Chapter III

Written in completely Mukuro's perspective as a contrast to Chrome's, now on his personal musings as he thinks to himself and interacts with her. I have learned that unabashed fluff = reviews, apparently.

Control was the one thing Mukuro had to rely on. Whether he was an inch from death's recurring grip or speaking with Chrome, he would lose himself without self-control, and be more of a killing machine than a plotting mastermind. It was, to him, what separated the strong humans from the weak, yet another reason that he should be disappointed with her, handing all of her control to him whenever the situation arose, never asking him for instruction on how to control her personal illusions.

Yet he could not bring himself to do such a thing. She was a girl, a feeble one if that, but only on the surface. It was a mix- the admiration of her fierce protectiveness, coupled with just the smallest hint of jealousy, at her innocence and fortune at learning all that he knew, without the same misfortune. Being physically so similar, even malnourished, awoke that sick feeling of empathy in his stomach from his life with the Estraneo. The very thought of pity disgusted him, and it was again in shame that he admitted he was not as judicious with his thoughts as he knew he should be. Day and night, without cease, Mukuro had no escape other than his thoughts; every moment was devoted to recovering, to opening his eyes from the blank wetness of his cell.

And it was with little surprise that he had simply frustrated himself sometimes, with no new information his sanity gradually eroded along with his body, his only respite the few stolen moments that he had to teach Chrome and check up on her.

'How weak of you. Still wasting your energy on that girl after the illusions when you could be escaping,' scoffed his omnipresent cynicism. 'Stupid, rash actions like that are what put, and keep, you in this prison, you damned idiot,' it berated further, to his chagrin. Recently, the cynicism had been less of a bitter medicine and much more a malignant tumor, which, ever-expanding, interfered in gradually more of his thoughts with growing consistency.

The growing insanity within him was often counterproductive- which, perhaps, was what caused his true insanity of performing actions purely against his spite and reasoning, and though not for such a purpose, found it increasingly easy to do. Again his newfound thought provoked him to leave the Vendicare for now, to abandon his earthly restraints.

With a shift in mindset, he searched deep within his mind for the mark of his vessel, across oceans and thousands of miles until a soft presence made itself felt within him like a feather upon a carpet, yet it was a faint sensation, as if his senses were numbed from sleep. But without further issue, Mukuro's consciousness left him for an instant, reappearing again as the body of his prime- long, spiked amethyst hair which he likely would never have again, but more importantly the iron-hard muscle which he certainly would never have again.

But his visit was not to admire himself, instead to see Chrome and liberate himself from the darkness. And speaking of the devil, she was unsurprisingly laying upon the bed, eyes closed in deep sleep, having removed her eyepatch in slumber. With her hair let loose and figure so relaxed and natural, he could not help but be warmed within, effused with a quickening feeling that rested within his chest. A rather, well, unnatural feeling to him, which he sated in his imagination- a pure fantasy of her sleeping in the same peaceful way, yet in stead of a mattress and pillow, laying within the crook of his arm and curve of his chest as he stroked her blued tresses, keeping the pure soul his willing captive.

And Mukuro did not lie to himself. He knew quite well that if he willed Chrome to stay with him forever that there would not be a forthcoming protest and she would happily live with him forever. But the feeling was not mutual- his flaw again to living with anyone else was his individuality and lack of attachment- she would be scarred completely if he simply left without notice or, perhaps, at all. This was the reason that Mukuro did not endeavor to spend every day with her- to wean her from her need of him and allow her to blossom into an independent person; if a lotus stayed beneath the water it would simply wither and decay, and so far she had been doing perfectly. The only flaw was his penchant to take personal whims into account and take intimate contact with her, yet the touch was so welcoming and gentle that there was no possibility of resistance on his end.

During these brief span of thoughts, Mukuro quickly realized that he was still observing Chrome's facial features, more specifically, lips. Taken a bit aback at himself and what was being triggered by such an observation, he decided that it would be a capital time for him to leave and take a stretch of the unused muscles with a walk to, if he remembered correctly, the town's library. Perhaps memorizing literature would relieve some of his boredom, and he had always had a curiosity and slight respect for authors who could in their books accurately and dramatically portray life with composed words, but personal emotions.†

X

Mukuro marveled at the excess of this building compared to ordinary Japanese buildings. Only two stories with massive floor area, yet likely the height of a six-story apartment building, with six feet of stairs leading to the entrance flanked by columns, all in a non-flamboyant cream and steel coloring. But without further musings, he entered the two pairs of sliding door to a remarkably relaxed interior. A large children's section on the left with an absent librarian, checkout stations on the right, and a flight of stairs directly in front of him. He had never yet been to a place where the younger were put in front of the adult, and he was pleasantly surprised by this.

He made his way towards the stairwell without a particular destination, but he supposed that fiction would not interest him at the moment, whereas it was likely Mukuro could have written some of the history books. Poetry, he decided.

Conveniently enough, the section names were hung from the ceilings, so finding himself to the section took only a second of walking past many bookshelves. Of course, the choices were so numerous it was unlikely that he would find the same thing twice- he resolved to find something to pique his interest, to perhaps ponder on in confinement. Fortunately or not so, as befitting such a kind of author, the spines were varied and ranged from wildly unusual to mundane text. After being nearly discouraged from the books merging into a block of color within his vision, Mukuro blinked his eyes clear of blurriness and reached out with a veined rubber glove to find purchase in a rather quaintly sized collection in a black-dyed, leather binding entitled Love's Affectations, by a writer under the pseudonym Albrych.

The book itself seemed to push him to open it. Amidst golden diamonds hatched across the cover was a red lotus, as if it meant to have him open it. Peculiar symbolism, Mukuro mused. Without a glance at the opening, he randomly chose a page- arriving on a poem.

Strangely, the pages seemed to be copies of handwritten text, although it was in English lettering. Across the center of the page was a single-word title: "Leaving". His eyes scanned the words, in muted surprise and absorption.

He sits outside, shivering from the frost,

No one to speak, the dark void surrounding.

Out of sight, out of mind, he was so lost.

Floating in the sea, with no real grounding.

None hear his silent pleas for companion,

Nor the life dripping from his heart, his soul,

For his pride gagged him, crossing a canyon,

So he kept silent, time taking its toll;

But this time there is no bright horizon;

Instead a black curtain, to draw up his front,

His pride put away, death the quick siphon.

The regrets unheard, pity an affront,

All the boy wanted was a faithful friend,

Now she left, and her ego was his end.

And a footnote, scribbled in.

Written after she had been made to leave without notice, and my intentions were the most unsure.

The irony of the words and his own situation Mukuro could not help but notice. The sonnet cast a rather somber, yet overly heroic tint on the situation, but his interest was inexplicably piqued. Noticing the dates of other pieces, he noted them to be in chronological order. Truly, then, this was more of a pseudo-biography than a simple poetry collection- and this captured him.

Perhaps one more, he relented, this time backtracking several pages to a similarly styled poem. Entitled "Refuge", and something that Mukuro's smiled bitterly at. How diametric, was the simplest thought that ran through his mind, and how he was far on the wrong side of the words.

Cruelty and apathy, two twin sins;

They serve naught but the basest savages

Whose lives are solely of clipping white wings,

Only the hatred marks their ravages.

Time or not, we have not lost either one.

Both remain, hidden always in plain sight.

Poor man who sees they're lost, an absent sun,

The dead martyr who has wasted her light.

Waste no time for these in eternal dusk;

You are an infinitely better one

Than their entirety, worthless husks.

But I resolve that from none shall I run.

Whether it is night, daylight, any time;

Those who desire aid have started the climb.

It was almost worth a laugh, knowing that he was interested in what seemed like a benevolent fool. Perhaps he was an earth trapped demon desiring to seduce a virgin and strip her innocence, the cruel habit of finding such pleasure in senseless destruction, the evil passion of violation that attracted him to her, such a flawless soul that he had subjected wholly to himself with her own consent.

But even such a man such as he could not simply defile the innocent and stay unchanged, lest he was a truly soulless, inhuman creature. It was such that were the repercussions of the struggle to exist yet again outside of his own mortal shell, to break free of the unjust bonds placed upon him. All enacted upon him by a corrupt organization of cutthroats and banded murderers with a truly ironic sense of justice. The Mafia always was per sanguinem, de sanguine- through blood, of blood. And yet they would slaughter the Estraneo as if they were less than the disgusting savages they were themselves, all the while convincing themselves that they were something better, the exterminating guardians of the underworld. Yet they themselves never stopped to consider what the underworld was itself, and then they would realize; the mafiosi who so adamantly killed others so beneath them were in fact just the same. There was no doubt in Mukuro's mind that if it were necessary for a dying Vongola family to survive that they would sacrifice children. Iemitsu's attitude as external adviser made it obvious- his son was not his son, he was the family's son. And if that meant he had to beat him to death with his own hands for the Ninth, then so be it. Whether or not there were kinder subordinates was of little matter- the ones following the leader was always the rule, not the exception.

With this, the thought-struck illusionist closed his eyes, falling back upon the bookshelves in exhaustion. His mind was so fraught with constant darkness, it was the precise reason that he needed a break from his thoughts. Placing his hand upon his brow, he sighed and paused for a moment, taking a moment to collect his breath and thought. The cool, conditioned air settled in his lungs as he pushed himself, hard, from the ground with only Chrome in mind.

X

† Not intending to praise myself, they're just also my thoughts which I believe that Mukuro would likely have.

Anyways, it would be quite nice if you would take some time out of your day and leave a nice review for me to read, because I really do read all of them, the fact that there are only four notwithstanding. Perhaps a poke into the direction of the story, or something that resonated with you, something you like. The poems were written by me, as poetry is one of my other literary skills. Hope that you enjoyed the chapter as well and that I may get a few words for the new chapter, eh?

I also am quite sure that ten days shall be a reasonable update time. Things may change this chapter, as I will be gone from the 15th-22nd to a fencing camp at a university, no less, but I shall bring along my trusty and rather durable laptop with me. I don't really do any rewriting, so please tell me if it would be a good idea, so I could do some polishing. Otherwise, until the next review!

-Albert