Title: 007 – Muse

Author: schyra

Rating: ?

Pairings/Characters: Iulius

Warnings: ...Vague.

Summary: That which is fickle and kind.

Author's Note: Bahahahahha. Arghs.

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007 – Muse

That which is fickle and kind.

"AAARGH!!" Iulius put his head in his hands, completely and utterly frustrated. He just... couldn't find any inspiration! Sighing heavily, the artist set down his pencil and looked resignedly at his blank sketch pad. He was giving up for the day.

He rose from his seat and grabbed his coat, intent on getting some fresh air.

As he locked the door to his studio behind him, the dark-haired narcissist wondered where his concept of beauty had gone.

He dragged his feet along the path as he trekked aimlessly through the nearby park, looking around at the vibrant colors and life of Spring. Nothing. He felt nothing. Just like the past few days. Iulius had never been so uninspired for so long before.

He sighed once again, kicking at the fallen leaves.

"Onee-chan, wait up!"

He glanced up.

A silver-haired boy ran past him. Iulius followed him with his gaze, watched as the child arrived by the side of an older, black-haired girl, and proceeded to cling to her skirt. The girl stopped walking, turned, and tried to tear her brother's hands away from her dress. The boy held tight, unwilling to let go.

They were saying something, both obviously upset, but Iulius was too far away to hear a word.

Curious, he walked closer. He knew he shouldn't really be eavesdropping, but they were an unusual pair. He padded slowly towards them.

Finally losing her temper, the girl raised her hand to strike at her sibling.

Eyes widening in shock, Iulius started forward.

Her hand stilled, inches from the boy, and then dropped lifelessly. With a blank look on her face, the girl took her brother's hand in hers and began to walk away. The child clung tight to that hand, unwilling to let go. Just before they passed out of sight, Iulius caught a glimpse of his face.

Fear. Regret. Relief.

Iulius stared at their retreating forms, even long after they were gone. The scenario played vividly in his mind, replaying, replaying... He couldn't get it out of his head.

His walk burdened with strange and heavy thoughts, he returned to his studio.

Sitting down at his desk, the artist looked once again at his blank sketchbook. Picking up the pencil, Iulius began to draw. Light, quick lines, like anger. Heavy, harsh slashes, like sorrowful rage. Swirling, faint strokes, like bittersweet happiness. Naive eyes. Deep ones.

It was late into the night when he finally stopped to look at what he had created.

It was the siblings, whom he couldn't chase out of his mind, standing side by side. Each held a chain. It looked heavy, and they struggled to hold onto it with their small hands. Yet they held onto it with such firmness, with a desire to never let go. They looked back at him with young eyes, that had seen much of life.

He stared at it for a long moment.

Then, he flipped the page. Laying down the used pencil and selecting a new one, Iulius began to draw again. He kept at it, trying to erase their shadows from his consciousness. Trying to wipe out his feelings of being ill at ease. He filled sketchbooks with their image.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he still thinks about them.

- - -

END.