3 [CG / Kuroshitsuji] Amaranth 2 Series: Code Geass / Kuroshitsuji / Original.
Rating: R (for violent content). Angst (will angst until the end, weak hearts or feeble, do not read).
Chapter: 2 /? (Maybe ten). Chapter One, here.
Disclaimers: The boys CG does not belong to me, even the base environment, but as it will be chock full of things I learned or that I love, I'll take 50% of the copyright. We gain nothing.
Note1: It 's the result of Monsieur Red . I have no idea of the times that I need to straighten it all, however, the general plan is completed. It is not betato since my Beta is hyper-presissima from work. ^ ^
Note2: not know why the title until we reach the final. Rather, I do not really know a lot of things until the final, so be patient.
Note3: Forgive waiting since January but things went to hell for various reasons and I had no more desire to continue.
♃
she B, branch, cherry, light sinking, merciless, in the waves of the sea, where vanishes. Flora of Venus and the Three Graces dancing female face sketched by Da Vinci.
Cera Code
was motionless. Prisoner, in chains of gold, like a queen of the angelic hosts.
Suzaku clung heavily to the bars of his prison. The shinigami heard him (how could he not have heard?), Did not react. Since it was reported in the world, for having violated their laws, had closed in silence and apathy. Convicted, had not answered anything. Recluse, had not rebelled.
shone from her forever disturbing. Something more that ten centuries divided it by him, in terms of human history. It was his way of being: the indifference, remoteness. Frightening and solemn as a Titan who tried to climb the sky, and was rejected in the darkest recesses of Tartarus.
Suzaku, however, could not find peace. Perverting, Lelouch had driven down the path of lucid madness, making him kill people who should not have to die. She had to take the life of Lelouch. To put an end to his breath. To collect their memories.
A dyed hands of his blood.
Suzaku's green eyes twitched in a spasm of resentment.
- You been convicted of a soul. Damned by Lelouch.
His male voice sounded like the bells in the morning empty.
- I know.
This caught him by surprise. Wax turned her face toward him, struck his eyes slowly, as if waking. Just a little ', however. In fact, she hated the shinigami in front of him. This would not have been enough to give her the life that was lost, but , inexplicably, was enough to move something inside.
Of course she knew what happened to Lelouch. Were tied: she had given him the knowledge, she had committed suicide. She had seen his soul surrounded by the black flames of hell, helpless. She heard her cries of pain and madness.
centuries had enough to know exactly what happens to the souls that are in metamorphosis demon. It was a horrible thing. Takes time and sacrifice.
Yes, true. They were still in time to save Lelouch.
The point was that no one but her knew Lelouch. Would never allow anyone to undermine his own way. The darkness of his heart he had won on the light, would for ever stifled, bastardized into a flame that consumes itself.
There was no way back back.
- I will save him.
Cera, putting a hand to the face, laughed. The image of Suzaku, strong and determined, it was difficult to ignore, on the screen of the retina. She exuded a violent desire. The idea that he was not present at the death of Lelouch, had to burn, and how. Here, she had this, had caused , lived. It was the only thing I was able to obtain from Suzaku, Lelouch's.
- You, that you did drink all the cup of despair, Earl Phantomhive?
- You, who did not have prevented his death, you should not talk.
P erch is six come here, or at all? , she thought. What could she want? Beat his impotence in the face? Reproach, for the umpteenth time? Made her want to slap. What she obviously would never do: he had a mind too glossy, to fall into certain meanness.
Someone made a noise, in an indefinable distance. The advanced Guardino of Prisons in the hallway laughing vulgar: his presence was bleak and terrifying like an animal hidden in the depths of a damp cave, ready to leap out and tearing eyes. He said something to plan Suzaku, scornfully. The young shinigami replied in a tone hard.
Cera already thinking about something else. He said to himself, in a whisper:
I or the I gave everything that that potev o. ..
♃
Countess's eyes were blue, transparent and fragile. He had blond hair, reddish, curly hair. Was ethereal, body and spirit.
She loved the man who had been forced to marry. Blindly, gently. He could not do without, looking at him and admire him. Listening to him, relying on his strength, get back to its decisions. He was the sun, the moon her. He accepted all: his long absences on business, the restless nature, the vagaries of the scholar.
The betrayal. He had suffered in silence for a long time. He had emptied slowly, until he was sick, soul and heart. At first it was no longer able to climb into the cab, then walks in the garden had thinned. Like the woman of the gospel, was bleeding from a wound invisible, and was incurable. Instead of going crazy, like Ophelia, was weakening. Until, one day, was no longer able to stand up.
The room was carpeted in white. The curtains, lace, dressing gown, bed linen. Tired eyes were no longer bear the light, the shutters had been put together. The visits of friends and relatives had not been enough to recover, the doctors could not comfort her. Distressed, faded.
visits of the Count were the only drops of joy.
He could not hate the man. At least, not more than a few minutes: as soon plunged into the most bitter sorrow, hope and tenderness of his nature not to despair spurs. A wife can not be happy. Its task is quite different. A woman can not love.
She was just worn out. Full of shame, was not even able to give their children. Now that his presence at home was no longer the gentle grace of apostrophe, omnipresent, careful, the Count seemed to see it for the first time. She could not stand him. Yet in his heart ... I was happy. So it was that one day the language was too course, a few more words and he had forced her to confess. Trembling, unarmed, he said aloud the root of his pain.
Count I was impressed. He promised that he would not ever happen again.
A stone had slipped away from the soul of the Countess, allowing water to drain, and rise again. The nightmare had dissolved. He resumed eating, reading, going out. Happiness had slowly dipped his life, like red wine on a white tablecloth.
The red, the color of blood, life returned to her. Do not run away anymore.
The red, the roses in May, the first day it came out back home.
the joy had returned. Holidays. He had never felt so loved. Unable to keep to ourselves the joy, it was dedicated to doing good to others. Everything was placed in his life. The past was past, the suffering had taught her a new strength.
did not wish to give a son to her husband. Created beauty around him, he kept alive the kindness in the hearts and words. All in the name of the man who she loved. As had been generous, how noble.
Enthusiastic and light, like a butterfly leaving the cocoon, had accepted the request of a seamstress, to take an apprentice. The girl, however, was dead. The Countess, without knowing it, had sent a servant girl's grave.
He blessed God for having allowed a husband so handsome and charming, a big house, the good fortune to be loved. The joy of the present echoed on the palate, softening any other emotion, but the memory of past hunger for love was still well impressed, and forever, in her. I wonder the poor girl ...
Without knowing why, he wept at night.
The next day, a young boy was brought to their gate. The Countess, who claimed to personally take care of workers, I was immediately impressed: he was a young tailor from blacks hair, violet eyes. Without need it, without knowing why, hired him. In place of the dead girl.
was a French tailor. He had a red scarf. There was no way to forget about him, seemed to give the flavor of his eyes in every object he observed. He was distinguished, he had perfect manners. The Countess, for whom everything is pretty good too, was happy to assign it to her husband.
Everything flowed, uninterrupted, simply. Like a warm spring day.
- onsieur L M amperouge , changes are made to do, you can get started this afternoon?
The tailor had taken his hand to his chest, he had bowed to the woman.
- What would I be, my lady, if I was not ready, after so much generosity on your part?
- A tailor very sloppy?, She tried to answer, smiling with amusement.
- A real demon.
The smile on his lips was as sweet as her, although she had lived much in society, would have imagined on the face of a man. It was sweet. Yet she whispered, in the heart, so much charm that concealed a desperate loneliness. Get it would be indiscreet, so silent. There was time.
♃
Monsieur Lamperouge worked with unsurpassed speed. The Count had never seen anything like the stuff under the slender fingers of the young man, seemed alive, and they obey him, almost with pleasure. His hair fell over his forehead, a little undisciplined, left to themselves, while staring drove the needle and thread.
bound, Count watched in silence. Only an hour later, he warned of his memories if he had time to dwell on it because other events would have followed quickly, no less strange than that ...
- You are married, Monsieur Lamperouge?
- I hope to be soon, my Lord.
- Are you in love, then ... Boyfriend?
- Not really.
The tailor shook his head, maintaining a neutral expression, concentrated. He was really young. Count remembered, suddenly, that his sister had her age, if she were still alive. His biggest regret was to have lost his marriage, and death ...
- You still have to declare?
- I'll do it soon.
- What to expect?
indiscretion. The hands of the Conte, suddenly, they started to sweat, his heart beating. The reluctance of the tailor seemed to seal the lips, and every question was a step forward, backward, toward a fund indistinct. It was not perhaps a slight tremor, one of the fingers of the young French? So unusual a name (which meant shady ), an attitude entirely English, her eyes troubled, mixed the cards and thoughts. The hands that did not stop for a moment, the work continued, unabated.
- To be able to make a formal dress appropriate for me and the person I love.
The answer surprised the Count. The cleared, too. He thought of the foreign woman he had loved, and when he gave up for the health of his wife. A choice dictated by the heart, because the Countess was beautiful, delicate and generous, and it was not fair that he died of a broken heart, for his selfishness.
- Do you have a good reason?
- No, it's just selfishness. The whole love is. Even when we want the happiness of others, is because it gives us joy.
- You are a bit 'drastic? When one gives to the possession of someone, for his own good, is it not the most top reason can do, combined with the feeling?
The room was full of light. The shadows were nested in the heart of the Marquis. The tailor, however, only seemed to fire, he moved with the fluidity of the flashes of flame, was relentless, it was enough in itself. Everything, beside him, changed appearance.
- The good, the bad, are a relative thing. Each gives the name of happiness in different things. My heart is breaking the rules. The passion continues to grow, even if you want to restrict. That beauty that flows from it passes into feelings that can no longer control. Yet again, we are stubborn, you do an act of pure will. Until all barriers are broken, transcended the limits, and it is only one step away from death. Then all the things they did fear become little more than ghosts. You can only worry yourself ... If you have the courage to say yes to that threshold of crossing it, without thinking more than the chains that bind us to nature, society ... Nothing can stop a man in love. He will be forever tied with red threads, the person who stole his heart.
For a moment, he rested the needle into the fabric, motionless, still held by the expert fingers. The voice of the tailor had changed the room without attractions in more mysterious cave in the heart of the desert. All around was silence, emptiness, thirst.
Count clapped eyes quickly, to chase away the tears. He traveled widely, seen much. He acknowledged, in that boy, a further refinement, as he had rarely ever been in his life.
- Speak well of love. But you are not dead. No one dies.
- This is because - the needle was brought to his lips, teeth or tighten the little wire left, the boy was enough to just pull rip to do - The soul has many lives, many may metamorphosis. No one ever dies, permanently. If I meant to review the person I love ... - hands laid them the needle, after having marched the remaining wire, and Lelouch smiled a smile of Mary Magdalene - to accept to die many times.
little less than half an hour later, the Count did not know whether he dreamed or not, those words. It was impossible to deduce the attitude of the tailor. He had finished another couple of jobs, the measures taken, and had retired. Efficient remote. However, the soul of Count I had been so disturbed, they can not think of anything else. Who cared if they had really spoken, or not?
He needed to revise her. After so long ... had climbed into the carriage, he had started. Halfway, a wheel had broken. He had just stopped raining, it shrank cursing. Everything seemed to oppose his wish, now. If the first had only wanted to talk to her, now the physical distance, unbridgeable, between them, he did crave, frustrated.
was then that the car appeared. A distinguished gentleman opened the door, wondering what was happening. He was dressed in white. He removed his hat and saluted. The Count, who over the years had become short-sighted and had quickly taken off his glasses, he could not distinguish good traits (often during the dark sky, the little light on thinking of the lover who wanted to). He agreed, however, offer to be accompanied. He did not hesitate. It was a sign of destiny. In the quiet
jolting of the carriage, the Count, he repeated his name, and noticed that his guest was younger than he, at first thought. He had piercing green eyes.
- Do you have something in your pocket.
The man replied with a look suspicious and confused, but checked the same: could not have nothing, it was the jacket that the tailor had set only a short time before ... But! A red button. Who knows how it was done. He never wore the red! He raised his back, showed the small irregularly shaped object to his guest, who nodded.
- I can see it?
Thinking that, after all, was something to the boy, handed him the button. As it was presented? I just could not remember it ... What a day! It seemed like a dream.
Green eyes, white-gloved fingers, examined with care, kept with care, as if he could go falling to pieces, irrecoverable.
- The person I loved often wore red. It was his color.
The Count was once a great man of the world. The years had passed, but love made him still young, and English conventions had always been too tight on him. So asked
- Is she dead?
♃
Lelouch took his leave from the villa of the Countess. A walk through the gate. He felt a weight on his chest, he stopped, listening to pulsate on the skin through his shirt. He drew from an inside pocket the little red button of his jacket, held it before him, between the index finger and thumb. The clenched in his fist, laughed amused. In a puddle
glimpsed the dark red of his eyes. And, almost invisible, the thin red line that, henceforth, it would bind to Suzaku. could almost feel the impatience of shinigami (like a lover's breath on his neck, hungry, precipitation), can see him, trying to stem the tide of fate, he was a prisoner in a carriage, with human beings.
Count Phantomhive had never been good in matters of the heart. He could not stop the man.
Lelouch button to his mouth, held it between his lips. Then he bit him, as if it might bite even the heart of the shinigami. Provided, of course, to the gods of death was still granted a take.
From now on, all the time, would know where Suzaku: the thread would appear, would have crossed land and spheres of heaven, everywhere, was also hell to the womb of God He would have united, visible in their eyes of immortals.
He could sense what was Suzaku, with the eyes of the mind. This meant, however, that Suzaku could know where he ... Just choose the right time. Like now.
The thread died out, between the teeth of Lelouch. He turned the corner of the street, toward the lighted window of the room of the Countess.
She understood.
were just beginning. And no, none , could have stopped him to fulfill their desire.
Something that neither heaven nor hell had never seen before.
♃
Suzaku was silent, motionless as the carriage swayed heavily on the bumpy road, turbulent. Was materialized in a spiritual body, it was enough to lose focus and it would vanish, invisible.
Lips, teeth come from me, did not seem to want nothing else. C ercami : a brazen challenge. A ncora rules, constraints, which prevented him from running from him, capture him, take him in prison and prevent him from completing its transformation into a demon. Yes, Lelouch could still be saved. Even against his will: he had to chain him alone, leave it in the eternal an empty cell until it was folded, and then ...
Lelouch was his .
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