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The floor before him is a giant series of checkerboard; black, and white, alternating, back and forth across the endless floor. For reasons he can't remember, he's walking. The pieces, rooks and knights, and pawns in black and white, lay on their sides, cracked, broken, silent. This is a battlefield, that much he's certain of. But the battle seems long over, and the winner is unclean. His fine shoe kicks as chunks of soldier-rubble as he passes, the smaller pieces of marble crunching beneath his sole. His every foot-step echoes in his ears.
For the first time he can remember in many years, he's alone, utterly and completely. After a while, he no longer sees the chess pieces, or hears the sounds. All of them are drowned out, by the sound of a heart, beating, slow rhythmic drumming. He can feel it in his chest, his head, his ears.
In the end, it doesn't seem to matter who the winner was, for none of them remains. For a moment, he sees in the broken marble knight, a flash of his mother. He turns, and yet another broken piece somehow reminds him of his father. The further he goes, the more faces he sees, as though watching his reflection a thousand times in a broken mirror, but it is not his face he sees this time. It is May Linn, and Bard, and Finnian. It is Madam Red, and Lau, and Prince Sohma, and Agni. Further still, is his Aunt Frances, Uncle Alexis, his cousin Edward, and...
He stops cold in front of the broken form of the black queen. Reflected in that marble crown, he sees the face of Elizabeth. It's only for a moment, only the faintest image, but it burns his soul in a way he can't comprehend.
Come, says the velvety voice in his head, the thing calling him beyond the rubble of the battlefield. He feels compelled toward it. He knows what is to come. He knows that voice. He climbs, slowly, over the broken queen who no longer shows him Elizabeth's face, stumbling, no more than a clumsy child.
The darkness creeps in, the further he goes. Soon, he is walking on shadows, and nothing else. As he slows to a stop, he can feel the breath on the back of his neck. His end does not involve light, or singing angels. It's thin fingers snaking around his throat, hot breath against his ear.
We had a deal
He closes his eyes, accepting.
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When Ciel opens his eyes, he's surprised by the ease with which air fills his lungs. The room is dim, but certainly not the oppressive darkness of before. It's his room.. . and wouldn't you know it, the damn dreamberry is on again. He sighs, and reaches over to shut it off.
For the first time he can remember in many years, he's alone, utterly and completely. After a while, he no longer sees the chess pieces, or hears the sounds. All of them are drowned out, by the sound of a heart, beating, slow rhythmic drumming. He can feel it in his chest, his head, his ears.
In the end, it doesn't seem to matter who the winner was, for none of them remains. For a moment, he sees in the broken marble knight, a flash of his mother. He turns, and yet another broken piece somehow reminds him of his father. The further he goes, the more faces he sees, as though watching his reflection a thousand times in a broken mirror, but it is not his face he sees this time. It is May Linn, and Bard, and Finnian. It is Madam Red, and Lau, and Prince Sohma, and Agni. Further still, is his Aunt Frances, Uncle Alexis, his cousin Edward, and...
He stops cold in front of the broken form of the black queen. Reflected in that marble crown, he sees the face of Elizabeth. It's only for a moment, only the faintest image, but it burns his soul in a way he can't comprehend.
Come, says the velvety voice in his head, the thing calling him beyond the rubble of the battlefield. He feels compelled toward it. He knows what is to come. He knows that voice. He climbs, slowly, over the broken queen who no longer shows him Elizabeth's face, stumbling, no more than a clumsy child.
The darkness creeps in, the further he goes. Soon, he is walking on shadows, and nothing else. As he slows to a stop, he can feel the breath on the back of his neck. His end does not involve light, or singing angels. It's thin fingers snaking around his throat, hot breath against his ear.
We had a deal
He closes his eyes, accepting.
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When Ciel opens his eyes, he's surprised by the ease with which air fills his lungs. The room is dim, but certainly not the oppressive darkness of before. It's his room.. . and wouldn't you know it, the damn dreamberry is on again. He sighs, and reaches over to shut it off.
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