Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon.

Innocent Eyes
By Silver Sailor Ganymede

She ran her fingers quickly over the piano that stood in the main music room of the palace. It was laced with a thin layer of dust from lack of use but she didn't care about that much. In fact it made her somewhat sad to see the piano in such a state; one would have thought that music would have echoed throughout such a joyous state as Crystal Tokyo, but of course it didn't. Their kingdom was no utopia; it never had been, it was not pure, the ginzuishou was nothing more than a twisted mirror: even she, a daughter of the crystal, could see that much.

She felt tears form in her eyes as she sat down at the piano and began to play. Such beautiful, shattered, sanguine eyes: so stained and torn, just like their state. She began to play a melody on the piano, something ancient yet timeless, an old tune Mars had taught her centuries ago. Yes, centuries, though one hundered years may as well have been no time at all: time had no meaning to immortal children such as her.

The melody flowed from her as though it came from her soul itself: at least it would have come from her soul if she had one. That was the price they payed for their immortality: they lived forever in youth and beauty, but they lost the most beautiful thing of all, the soul. But then again the Lunarians had never had souls, had they? Queen Serenity, she knew, was not the martyr she was remembered as, her own mother not the wonderous goddesss she was seen to be. They were not pure: after all what was purity in itself but another form of corruption, perhaps the worst of all…

The mournful cry of the piano rose throughout the room, its notes mingling, rising and falling in a cacophony of chaos and bitterness. Everything that remained of their utopia was now broken, just like she was. She had never been pure; she was born to a torn bloodline of demons, immortals that payed no heed to morality no mortality: she continued to play. She was no innocent; she was centuries old even if she was a child in body still, and her eyes showed that even if nothing else did. Innocent eyes would have been full of hopes and dreams, naivety in its best form. She almost wished she were a naïve child again in truth; it would have prevented so much pain, she would not be crying as she played this if she were as she wished to be. No, hope only led to yet more bitterness and dreams were nothing more than the seeds of nightmares. Her eyes were not innocent; they were broken, dischorded, just like the piano she played.

The bloodstained can never be innocent again.