Shattered Iridescence.
Prompt - Memory.
- the state or fact of being remembered.
He likes to remember her the way she was; innocent, human, delicate.
The Yuuki he knew was not this female sprawled out on an ancient couch, with a glass of what could have been wine held easily in her long, pale fingers. When she laughed violently sharp fangs - longer and more deadly than his own - appeared between soft, plump lips painted an almost vicious shade of blood red. Yuuki hates - hated - make-up. She would never have worn it when he knew her.
(He is achingly aware of the fact that he does not really know her anymore.)
Her black silk dress almost looks as though it has been painted onto her and when she shifts he sees a split in the fabric that runs down her chest, almost to her navel. Suddenly, she looks up with scarlet tinged eyes and beckons with a single finger. There is a pair of rings on her left hand - on her ring finger. A familiar twinge stirs in his blood and his feet begin to move - there is no resisting the whims of a pureblood.
(Especially when he so badly wants to approach the pureblood in question).
From the sidelines he can see Kaname, smiling slightly as though at his own private joke. The other filth part, watching him with wary eyes. His reputation precedes him; they all know what he used to be and who he still works for. His Bloody Rose, altered so that he can still use it in his current state, feels heavy in his coat pocket.
She smiles in a way that the old Yuuki (his Yuuki) would never have smiled. Not warm, tender and welcoming. Shameless flaunting. She tilts her body so that the slit in the dress widens and he sees more pale flesh. From where he stands above her he can see a matching slit in the back.
"Zero," she purrs.
"Sit down, have a drink. You must have some exciting stories to tell us. It's been so long since we last spoke." The other half of the "us" she spoke of slides up to stand behind her, and leans casually against the back of the couch.
And it has been ridiculously long since they last spoke, or saw each other; long enough for her to marry the filth and turn into the woman lying before him. He takes a seat in front of her. His fingers casually brush the gun that won't hurt either of them. Unbidden, his mind conjures up the image of that woman laughing even as he shot her repeatedly and blood poured from her.
He tells her - not him - all that he has done simply because she asked.
At least he can remember her the way she was when he last saw her, just before he left, and the taste, the smell, the feel of her - the Yuuki that was his - is something that he will never forget.
This is the promised prompt of memoir/savior for Ravyn Skye. Hope you like it! Next I have promised to do rain/sweet for freyasakura.
Thanks for reading!
Silver xxx.