Open(?) log: Revisiting lost souls (Mukuro) [backdated]
Who: Mukuro and anyone who can think of a feasible reason to participate
What: During his brief getaway from Byakuran, Mukuro takes a figurative trip back to his past. (Aka. A rare insight into our little illusionist's past which no-one will ever know about.)
When: Mid-July? After this log
Where: Sicily, Italy
Rating: G/PG
In the midst of Sicily's humid summer heat, a lone figure crouched amongst the wilting grass of a small hillock dotted with wild flowers. Yet despite the sun's attempts to beat down this horribly exposed figure, not a bead of sweat was on his brow. It was a man - a man whose long indigo hair stirred lightly in the zephyr which danced around him and whose eyes were fixated upon a cracked, weathered gravestone, one of many which lined the hilltop. One was blood red, the other a lustrous azure. They both stared without really seeing at the words which had once been engraved upon the stone but were no longer legible. It didn't matter; he knew already what they were meant to say.
His fingertips brushed the dry grass which had sprung up after centuries since the burial. There would be nothing left beneath the earth here except rotten wood and the bones of a corpse. Perhaps not even those.
The man slowly sat back on his heels, quiet, contemplative. His whispered words were almost lost to the wind: "You would hate me if you could see me now, Sarah." His usual mask of composure showed hints of anguish in its cracks. "My soul is bound to the cycle until I can avenge you. This curse was not meant to last past my first death..."
A twisted smile curled up the corner of his lips. "Such an epic drama worthy of the stage, is it not? To think this is the first I have seen your grave since your death." There was a pause as he plucked a nearby flower and rolled its stem between two fingers. "...I may have found love again, Sarah. You will not mind my moving on, will you?"
No answer. Of course there wasn't. The first flower was joined by another of its brethren.
"I no longer remember what it was about you I fell in love with. As he said, there's little use clinging to the past..."
One by one, more blooms were plucked and their stems were twined together in his nimble fingers. He continues even more quietly.
"But it is the past which shapes us, is it not? How can those instances of pain or those of happiness be forgotten?"
The completed wreath was settled carefully on top of the gravestone. It sat skewed, a ring of small, pale yellow blooms. A perfect circlet that was a mirror of the one he'd made for Byakuran many months ago.
"The past sculpts the present, the present plans for the future, but the future looks to the past and learns from its mistakes so that they may not repeated." And now there was a glimmer of a sad smile, tinged with bitter-sweetness. "I wish I could join you, cara mia. I do. But my soul cannot rest just yet." The man stood, brushing bits of grass from his leather-clad legs. Sighing, he raised his eyes to the sky to that unreachable Heaven where he hoped his long-dead lover now resided.
"If I knew a way to break the cycle..."
Eyes returning to the outspread land, he shook his head and began to descend back towards the town, clustered a good way away.
If only...
What: During his brief getaway from Byakuran, Mukuro takes a figurative trip back to his past. (Aka. A rare insight into our little illusionist's past which no-one will ever know about.)
When: Mid-July? After this log
Where: Sicily, Italy
Rating: G/PG
In the midst of Sicily's humid summer heat, a lone figure crouched amongst the wilting grass of a small hillock dotted with wild flowers. Yet despite the sun's attempts to beat down this horribly exposed figure, not a bead of sweat was on his brow. It was a man - a man whose long indigo hair stirred lightly in the zephyr which danced around him and whose eyes were fixated upon a cracked, weathered gravestone, one of many which lined the hilltop. One was blood red, the other a lustrous azure. They both stared without really seeing at the words which had once been engraved upon the stone but were no longer legible. It didn't matter; he knew already what they were meant to say.
His fingertips brushed the dry grass which had sprung up after centuries since the burial. There would be nothing left beneath the earth here except rotten wood and the bones of a corpse. Perhaps not even those.
The man slowly sat back on his heels, quiet, contemplative. His whispered words were almost lost to the wind: "You would hate me if you could see me now, Sarah." His usual mask of composure showed hints of anguish in its cracks. "My soul is bound to the cycle until I can avenge you. This curse was not meant to last past my first death..."
A twisted smile curled up the corner of his lips. "Such an epic drama worthy of the stage, is it not? To think this is the first I have seen your grave since your death." There was a pause as he plucked a nearby flower and rolled its stem between two fingers. "...I may have found love again, Sarah. You will not mind my moving on, will you?"
No answer. Of course there wasn't. The first flower was joined by another of its brethren.
"I no longer remember what it was about you I fell in love with. As he said, there's little use clinging to the past..."
One by one, more blooms were plucked and their stems were twined together in his nimble fingers. He continues even more quietly.
"But it is the past which shapes us, is it not? How can those instances of pain or those of happiness be forgotten?"
The completed wreath was settled carefully on top of the gravestone. It sat skewed, a ring of small, pale yellow blooms. A perfect circlet that was a mirror of the one he'd made for Byakuran many months ago.
"The past sculpts the present, the present plans for the future, but the future looks to the past and learns from its mistakes so that they may not repeated." And now there was a glimmer of a sad smile, tinged with bitter-sweetness. "I wish I could join you, cara mia. I do. But my soul cannot rest just yet." The man stood, brushing bits of grass from his leather-clad legs. Sighing, he raised his eyes to the sky to that unreachable Heaven where he hoped his long-dead lover now resided.
"If I knew a way to break the cycle..."
Eyes returning to the outspread land, he shook his head and began to descend back towards the town, clustered a good way away.
If only...