Kaiya Mya
Offline
Raissa Firehawk
Offline
Tuna Salad Sonnet
Offline
Hajimeilosukna
Offline
Anakha the Silver
-
100 -
100 -
200
Offline
Kaiya Mya
Offline
Hajimeilosukna
Offline
Hajimeilosukna
Offline
Anakha the Silver
-
100
-
100
-
200
Offline
Hajimeilosukna
Offline
Anakha the Silver
-
100
-
100
-
200
Offline
Alice of Human Sacrifice, Act Three
Once more, there are the five figures. But most are quickly fading out, save for the one directly to the right of the red woman. This one is slowly illuminated, revealing, once more, a horrific figure—in worse condition than the former.
An empty socket stares out from a partially-covered skull. There’s a brilliant, red rose blooming in the other socket, decaying skin hanging from the bone, enough to reveal the joint of the jaw. The hair is coarse, greasy, and grayed. What remains of clothing is nothing but scraps clinging to a thin form, just like what remains of skin. Muscle is visible in some places, stuck to the bone. Skeletal grin greets Axel, though, in reality, he can tell the mouth is simply shut.
Slender fingers gloved in white draw the crimson rose from the socket in the skull. Crushing it in his hand, the pretty man then allows the petals to dance in an invisible wind, before the hand moves up to cover the empty, black pits. Outward, from the hand, the muscle and skin begin to restore. As it spreads further, the hair is restored. Thickening into a dirty blonde, the top is short, spiked up gently, with the back brushing against his shoulder blades. The clothes follow, stitching back together and filling in where there is no cloth anymore.
The pretty man’s hand falls from the eyes now, which slowly flutter open as the young man takes a deep breath. Axel is now staring into mismatched irises of green and blue, feeling as if he’s falling into them.
A blue door opens. Two feet step gracefully out onto water, causing ripples to spread outward. From the ripples springs a town, and he stands on a fountain. The people look to him with curiosity as he gazes out to them.
“The second Alice was a fragile blue one.”
Slowly, he steps down. A shy expression is on his face as he walks along, avoiding any actual contact with anyone. He’s lost and alone, and Axel feels damn sorry for him. He’s seen his fate, after all, and wants nothing more than to scream at him, to tell him to turn back.
Music suddenly catches the Alice’s attention, him pausing to turn. A small band is there, playing a beautiful and wordless tune. Violin, accordion, flute… Small, but nice. And the music wells up inside the mysterious young man.
The words flow from his mouth in a beautiful melody, melding perfectly with the tune of the musicians. People begin to stop to listen as the man sings from his heart. More words flow into the open, the blondette losing all fear.
More and more people begin to watch, Axel quickly finding himself to be one of them. And there, within the crowd, not too far away, is a pink-haired boy in his early teens. Axel feels his stomach tighten, twisting into knots.
“He sang to the world in the Wonderland...”
The scene shifts, to a larger crowd in front of a small home—the singer’s, obviously. There are whispers about him as he performs happily, the band from before playing for him. Everyone is happy that the young man—Demyx, Axel hears him called—has come through the mysterious, blue door that vanished.
They offer money and food for the performance. Some offer clothing and furniture, to go in his house. He only takes what he needs, though. Never more than that. Axel has to commend him for his kindness and humility.
But still, the pink-haired beauty watches.
“…Filling regions with so many false-created notes…”
A stage now, in front of a large audience. The joy in his mismatched eyes has faded, but his face fakes it. No longer is he enjoying his talent. Not with his large mansion, made by the people. Not with his fancy clothes. Not with the company he had come to keep.
The pink-haired boy still watches, his smirk having grown as time went on. Axel, once more, feels the need to scream for Demyx, as he’s called, to run, to escape this world before it’s too late. But his voice is caught in his throat.
“…That were of a crazy blue world.”
The man is in his room now, scribbling on the walls. Musical notes, lyrics, anything to rekindle the spark he’d lost. He used to enjoy singing for others, now it’s tedious and he can’t seem to enjoy what used to make him so happy.
The entire room is blue, littered with blue roses. Even the furniture is blue. And there are various musical motifs scattered around, along with paintings of him. Axel wishes to comfort the young man, but once more finds himself without a body.
He can only watch as the pencil is flung across the room. Then, Demyx begins to pace. He’s biting his nails, muttering wildly under his breath. His fingers are bleeding by now, he’d chewed so long and so much.
And then, he pauses and looks straight ahead as if in a daze.
“This new Alice was that of a rose.”
A hand is held out, the mansion melting away to a beautiful field of flowers. The one holding it out is a golden-eyed young man, despite the white streaks through his black hair. There’s kind smile on the lips.
Held gently between fingers is a white-petaled rose. The musician slowly takes it, smiling. The two talk, the world spinning around them. They grow closer and closer, the distance between them shrinking.
Demyx’s madness is dissipating, lost to the worlds, and he once more has the inspiration needed to sing with passion. No more are his notes false.
But then, the distance suddenly grows. An affliction to the white-rose man. Madness setting in, consuming him, until an argument one night, in the study of the mansion they now share.
“He was shot and killed by a madman.”
Golden eyes are wide. Shaky breaths are drawn. His arm is extended forward again, but not with a rose this time. No, this time, they hold a gun, and a hand rests on his shoulder. That of a boy with pink hair, now an older teen.
The blondette is on the floor, a puddle of blood pooling under his head. His blue eye is wide, a blood, gaping hole where his green eye used to be.
Axel feels his heart leap into his throat, stomach churning at the gruesome sight.
“It left a flower blooming sadly red.”
The white rose man’s eyes flicker up, to the beautiful blossom on the table just behind his lover’s corpse. A white rose, the petals staining red as the blood clings to them, seeping into the white.
Tears stream down his face as he kneels down, trying to get the singer to stir. But to no avail, for he’d killed the man. So, after a few moments, he stands next to the corpse. Gun placed to his head.
The hand shakes as the tears fall, the pink-haired teen watching with amusement and fascination. Axel screaming for this scene to just end already. He can guess what’s coming, and he doesn’t want to see brains splattered everywhere.
A sudden bang from the gun, the golden-eyed man falling back onto the corpse of his lover so as to be found with him. Then, all goes black.
“The one who was loved was now forgotten.”
Two graves, next to each other. Time goes rapidly by, and the flow of traffic to the graves changes drastically. At first, there are many who visit. Friends, family, fans. The graves are smothered with flowers in remembrance.
Then the fans stop coming, leaving only the aging friends and family. Blue and white roses are left, intertwined to represent the lovers. A tragedy, they all say, to lose such a beautiful couple like that.
Then the friends, too, stop coming and only younger family visits. Obligations set forth by ancestors. They leave simple flowers, nothing so intimate as a rose. They don’t speak, just keep the weeds and such from the graves.
And even they stop visiting, leaving the graves to decay as a rosebush grows over the two lovers. Its vines consume their graves, hiding them from sight. The blossoms are blood red, a symbol of the dark deed.
The earth fades, then the trees, then the rosebush, and Axel finds himself, once more, standing before the decaying man with the rose for an eye. He, like the woman previously, is fading back into a simple silhouette as the other four fade back in.
The red-head wants to leave now, to escape this story, but by now, there is none. A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach tells him that. Which means there’s naught left to do but wait.
James Phobos
-
200
-
200 -
100
Offline
Anakha the Silver
-
100
-
100
-
200
Offline
James Phobos
-
200
-
200
-
100
Offline
Anakha the Silver
-
100
-
100
-
200
Offline
