Gokujou Naruto

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Because I forgot about them...

Author’s note, 2005: this was written somewhere around October 30, 2001. (About four years ago...) I’d forgotten I wrote it, but apparently I did...

Feel free to compare this to current stories.

...reading these makes me sad...I left a great forum when I gave up writing for GW. *Sighs* everything from here down was written by a younger me.


Warnings: R+5, hints of 1+2 in the future. Hopefully near future. OoC, insanity, confusion and AU. Blah.

Disclaimer: GW isn't mine. Plot/story thing is. No questions, please, headache . . .

*looks up* Wow, relatively short and painless . . . With that said . . . here we go!



Waiting in stony silence, the dark haired stranger glared in defiance at my sister. She, for her part, remained aloof and untouched, despite his malicious intent. With a small smile of satisfaction, Dorothy pushed her platinum locks out of her face, blue eyes lighting with childish delight. Sighing to myself, I waited for her to get on with her show, wishing for what must have been the hundredth time that she were not so . . . human . . . in her delight for causing others pain.

"So," she stated calmly, that smile growing into a small smirk of triumph. "You're the one they call 'Death,' hmm? Well, Death," she paused a moment, letting the irony of her words sink in, the bitter gall she harbored against this unknown man I had only begun to know. "You've got a new master now."

I turned away, not wanting to see the smirk adorning porcelain features. "Me." Ire burned deep in those eyes of frozen blue, their cobalt depths taking on an almost knife like quality. "You're mine, all right?!" Dorothy was near screaming now; the pain this must be causing her was surely evident to my heart's newest passion. Risking another glance at the golden boy-man, really-the breath caught in my throat once more.

Beautiful as the sunset, the same splendor of the dying light's breath was evident in every aspect of his nature. From his deadly eyes to those lips, he was perfect. The first among the fallen was the most beautiful, after all . . . "Every move you make is for me to call," her words were barely above a whisper, but the power behind them was more than enough to make me flinch.

How weak I must seem to him . . . afraid of my own family. Wincing at the thought, I trained my gaze on my older sister, waiting for her next statement with something resembling impatience. But that's me for you . . . impatient as the wind. I smiled. Or a cat, whichever you prefer.

"Every life you take, Death, is mine." Turning swiftly on the balls of her feet, she leapt with ease to the ground, evening herself with this heavenly Death. "Do I make myself clear?" The tone she used reminded me so much of our mother . . . I laughed quietly, earning me a glare from my only remaining tie to this so-called world. Choking on my laughter, I hastily looked away, wanting nothing more than to sink back into the shadows-away from that calculating look Death was giving me. Unfortunately, I'm afraid that only caused me to laugh harder . . . woe is me.

I'm sorry, have I confused you already? Perhaps I should back up a little then . . . You see, I'm the younger brother of Dorothy . . . or Raivyn Deathwalker, as she's taken to calling herself. My name is Duo, called dreamer, fae child, wind walker and the like, as well as a score other names I wouldn't care to repeat. Our family used to consist of five members, but only two survive. I'll get to that later . . . as for now, you need only know that.

I've been told I'm beautiful. I don't know why . . . it doesn't seem that way to me. One look at Relena, my twin sister, and you will know what true beauty is. We're as different as night and day, Relena and I . . . were as different, I should say.

Relena? Oh, she was beautiful . . . everyone agrees on that. Her hair is-was-as golden as the sun itself, with shimmering highlights of honey and wheat, a hue that would put gold to shame. Her eyes, a pale blue with miniature starbursts of royal blues and saphires . . . so well I remember her eyes. With skin as soft as a rose, pale, but with that golden sheen that comes naturally to her. She looks, in short, beautiful. For all our closeness, she was a mystery to me . . .

Yes, of course we were close! She was my twin, my closest friend. Even while she was alive, few people really understood me . . . Sure, I had friends in abundance. Isn't that the way with us though? They said she was reserved, too polite to simply be the daughter of a soldier. I don't think they knew her very well . . . she was always polite, but her words carried an undercurrent of ice or laughter always-they were never just words. She was never just one thing . . . always one and another. But . . . never both. But I loved her as I love no one else . . . my twin. Closer than blood, closer than soul . . . like I said, that is the way of us.

You would never understand, really, what she meant to me. She was my perfect twin, incapable of the same failings that I continuously make, day in and day out. She was an angel, and shall remain one even after her death, even after the constant ridicule and hatred our entire family goes through . . . day in, day out. Had she ever raised a hand in anger, I think I just may have died of shock alone. Slight exageration? Hardly! What, don't believe me? Listen to me . . . laughing again . . . always laughing, smiling or talking . . . never at peace. Anyway, even when hard pressed, she would never resort to violence, she would never harm a living thing intentionally. Unlike Dorothy. Raivyn. Whatever she calls herself now . . . seems to me that she changes it daily.

Relena was perfect, simply put. She could never have loved anyone more than anyone else, and so she constantly told me. That was why she would never truly fall in love with anyone, male or female. Now that I think of it, she may have just told me that for no reason at all, for she had her share of crushes, growing up . . . Loves. Oftentimes our latest heart's desire were one and the same. Relena never could forgive me that . . . and I could never change my heart for even her.

Why am I telling you this? I'm not sure of the reason, really. The more I speak, the more it seems it doesn't matter. None of it does, really . . . They told me that I was beautiful. They said I'm nearly as perfect as Relena. . . nearly. Guess I talked too much even then. What? Noooooo, there's nothing wrong with my eyes. Arg. Don't you know what a wink is?! Hmph . . . ANYways, they also said that within perfection lies our deepest fault. I never quite understood what they meant by that. To me, Relena was perfection humanized, an angel living on earth. Maybe that's why she only stayed with me for so little time? I never wanted to meet an angel, anyway . . . I think they're terrifying beings, not saviors. They do not serve mortals . . . or rather, should not. We're fallible. They aren't.

How . . . did she die? I don't know. I remember little of what actually happened . . . we were twelve years old, already halfway through our . . . what was it? Tenth or eleventh grade. I'll tell you what I recall, though, if you insist . . .

Upon waking, sometime around five thirty in the morning, Relena called quietly for me to come back inside and get ready for school, attempting as she always did to pull me in from the starlit morning to the warmer, 'more comfortable' kitchen. As all other days, it didn't work. Maybe if I'd obliged her just once, our lives may have turned out differently. Doubtful, but maybe. The more I think about it though, the more inevitable the occurrence seems. In any case, our morning went as scheduled . . . I sat outside, listening to the quiet of the early morn, the only time of day where I'll simply sit still and remain as Relena so often is . . . quiet. Any other time of day, I'll be laughing, talking or singing nonstop. I think it drove my teachers to insanity.

Are you accusing me of TRYING to make their lives a living hell? Of course not! Why would I ever do that?

...um, no, my lips are not twitching. And-uh-that was a . . . hicup, not a laugh.

Back to my story! Yes, I'm aloud to talk, aren't I? Good. We ate a simple meal of raisin bread and tea, packed our lunches and gathered our school supplies. After that, we'd start our journey by walking at a leisurely pace towards our bus stop, stopping every now and again to pluck a leaf that held my interest, or to acclaim the sunrise . . . or the stars, depending on the time of year. After that, the bus would pick us up, quiet Relena and my ever talkative self, chatting or laughing with the neighbors' children as they sleepily told me to shut up. Grf. They never were morning people . . . The school day passed as expected, with little or no strange occurrences.

Except for History class, that is . . . we were doing a joint project with our Language Arts teachers, studying some sort of mythology and comparing the various myths of the world. I remember that was the day we were all choosing what our myths would be . . . some people had chosen to rewrite the Greek gods into an original story, or rewrite a famous myths with various stand points. A few people I'd known had even brought the old gods-not all of them Greek, too-into the "real" world. Relena had chosen to create her own heiarchy of gods and goddesses, placing them in a world where magic was possible. Thinking back on it, I think she must have known, somehow, exactly what would happen . . .

When the school day ended, we went home, me speaking enough for the two of us as I discussed various points of our projects. There was an intense glow in her eyes, a sort of golden light that radiated from her irises to the rest of her body, filling her with an anticipation that disturbed me enough to fall silent, for once, as we continued our way home.

"Duo?" Relena asked quietly, her soft, delicate voice was like a flower on the wind. I looked up and smiled at her, winking as I spun around. It makes one wonder . . . "Is something wrong?" I blinked at her, my smile faltering slightly as I waited for her to explain. "You look . . . sad." She decided, frowning slightly.

I grinned back at her, raising an eyebrow in wordless reply, bowing slightly as we reached our home. I don't think I'll ever know if she . . . if she knew. Was I upset? Yes. No. Maybe. I don't know. I get confused . . . sometimes I think she's waiting for me, just behind the next hill, or above the sky. Just waiting for me to find her . . . What do you mean, 'regretful?' You sound just like Dorothy.

Why is that?


Oh. I see.

In any case, we put our bags in the dining room, intending to continue our studies after a brief rest, playing our instruments or reading a book until the hour had passed. I heard no music that day . . . save the music I myself created.

What do I play? Oh, just a harp . . . both the travel harp, as Relena calls-called-it, and the standing one. I miss the harmonies . . . Relena played the violin, the pan pipes, the piano, the flute, the piccolo and the bells. Ah, the bells . . . I'll never know how she managed it, but her abilities in all those instruments were better than someone who could spend their entire life on one of them. Relena, my perfect sister, my friend, she could never out do me on any of her instruments, no matter how she tried. I will admit to that; she couldn't best me in music.

The melodies we played were absolutely stunning. We'd try out other composer's works, naturally, but mostly we played our own melodies. I never wrote them down; that was her business, not mine. No, I don't know where she wrote them . . . I couldn't find her notes. Unorganized? Hey, quit teasing me! Damn it. I'm trying to tell a story here . . . Thank you. She always took scores of notes, you know, being the more organized of the two of us. ...I'll ignore that comment. My papers are always in a jumble, and hers were always neat, organized and quickly found. Woe on the dirt that dare touch her work . . .

As I'd done many days before, I immersed myself in the music of the harp, blocking out all other sounds in the house. That's what I was doing, at least, until I heard Relena. She wasn't crying and she wasn't screaming, noooo. She was talking to someone . . . someone I didn't recognize. Blinking in confusion, I stilled the strings out of habit, walking silently to the sound of the voices, wondering how Relena-never one to talk to strangers-could be speaking to someone I did not know.

'Maybe I should have stayed with my music . . .?' What do you mean? Uh-huuuh. I'm sorry . . . I don't understand. But it doesn't matter; I've a headache anyway. Never mind that, it'll pass. It always does.

Relena was speaking to a tall, slender young man, easily the most beautiful . . . err . . . human . . . I'd seen at that point. No, he was not more beautiful than Relena . . . You can't be serious. Oh, shut up and listen, all right?? In any case, the young man was tinged a faint blue, crimson stripes adorning his arms and legs like those of a tiger. Even his hair was striped; a golden white that outshone the brightest of stars in the night sky, with streaks of lavender tinted blood. He wore just enough to keep covered, but not enough to constrict his movements in any way.

Yes, he was beautiful. Yes, I felt attracted to him, as did Relena. I think this gave him power of her, yes.

At twelve years old, she was beautiful as any mature young lady, her eyes speaking of wisdom and insight beyond that of a child. Were they lovers? I think so. He couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen at the time and his eyes, elagently tilted to accent his features, held the same wisdom, the same maturity. Holding her warmly as lovers do, he caressed her golden hair, whispering soft words of love and compassion that made my heart melt.

Sighing quietly, I turned away, wishing to give them the privacy they deserved. For certain, Relena could not see him every day, nor even every month. This was special to her, and she needed what love she could get. I know they never loved her, our family. Yes, they adored her, held her in the highest esteem . . . but she wasn't someone they could freely love. That's what will kill me, someday. Their love. How can I say that? Oh, well . . . it's the truth. Why wouldn't they love her . . . ah, well, I think they knew her lover. Twelve is a bit young to . . .er . . . gain your soulmate. I don't think they approved of their relationship.

Did I know? Not until that day. 'What happened?' Wait, listen and find out, oh impatient one.

I turned away silently, a single tear tracing the curves of my face, falling quickly to the wooden floors. The words stopped, and Relena's startled gasp in my ears gave me pause as well. He has remarkable hearing, her love. But . . . I can be quiet when I please. It was the tear that alerted him. Damn it all . . . guess I need to learn to control my emotions.

He was behind me in an instant, a hidden blade of the darkest metal I've ever had the misfortune of seeing pressed sharply into my throat. I stopped, my hand going over his rough skin-rough on the hands, at least. The rest of him looked to be smooth as silk. Mif! Hey, don't even go there . . .

"Wufei, let him go!" Relena pleaded, her delicate soprano flitting across my ears almost painfully at its current pitch. His grip loosened, and the blade was pulled from my throat, hovering an inch before me, all the same.

"...him?" The mysterious being asked. He snorted softly, the stark jagged tones of his voice contrasting painfully to my ears. Though he is beautiful, I wouldn't care to hear him sing . . . or talk, for that matter. No, his voice is not in the least beautiful. "He looks like a girl."

I laughed quietly, absently whipping the blood from my skin, turning the fraction of an inch. This seemed to annoy him, for he stiffened noticeably. "I get that a lot," I commented dryly.

"Wufei. . ." Relena began tentatively. "This is my twin. Duo." I felt him draw back at her words, almost seeing the look of shock that passed his features.

"What?" He asked hoarsely. I could tell he was looking from me to my sister in obvious disbelief, even though I'd yet to face him.

I nodded slowly, turning 'round as he tried to regain his bearings. "Yes," I replied to no one in particular. "We're twins." He didn't look up, not wanting to see my face, apparently.

He choked for a moment, biting back laughter or cries of outrage, I don't know. Relena bit her lip, coming forward to take his hand in an obvious plea for acceptance. That's when I began to think he knew the rest of our family. No one who knows them expects to like me. "You . . . you ask for his life?" He snorted again, obvious contempt filling his coarse speech. I hope he doesn't sound like that in whatever his native language is . . . Bleg. Relena nodded quickly, panic seeping into her eyes. I knew what she thought.

What if he wanted to kill me anyway?

Crossing his arms slowly, he spoke directly towards Ariel. I think this was a subject they'd had often . . . no, I don't think I was ever mentioned. "Even though your family has only agreed to keep you for . . ." he scoffed. "Appearances?"

"For him, too." Ariel added quickly. "He's my twin. We're closer than blood . . . closer than soul. No one understands me the way he does." I think this disturbed him more than a little . . . how could anyone know her better than he did? After all, she was HIS lover.

Angrily whirling around, he ignored whatever protests Relena might have made. "Assassin," he snarled, looking down at me finally. His surprise tripled when he saw my face . . . why? I don't know. I don't look like Relena . . . It took him quite a few minutes to recover, as Relena tried desperately to save my life, pleading with him softly in a guttural language I couldn't understand, caressing his arms, his face, his neck . . . I turned away. Damn me, I don't wanna see my sister grown up . . .! Not before me, anyway. "No one . . . can catch the kelaradin unawares. No one. No assassin," I was starting to dislike him now. All these accusions made my head spin. "No wizard, not even a damned elf! How can-how could a-" breaking off with a frustrated sigh, he turned furiously towards me again. "Explain."

"Who are you?" I asked bluntly, trying to keep my emotions from showing too much. Don't think it'd be a good idea to give him too much information . . . or make him angry. Heeeee . . .

Running a hand across my still bleeding throat-gods, head wounds may bleed a lot, but so do neck injuries-I couldn't help but smile. "You're . . . lifebonds. Soulmates." I guessed, looking from my twin to Wufei in vague amusement. I leaned back a little, my eyes glowing with delight. "Congratulations!" I grinned at Mr. Tall-and-Blueness. "I'd hug you, but I don't think you'd like that much . . ." I moved swiftly past him, getting another annoyed/confused reaction out of him, hugging my sister tightly, hitting her nose lightly with one hand. "Why didn't you tell me, hmm? Think I wouldn't care? As if! I think this is so . . . cute!" I laughed quietly, much delighted with this new revelation.

Wufei grabbed my shoulder even as Relena began to speak. "Duo! Go get that cleaned up . . . you're going to track blood everywhere!" She teased, attempting to put the two of us at ease. I smiled at her, and looked up at Wufei.

"You want something?" I asked lightly, an impish grin lighting my face.

He scoffed, trying to look irritated. "Who am I, you ask? I am Chang Wufei, Defeanith. Light bearer." He said proudly, answering my earlier question. "I am the eldest son of leFarith Kenan, my lord father, the king of our people, in your terms." He scowled again, and this time I couldn't help wincing at his voice. "Does my appearance bother you, human?"

"Wufei!" Relena chided, her eyes lighting furiously. "Don't. Ever. Talk to my brother like that. He's not like the others . . . he's not like my family!" Her eyes narrowed dangerously even as I laughed quietly.

Smiling softly, I winked at her, my eyes twinkling. "Oh, I don't mind, 'Lena. He's just uncomfortable . . . tha'sal." Giving her another cheerful hug, I bounced off into the bathroom as the two of them continued to discuss . . . something. Come on! I'm not that rude . . . I wouldn't eavesdrop on them. Um . . . yeah.

Taking my sweet time cleaning up, I continued into the kitchen, planning on preparing some sort of snack for the two of them. This put me at something of a dilemma, seeing that I had absolutely no idea what the kel-ah-ra-din or whatever they're called eat. I still can't pronounce that . . . their language is so . . . ugly. Pulling one thing from the shelves only to return it a moment later, I sighed in frustration.

What seemed like moments later, screams of fury errupted from the dining room, fallowed swiftly by the most earpiercing battle cry I've ever heard. Chairs and tables hit the walls in an explosion of anger, feet scuffing across the wood as blood hit the floor. Silent shouts hung in the air as they were cut off, weapons thrown and shattering the windows in the front room. Dropping the can of food I had been holding, I raced toward my sister, praying that she hadn't been hurt.

They were gone before I got there.

I never found out what happened.

Wufei bent over Relena, his shock of hair covering both their faces as I skidded into the room. The fight-if there'd been one-had lasted moments alone, and the dining room was left in shambles. Nothing reamined untouched, and blood . . . there was too much red. Way, way, way too much red.

"Wu . . . Wufei? What-where-hell!" Strugling for words, I glowered at a bit of the broken table. "Where's Relena?" I choked, my voice seemed strange. What happened? I don't know. I don't want to remember.

That's when I realized he was talking. Not in our language, as he had before, but in his, soft, hoarse words of comfort and fear . . . for all his actions, he was only a child. I don't think he cried. I know I didn't. Crying wouldn't . . . wouldn't do anything to help. So what's the point of it?

I moved quietly to his side, placing cool hands on his neck, masaging tense muscles in slow rythmetic motions. "Let me see," I pleaded softly, my voice breaking even as I tried in vain to keep my composure. "I-I might be able to help."

"No," he grunted, not looking up. "You can't. She's . . . she's . . ." With a cry of utter anguish, he collapsed on her body, blood as blue as the sky driping slowly down his forehead.

No more quirky comments to make, I see . . . guess that's good. This is hard enough without being interupted.

Torn between screaming and laughing, I choked audibly, collapsing bonelessly to the floor, my hair mixing with their blood. "No. She's. Not. Dead. She can't be . . ."

Wufei looked up then, his eyes turned red by grief. "You can't. She's dead. Denying it won't do a thing . . ." I don't think he likes me much. He started to pull her bloodied form from the floor, as I slowly lifted my head.

"No," I whispered hoarsely, trying to stand. "Leave her. She's my blood . . . my family . . . it's our job. My duty." I murmered, desperately pushing my hair out of my eyes. "But . . . please . . . don't leave us?" He scowled down at me, disgust adorning his features and grief overshadowing his eyes. Hastily pushing myself up on unsteady feet, I fell gracelessly into him, forcing him to either let me drop or catch me. Unfortunatly for him, he caught me. Squeezing him tightly as I tried to regain myself, I sagged against him, letting his strong frame support my weight. He finally shoved me away and I fell again with a startling amount of noise.

Closing my eyes tightly, I couldn't meet his eyes. "No. I have to go . . . know this, human." He faltered, slowly realizing his mistake. "Duo. This means war between the kelaradin and the . . . assassins. Keep the other humans out of it, if you can." Fire flashing in his eyes, he turned sharply away from the two of us. "Don't even think about following me."

Then he was gone. Pulling Relena to me, I brushed golden hair from her face, knowing better than to attempt to revive her. She died. Yes, I know that. Maybe it'd be easier if I didn't but . . . Instead, I began to sing softly, trying to chase away the demons that were left in her wake. Pausing a moment, I quietly sighed, speaking up once more. "Don't make me cry, Relena. You were supposed to be happy . . ." I stopped. If I started now, I'd never stop. "I'm going to play you a song now, alright? Don't stay too long, though . . . Wufei needs you." Shakily making my way over to my harp, I carefully moved it closer to her, bending over the two of them-my harp and my sister-I poured my soul into the music.

The next thing I knew, Dorothy was trying to pull me away by force, her strong arms wrapped around my waist, having little or no regard for my already tangled hair. She was trying to tell me something . . . what was it? I couldn't understand. And my mother . . . she screamed curses at no one, or absent no ones, stroking her daughter's hair, telling her over and over that she should have listened. That "Wufei could only bring you destruction . . . nothing more." My father, naturally, blamed Wufei as well. I think he hit me, after a while of screaming . . . I hadn't answerd one of their questions and this angered them more than anything else. Dorothy warded off my father's blows, screaming something unintelligable . . . and me? I played on and on, ignoring them all.

The shadow child . . . I hadn't seen him, for a moment. And now I can't see him again. Thankfully, this blond haired brat is done with her dramatics . . . 'Death' she calls me. That alone makes me smile. Curious . . . who was that? The Brat looked remorseful and frustrated all at once, so he obviously wasn't a subordinate. Heh. I think I could use this child . . . most beneficial.

The Brat, Raivyn, turned away swiftly, her pale skin shining gold in the torchlight. The girl has a flare for drama . . . useless it may be, but I could undoubtedly use that to my advantage. Waiting for her to make her exit, I smirked as I started up towards the shadows.

"Good evening," I murmured quietly, searching for the telltale signs of his presence. Unfortunately, there weren't any. How odd . . . "Shadowling, I would like to talk to you . . . don't worry. I won't hut you," I coaxed, holding my breath in anticipation.

A small child emerged, just as the wind blows across water; you don't notice until the stimulant is gone, and only the effect remains. About the same height as me but with a lighter build he couldn't have been much over fifteen. The shadowling looked at me with an absent look in his gorgeous eyes, not quite looking at me, but somewhere . . . else.

"Are you daft, child?" I asked briskly, before I could consider the words. Wincing inwardly, I chided myself for loss of control.

Hmm . . . this particular kid could be a girl with those looks . . . I smirked, having no doubt that even if he were mentally stunted, his looks alone could and would stop men and women alike. Such . . . sadness. His hair, nearly reaching his knees, was a deep chestnut with shadows of amber and blood. His beauty only accented this, and those eyes . . . even without an understandable presence, those eyes could pierce one's soul. They were amethyst, those eyes, with starbursts of silver and blue.

Closing his eyes to my scrutiny, he smiled-no, grinned-and shook his head. "Are you really Death?" He asked simply, the same laughter that'd revealed his presence flavoring his voice. Gods! Does that child have a voice . . . he sings, he doesn't talk. Beautiful. Shaking my head slightly in amusement, I reminded myself that I had a job to do.

"They call me that, yes,." I smirked. "Death comes in many forms, child. Maybe I'm just one of them . . . and maybe you're another aspect, Lostling," Offering a hand to the beauty, I was taken by surprise once more by his strength. Hmm . . . this could be a most promising turn in events. "What are you called, Lostling?" I asked casually, smirking still. "Do they call you death?"

Laughing once more, he shook his head, long hair shining. "I'm called many things, but death isn't among them." That emptiness filled his eyes once more, and absently he began to hum a melody of strange beauty, filling the still air with sound no sane man could interpret, interrupted only by his laughter. "They call me blossom, dreamer, star gazer, red, wind walker, sinner, son of light and life . . . murder." He laughed again, a strangely discorded melody filling his words. "But my name . . . my name is Duo. Do you need anything else?"

That smile lingered on his lips, and those eyes swept up and down my body once more. Snorting silently, I mused over the names he'd given . . . wondering exactly what he'd meant. "No, I thought not . . ." He trailed off absently, looking around as I stared down at him. "You're beautiful, you know. Death shouldn't be . . . it's not pretty at all." He smiled mournfully, winking even as he slid into the shadows once more.

Interesting . . . the kid seems to have a crush on me. I frowned. He's quite insane, though . . . I smiled again. Even better . . .

Brushing my tangled hair from my face, I snarled in frustration, wishing my brother would just . . . be normal! Sighing once more, the thought abruptly left, leaving me somewhat shamed in its wake. It was hardly his fault our sister died . . . her death affected us all. She was the kind of person who affects everyone around her, even if she only spoke to them once, their lives were changed. It was only natural for her to become the light of our lives . . . our sunshine amid storm clouds . . . Yes, she was always peacekeeper, never breaker.

But mother's perfect daughter had one flaw, and that was the one that kills so many maidens of forgotten lore . . . love. Blessing and curse, life giver and life taker. Love, desire, lust . . . what's the difference anymore? True love is for fairy tales. In any case, she loved everybody, it's true. She couldn't-wouldn't-love anyone more or less than another. No one but that demon-prince Wufei.

Mother convinced me he was at fault for my beloved sister's death . . . and Father? He got himself killed not long after, he and Mother both. Just as we began recovering, too . . . stupid, really. He got them torn into a thousand pieces . . . at the hands of our beloved Death, no less. My Death. Murderer, assassin, killer of friends and foe alike, the damned man can't be trusted with a butter knife.

Father had tracked Relena's assailants to his realm. Not dimension, no, he's of Earth, all right . . . he's what's called a Messenger among the other worlds we've run across, delivering his messages-or casework-wherever you desired. If you gave the right amount of money, that is. He's known as one of the top notch assassins, theif, spy and blatant executioner across worlds.

So that's where Father tracked him . . . he was no novice, my Father . . . If you're into that sort of business, you might have known him by the name of Uriel . . .

Despite the qualities of the Messenger, Mother argued time and time again that the facts weren't quite right . . . but the trail was cold and the clues scattered. Father wouldn't wait, wouldn't have a thing to do with the demons of Wufei's race. All for our sun child . . . our 'Lena.

Relena . . . oh, gods! If she'd lived, I wouldn't be in this mess. I would be perfectly happy back at home, with the perfect boyfriend---future husband, maybe? Mother and Father would be alive and well, happy, and prosporous. Without the NEED or care to dawdle in the darker arts. And Duo? He'd be sane. He wouldn't go around talking to things that aren't there, writing in blood (he scared ten years off my life with that one), speaking nonsense words or playing that thrice damned harp of his for hours on end! Wufei, her soulmate indeed! Her murderer, more like it . . . murderer and sudecer. What kind of a prince would rob cradles? One word for you. Demon.

I'm sorry . . . for all his faults, he must have had something good about him. 'Lena did try to convence us he was a "good" person. I should at least try to consider her words. At least he had the grace to introduce himself to us . . . thoguh I suspect that was 'Lena's idea, not his. Despite his attempt at grace, the demon prince nearly got himself gutted at the slightest hint towards their relationship. I can't imagine why she didn't introduce him to Duo . . . it just doesn't make sense. Perhaps they weren't quite as close as we'd assumed.



So. What do you think of a "developing style" Taes writing? Please tell...I'm very, very curious!


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