A/N: Not so nice guy, here's your request, finally~ thanks for being so encouraging and patient and the total opposite of your name(?)! It hurt me to write Gerome being mean so I made it super ambiguous..hope you like it!
forgiveness
noire: French word for black.
I can't do this anymore!
She thought the rain could wash away her tears. Though if she thought about it, it wasn't even a possibility. She was fire and death and destruction incarnate. She was Noire. She was, above all things, her mother's daughter. Even the purest rain couldn't begin to wash away her sins.
I don't want to live here. Not with you.
Why had she ever thought her coal black heart capable of love? Hadn't she seen what it did to her mother, trying to use an organ that had long ago turned to ash?
I don't know how to deal with you.
The road she followed was muddy. It sucked her bare feet down, as if trying to reclaim her to the earth. She was ill prepared to be out in the storm, but Noire paid it no heed.
It's your fault, Noire.
Somewhere far away sat a small orphanage. Inside it, a loving man told bedtime tales a group of children, and a woman would take them by the hand and quietly tuck them into bed, whispering unsettling things in their ears. They were used to this, so they would laugh, and tell her to be happy, like they so often heard the man telling her.
Leave me alone! Go away. You can't stay here.
Noire would travel this distance and more to have her real parents back, to undo every second of the terrible life she'd been given. Yet here she was, standing at the home of her fake parents, looking for love, as always, in places she wouldn't find it.
"Mother."
She kept her hand on the door to steady herself while Tharja looked her wet form up and down. Any second now, she should be slamming the door, locking her daughter out.
"Hello, Noire."
The mage reached out her hand, and Noire felt her sins fall to the ground.