him and to my added delight, when he was born into the Darkness, he was so shrouded by the past, he couldn't claim his Gifts."
"But then you came along." All the pleasure dropped from his voice in a heartbeat. "You, who are far to beautiful for a quick death and who is undeserving as one of my immortal children." Leaning his head forward, brushing his icy cheek against Hisoka's, he whispered against his ear. "You shall be my puppet and I shall dangle you in front of him, renewing the despair which of late has been dimming, and once I have broken that foolish hope he sees in you." Light fingers pressed to the other side of his face and a like the flash before lighting hit, Hisoka knew, "And then I shall cut the strings."
The last of the curse settled into his soul like a second skin, sealing away hope. He would die.
"Yes, oh yes you will, be most assured of that. But as a final twist." Sneering, the silvery devil drew back and pressed his fingers over the emerald gems before him, forcing the lids down to cover them. "You won't remember any of this."
~~
"Hisoka!"
Trembling, his eyes flew open, unable to focus on the face before him.
"Hisoka, oh thank God." Something wet was pressing against his forehead and was blissfully cool. "Try to hang in there, ok?" The voice was familiar and he knew it to be Wakaba. Desperately he wanted to ask her what had happened. His memories were a blur and he felt a fear he had never known.
He must have tried to sit up, because he could feel gentle, but firm hands pressing against his shoulders. Other servants milled around, he could hear their voices but couldn't understand their words. Only Wakaba's compassionate voice reached him in the haze of sickness.
"When you didn't come back last night, we went looking for you. One of the stable hands found you against the base of the giant court tree this morning. You've taken a horrible fever, it only now broke. Please try to rest. The doctors don't think it's serious, just a mild flu, but you need sleep."
Hisoka tried to rise against the hands holding him. -Last night? Hadn't he been with her last night? Kissing under the red moon.- He hadn't gone anywhere near the courtyard. He had been with her! Didn't she remember?
"Hisoka! Please, you mustn't! Bring the medicine the doctors left, be quick!"
A second later, the cold thin rim of a glass was being pressed to his lips, slipping between them. A pungent odor filled his nostrils as he tried to pull away from drinking it. A hand slipped against the back of his head, holding him. He made the mistake of trying to voice a protest and the bitter lemon flavored liquid spilled down his throat. It dulled the flesh as it ran over it, leaving his mouth and throat feeling numb. Heavy sleep tugged at his eyes, the combination of feverish daze and drugs too much for him.
The hands slide away and the bed rose up to cradle his back.
He had been with her last night. Had the illness caused him to wander away from the main house?
-With her, under the red moon.-
And now, Hisoka will suffer, just like you did, dearest sister. I don't mean to hurt anyone; it's just that, I don't want to hurt anymore, either. I'm so tired./
An embrace of warmth lifted him from his thoughts, bringing him back enough to feel the painfully sharp pull of hunger. Like a guilty pleasure, it burned inside of him, consuming his entire being. The scent of blood nearby became unbearable and the frail hands reached into the darkness, weakly searching, though he lacked even the strength to open his eyes.
/It was my eyes; did you know that, sister? We both died for the simple fact that my eyes were such a strange color. I, I tried to destroy them, tear them out, when he told me. But this cursed blood that keeps me alive when I should have died long ago, has power of its own. The only scars I shall ever bear are the ones in my mind./
Hours, years, lifetimes, later, he felt himself being rested down, soft fabric cushioning against his stiff back. His hands tried to stay with the warmth, coxing the blood he knew must be close, into himself. But it retreated, leaving him shivering and starved. In its place, came a voice. The familiar tones warmed a different part of him, forcing back the press of darkness like hands pulling open curtains.
"Tsuzuki, can you hear me?"
Unable to force the words past the dry constricts of his throat, he rolled the thoughts back in his mind. Tears stung at his eyes and he was dimly amazed that he had enough of anything left in him to cry.
/Tatsumi?/
A hand softly stroked back his hair and he almost whimpered. Even this tender touch felt like fire against his taut nerves. Tatsumi must have fed recently, to have a touch that burned in his ancient age. Tsuzuki could smell the blood in him and it made his jaw lock tighter, tongue pressing against the back of his teeth in need.
"Yes, it's me, Tsuzuki. Don't ask a lot of questions right now, try to save your strength."
/Where am I?/ Flashes of the coffin lid shutting down make him mentally wince.
"You're safe, for now. You're with me."
/But-/
"I need you to listen to me right now, Tsuzuki." He said, very softly, "Hisoka's in danger, but he's not dead, not yet. Watari's gone to do what he can to help. But right now, the one he needs is you. You need to be there. You're the only one that can stand up to the Master and you know this."
Forgotten Gifts, lingering deep in his mind stirred, resounding to the truth of his elder's words. The turmoil of emotions only weakened the lilac eyed vampire, even the urgent need to rise up and fight for the mortal he had fallen in love with, was edged with sleep. So weak, so very weak. The darkness was whispering to his despair like a lover.
/I need to feed, Tatsumi./
There was no way he could hunt in his condition. Thoughts of the many rats that lurked in the crypt rushed through his mind. He knew, somewhere, under it all, he had the Gift of summoning. Just like Watari, he could call animal familiars. Something as simple as a rat's mind might open to him, even in this drained condition. He tried to focus on that, drawing it from the back of his mind in a paper thin hope, picturing a rat and calling to it.
There was a shifting beside him.
But instead of the scampering of rodent's feet, a shadow passed over his eyes, as someone loomed above him. Feverishly warm flesh pressed against his mouth, spilling liquid fire against his lips. Gasping in shock, his lips parted to the wound, his mouth filling with the kiss of flames. Senses reeling, he was caught up in a strong pulse as it tugged on him and drew him into itself and there was nothing else. It pounded in his ears, encircled his heart until his own weak rhythm took it's tempo as its own. If he thought something, it never reached the surface of this undertow. There was only this, the feeling unlike anything he could ever give words.
His hands reached up and gripped the flesh, hugging it tighter as his teeth sank into the offered wrist, opening new wounds over the already healing one. No images came from the shadows, no song with the rhythm, only the impossibly intoxicating taste as it coursed through his veins.
He was only dimly aware of a hand softly cradling the back of his head, and a voice muttering gently
~~
"We all have our Gifts, born of the dark blood."
The finger tip arched up, tracing its way over his forearm in a lazy circle up to his shoulder. A deep red line was left in its wake, tattooing into his skin. It didn't hurt, not yet. It was like the push of a razor, slicing the upper layers, but not quite touching the veins and nerves underneath. It was the pressure and the promise of pain to come and that made it so much worse.
"Don't touch me!" Hisoka screamed, trying to pull back. The wires, thin as twine, twice as strong as metal, encircled his entire body, strapping him firmly in place. Rivulets of crimson blood blossomed around the lines they ran into his flesh. The sight of it seemed to excite the silver haired man, looming above him, a wicked gleam shone in his eyes. Unrelenting, the finger continued its slow ballet. The young green eyed man couldn't turn to look, but the methodical rhythm hinted a method to the finger's motion. He could feel an intricate design being given life against his flesh.
"That traitorous Watari can summon all manners of birds, connecting with them so they do his bidding. He's so easy to control. Catch one of his enthralled birds in a silver cage and he remains powerless until its release or its death." His face pressed closer to the youth, his hand moving up as the fingers continued their dance up his arm, like feathers with serrated tips.
"Now Tatsumi is a very rare case, being a Master of Shadows, he can bend and fold the darkness like so much paper." His words rolled off his tongue in thick syllables, aloof and captivating. Glass-like nails cut into Hisoka's arm as they rounded back down to his exposed chest. Encouraged by the whimper of pain that followed, the vampire grinned with a flash of fangs and joined the last of the lines together in a half circle, right above the boy's clavicle
"Believe it or not, Tsuzuki and I are similar. While I have the Gift of carving death curses into the flesh of the living, he gives death to those closest to him without so much as lifting a finger. Beautiful, isn't it?" His voice lowered, dropping to a level that was almost too low for Hisoka's mortal hearing to catch. "It was that aura of melancholy, like a soft mist of darkness and mortality that first drew me to him. But once I saw those eyes," A shiver of excitement ran through him. A feeling that echoed in Hisoka, awaking the first stirs of a connection between the two. More then empathy, it was like he was a puppet and this demon held the strings connected to his very soul. "I enjoyed drinking the life from him and to my added delight, when he was born into the Darkness, he was so shrouded by the past, he couldn't claim his Gifts."
"But then you came along." All the pleasure dropped from his voice in a heartbeat. "You, who are far to beautiful for a quick death and who is undeserving as one of my immortal children." Leaning his head forward, brushing his icy cheek against Hisoka's, he whispered against his ear. "You shall be my puppet and I shall dangle you in front of him, renewing the despair which of late has been dimming, and once I have broken that foolish hope he sees in you." Light fingers pressed to the other side of his face and a like the flash before lighting hit, Hisoka knew, "And then I shall cut the strings."
The last of the curse settled into his soul like a second skin, sealing away hope. He would die.
"Yes, oh yes you will, be most assured of that. But as a final twist." Sneering, the silvery devil drew back and pressed his fingers over the emerald gems before him, forcing the lids down to cover them. "You won't remember any of this."
~~
"Hisoka!"
Trembling, his eyes flew open, unable to focus on the face before him.
"Hisoka, oh thank God." Something wet was pressing against his forehead and was blissfully cool. "Try to hang in there, ok?" The voice was familiar and he knew it to be Wakaba. Desperately he wanted to ask her what had happened. His memories were a blur and he felt a fear he had never known.
He must have tried to sit up, because he could feel gentle, but firm hands pressing against his shoulders. Other servants milled around, he could hear their voices but couldn't understand their words. Only Wakaba's compassionate voice reached him in the haze of sickness.
"When you didn't come back last night, we went looking for you. One of the stable hands found you against the base of the giant court tree this morning. You've taken a horrible fever, it only now broke. Please try to rest. The doctors don't think it's serious, just a mild flu, but you need sleep."
Hisoka tried to rise against the hands holding him. -Last night? Hadn't he been with her last night? Kissing under the red moon.- He hadn't gone anywhere near the courtyard. He had been with her! Didn't she remember?
"Hisoka! Please, you mustn't! Bring the medicine the doctors left, be quick!"
A second later, the cold thin rim of a glass was being pressed to his lips, slipping between them. A pungent odor filled his nostrils as he tried to pull away from drinking it. A hand slipped against the back of his head, holding him. He made the mistake of trying to voice a protest and the bitter lemon flavored liquid spilled down his throat. It dulled the flesh as it ran over it, leaving his mouth and throat feeling numb. Heavy sleep tugged at his eyes, the combination of feverish daze and drugs too much for him.
The hands slide away and the bed rose up to cradle his back.
He had been with her last night. Had the illness caused him to wander away from the main house?
-With her, under the red moon.-