weave for me dreams
A drabble for Shiro~ ^.^
Mukuro(segretiparole )/Fake!Tsuna(substitutetenth ) - She gets injured, badly. >_>
~ * ~
In dreams, they meet.
Their worlds often cross when she slumbers, peaceful and innocent and free of their stain. She sleeps like a princess on a bed of lotus blossoms in this faraway dreamscape, and he watches over her, keeps vigil like the mist that forever veils the sky. But this woman is not his sky, he almost, almost laments. She is just the firmament, the surface of a place so beyond her, a place of dark depths and red sins, where an existence like those beautiful blossoms will wither in the end. They always wither in the end, and they will drown in the mud. Just like she would.
And so Mukuro smirks, and slithers over her form like a serpent, mist seeping unto her skin like the sweet temptation from a forked tongue. He whispers words to her that he knows she will not understand and never will. They are curses in forms of those verses, poetic and awful, strophes cut short by meaning as he arranges the flowers around her person, but even these in his mind's illusion shrivels brown and decays to dust.
Like those cherry blossoms, pink and ephemeral that floats with the breeze and falls unto white. But they are not such a light hue; they are a vibrant red, beautiful and terrifying, and it spreads, bleeding unto her white dress and the white blossoms because they can only be as white as the bandages that put together her fragile, broken body, and they can only smell as wonderful as blood, as ash, fire and brimstone. And he can only laugh, even if the glint in blue eye is rueful, incongruent with the shine of violent red.
Mukuro lets her sleep in her bed of lotus flowers as he creates for her the cherry blossoms. Madness in truth, he hisses into the silence like the coiled reptile hiding from winter; the dancing petals telling her a story of how once upon a time, there was a monster wearing a human's mask, and it is only as lovely as the wine-red blood spilled, staining the midnight skies a velvet vermillion.
The demon weaves for her dreams, they say in their limerick, keeping the nightmares from seeping once more into her sleep. And when she wakes, all these she will forget only until she relives it again, unable to move from stale sheets and a hospital bed.
~ fin ~
This didn't make much sense either, but for some reason, I like how this went. Even if Mukuro also seems a bit too OOC. ;~;
Not sure if this is what you wanted, but yeah. =3= Hope you like it~ ♥
Mukuro(segretiparole )/Fake!Tsuna(substitutetenth ) - She gets injured, badly. >_>
~ * ~
In dreams, they meet.
Their worlds often cross when she slumbers, peaceful and innocent and free of their stain. She sleeps like a princess on a bed of lotus blossoms in this faraway dreamscape, and he watches over her, keeps vigil like the mist that forever veils the sky. But this woman is not his sky, he almost, almost laments. She is just the firmament, the surface of a place so beyond her, a place of dark depths and red sins, where an existence like those beautiful blossoms will wither in the end. They always wither in the end, and they will drown in the mud. Just like she would.
And so Mukuro smirks, and slithers over her form like a serpent, mist seeping unto her skin like the sweet temptation from a forked tongue. He whispers words to her that he knows she will not understand and never will. They are curses in forms of those verses, poetic and awful, strophes cut short by meaning as he arranges the flowers around her person, but even these in his mind's illusion shrivels brown and decays to dust.
Like those cherry blossoms, pink and ephemeral that floats with the breeze and falls unto white. But they are not such a light hue; they are a vibrant red, beautiful and terrifying, and it spreads, bleeding unto her white dress and the white blossoms because they can only be as white as the bandages that put together her fragile, broken body, and they can only smell as wonderful as blood, as ash, fire and brimstone. And he can only laugh, even if the glint in blue eye is rueful, incongruent with the shine of violent red.
Mukuro lets her sleep in her bed of lotus flowers as he creates for her the cherry blossoms. Madness in truth, he hisses into the silence like the coiled reptile hiding from winter; the dancing petals telling her a story of how once upon a time, there was a monster wearing a human's mask, and it is only as lovely as the wine-red blood spilled, staining the midnight skies a velvet vermillion.
The demon weaves for her dreams, they say in their limerick, keeping the nightmares from seeping once more into her sleep. And when she wakes, all these she will forget only until she relives it again, unable to move from stale sheets and a hospital bed.
~ fin ~
This didn't make much sense either, but for some reason, I like how this went. Even if Mukuro also seems a bit too OOC. ;~;
Not sure if this is what you wanted, but yeah. =3= Hope you like it~ ♥