This twisted emotion
Warnings/notes : Rociel/Katan (sort of), slightly dark
Disclaimer : I don't own Angel Sanctuary.
written at 18th august 2003, by Misura in a rather odd, dark mood
"I failed you." The words were spoken barely louder than a whisper.
No matter ; the person he meant them for could hear them.
There was no comforting answer, no denial of his guilt. Merely a hand, reached out in an offering of comfort and forgiveness.
He ignored it. He deserved neither.
"There are so many things I should have protected or at least warn you against. I made so many faults." Speaking like this brought a bitterness to his tongue, a pain to his heart he welcomed.
Suffering was, after all, one form of purification.
He craved more of it.
"Please." He was almost screaming now, all of a sudden almost hating the other's passiveness.
"Do something. Say something." He was begging, yet at the same time demanding.
He was lost, knowing what he desired more than anything, knowing he'd never get it.
Catching unwilling eyes with his own gaze, he read confusion and hurt in them, both his doing.
"Hit me." His voice had gone soft again, almost humble.
Eyes widened, while the one he had spoken to, the one whose forgiveness he needed above everything else, backed away, as if afraid his body would obey the order without his mind's consent.
"Hit me." he repeated, stepping forwards, resisting the urge to touch and defile the being he had wronged even more.
A determined shake of the head.
Despair clouded his mind, already darkened and heavy with guilt.
"HIT ME!" His voice did no longer sound human. Then again, neither of them *was* that.
A command sounding like a plea, or perhaps a plea, sounding like a command, who was to say?
Its fulfillment was denied to him either way.
For at last, a word was breathed from trembling lips.
He felt the darkness rising in him then, a tide that dragged him along in an upwards spiral leading into the abyss. He fought against it, desperately, hopelessly.
"Damn you." It wasn't his voice that spoke, though it was his mouth.
The hands that raked their nails across a blank cheek, soiling it with a line of red, weren't his.
Yet the power, that brought agony and pain to the one now kneeling in front of him ... that, he couldn't deny was his.
Allowing himself to drown in the darkness of his mind, so that he wouldn't have to hear the other's cries, Rociel wondered if he'd ever find a way to heal, rather than destroy.
And while Katan embraced the pain like a lover, to flee his own worries and fears by simply enduring rather than trying to comprehend, a single silver tear slid down a perfect cheek.