Dark Center of the Universe

By fairy of irrelevence.

Notes/Disclaimer: A Nevermore Drabble. I don't own Teen Titans, the song quote and title are by Modest Mouse, from their album, The Moon and Antartica.

"I might disintegrate into the thin air if you'd like.

I'm not the dark center of the universe like you thought."

"So, what do you think? Is today the day?" She whispers to the rose being twisted fretfully in her hands. The soft black petals tremble and fall limply into her palm, and the stem twines easily about her fingers, thorns taking hold and tearing the flesh apart.

She doesn't bleed. She wills the grey-blue fluid to remain in its passages, fearful of whom it may attract -the spies, the death bells are always watching…

Shivering, she clutches the torturous plant to her chest, her cloak heavy and shimmering with the deep dark colors of a storm cloud. She takes another step, turns another corner of her maze-working her way to the entrance through ever changing paths. As she moves, walls erect themselves behind her, creating a catacomb displaying her shallow footprints. The ground is thick with dust and ash, the wind howls loud yet far away-they are eternal. She is a grey wisp of emotion in a shadow maze growing from the surface of the moon. She is invisible.

But that doesn't keep anyone from hurting her. After all, demon eyes see the world in shifting reds-they are used to everything looking the same. She wonders if the deomon sees her as she sees Happiness.

Perhaps that is why he hunts her. Perhaps that is why he keeps his half-mortal form of Rage.

For there is nothing more terrifying than an invader of your own likeness.

Shuffling, her feet leave long, pointed streaks in the dust. Slowly, she moves forward head and heart pounding from the conflicting impulses-to turn back, to hesitate; but also to run from the enemy within her center. He is hiding, wounded. He is using her for his refuge and his amusement.

She is fleeing, no longer so simplistically cautious, but terrified. She is throwing off the cloak of Timidity and taking up the long abandoned post of Fear, her lips now an icy blue.

Vermilion sparks jump from the gears of her mind, a reminder-a warning, and she panics. Letting out a shriek, she runs through the sea of ash. Rapidly, the walls grow and crash together; a patchwork, a grid-a maze with no possible way in or out, save the entrance expanding before her.

She can see the brown paths and the green grass and deep violet trees, and she nearly weeps with the joy of seeing a color that is not red or grey. Stumbling, falling, crying out, she claws through the dusty dead soil with pale, sickly hands. The ash presses softly between her ribs, and she chokes quietly.

Grabbing the edge of her home, she pulls herself forward, face and body a ghastly white, hair the faintest, greyest lavender. Desperately, she stares down into the chasm between worlds. Between her torturous existence and the sun and wind and trees.

A thousand red eyes stare back at her. A thousand feathers whisper in harsh irritation.

She gulps. She stands. She fades to grey.

Stroking the black petals gently, she stares forlornly at the gap. It is not a large one-she could step over it if she so desired…

And in the field, in the light from a starry sky, her sisters stand. They are gathered, they are beckoning. Come, let us leave this place. Let us rise up and consume our master while she is weak. Leave him trapped within your maze…

Soft hands flutter on the wind, caressing her face and wiping the dust from her eyes. She sees, and she understands, but she cannot join them. On the edge of the world, she teeters and waits. Waits for that invisible hand; that voice upon the wind to push the aside and lock them away once more. Part of her heeds their call, driven by needs of escape and release, and so she plays her little game. She leans and leans and leans, but never quite falls into their midst. She pulls back, sighs, and tries again, though it is futile.

For, to fall, one must take the risk of landing.

And that is not her way.

Yay for insanity, yay for Nevermore.

And much more yay-ing for Modest Mouse.

(does a little dance)