A devil may cry: 'Ring of Fire'
This is your moment of glory. This is your memorial. The painful memories of something you lost will empower you to exceed your limits and rise above them. You shall become anew.
But there was no becoming. There was only hollow grief and her voice was just a whisper in the wind. The pain of loss had captivated her so she only lay still and observed the skies above with tears running down her cheeks.
This is how he found her, entangled in limbs as she tried her best to force herself in a fetal position into a smaller and smaller space like she might disappear from sight if she squeezed herself into less and less until she would be no more. Impossible to calm down and therefore unimportant enough for him to just leave her like that, he thought at first.
But he had never seen anyone so autistic, so caught in the webs of emotions and the ruling fragment of reality: So stuck in a single relentless moment and helplessly bound still with tape made from nerves that wouldn't function.
Did he take pity of her? Is that why he decided to share that moment? Or was it perhaps because of something so unexpected that one doesn't dream of thinking it until a proper time has passed and a certain veil has been lifted from the way of one's eyes?
Did he look past his own ambition and self for once? Was it that while truly understanding the nature of her, he suddenly felt something crumble his certainty in looking towards her as only an object?
He had done that once already – become misguided by his affection for her and carried out the required action to save her as well as accepted the outcome of that action. After that he was confused and uncertain for a long time, but then… he was all of the sudden back on the road again, gaining the upper hand and needed control.
For some time now he rejected the impulses he had once allowed to delude him even though he still acted against his original purpose.
But now… watching her so weak and so very alone he couldn't resist his scattered mind from accepting the advice that felt so natural inside. So he kneeled and peeled the terror from her simply by bringing her close. Her ear against his calm, steady heartbeat so, that she could synchronize hers with his example, and return.
The humming of the trees - that strange music that came from the wind caressing their hollow insides - cropped his reality for that moment. He felt her squeeze his clothing the way someone holds onto anything just to prove that they exist. For a split second he could share with her: the world's change into a painting of Gogh: The saturation of each color until everything melted into a picture that was exposed to too much light: The shape of everything twisting on the way there and radiating back something quite like the original, but only more powerful and incomplete. He could see God's sketch.
In the horizon of shimmering light that was too bright and too pure the sun went down escaping this horror and painting her light orange with its dying red. A cry emerged. Was it his or hers - nobody knows.
In the middle of this vision, this bloody revelation of the true face of the universe the way she was beginning to see it, he journeyed his lonesome path to preserve her in her cocoon and keep her from hatching.
This was the power of the Ultimate Craft, the curse of it.
Witches were once worshipped as Gods because of this! Because they could see how every line in every structure was drawn therefore begetting some new. They could see the eraser making the lines incomplete while tearing the texture apart. Because they felt what others dread the most: the emptiness of every gesture and act and the lingering presence of something indefinable, the breath of the maker of this fine collage.
Like all art this one projected its maker's soul at its most beautiful. The answer to the question forever asked was there for him to see as well. Why was there such evil and malice? Because every creation also has its flaws and every soul possesses both darkness and light.
Finally like the beating drum of one's heart the shades and the contrast of the real world began dissolving away. Slowly.
A fading heartbeat, a dying sound or perhaps… just a simple wasp in the nearness becoming more and more estranged. A distant voice – muffled. And then without realizing – puff. Gone.
He blinked his eyes several times before believing that his eyes had been veiled with the lie once more. Pale and chilling winds were the only things touching him actively anymore for she'd grown motionless and still. Sweat ran down the valleys on his back and the air made each drop so blunt that sharp sensations followed their path.
Exhaustion dominated his quickened breath. His flavor escaped him in every drop of perspiration that made his hair heavy. It took Amon an extended moment to gather himself together before he began to worry over his little charge. Her pulse was lazy now, barely existent when he felt it through her skin - Poor thing must've passed out.
With casualty that walked alongside with experience he lifted her into his arms. Her hair-do had broken down at some point and pale orange locks fell as flames over his arms when he repositioned her to insure her comfortableness. His heart ached with this omen: her flames eating his black shield, but he pushed his worry aside. He was to look after her and insure that she could take the power given to her without losing her empathy and sense of right and wrong.
To Amon the unconscious Robin was light to carry across the yard of their current hideout. During the past months her abilities had been growing each moment. She had wandered away from his care many times and then returned with the kind of dead sorrow imprinted on her face that he knew the mysterious Craft was gaining more room in her. He'd promised to end her life if she ever lost control. He'd said he'd do it for the sake of every human.
He'd do it for their friends and family and he'd do it for all the strangers in the world, who didn't deserve to live, but he had never said that he'd do it for her sake. Perhaps… that was changing slowly as well.
She'd turned sixteen last month - Sixteen years old and so worn inside. He was beginning to sense the injustice of her having this ability of the Ultimate Craft. He was beginning to plan for her future gladly forgetting the fact that she could be stripped from everything in just a moment. He was beginning to question… yes that had to be the root of it.
After isolating them both in the function of protecting her his motives had gone through a metamorphosis of sorts and he no longer awaited for a quick end. What he had seen just now… he was beginning to understand her and from what he saw he now knew that she wasn't meant to be kept from the world. No, that misassumption had only brought misery upon her. She needed to be among the very people she was meant to bring hope to.
The Eve of Witches… that is what Robin had been born as. That is why she'd been wanted dead and been hunted for. She was to be the spring of compassion and the light when none could be found in the heart of a fallen witch, who no longer recognized the value of life. She was to be the cure for those who became intoxicated from their power - Those who were addicted to it so desperately.
Amon stopped for a moment after reaching the door. He wasn't sure what he was really doing this all for, but maybe he could find out if they returned to Japan. Maybe it was essential to Robin's recovery to have STN accept her for what she was and provide her some remedy for these terrible seizures. Then she might not fall. She might last until she was older and stronger.
But if she were to fall now all would be lost and she would truly deserve the epithet 'Devil Child'.
He looked at her once more. Was their return really something she would allow him to do? Would she trust STN enough for them to try and develop something to block the Ultimate Craft for the time being? Would she even want to?
With a heavy heart he made his decision on the matter.
She too would know life…
Three hundred and twenty years have passed since the Coven sank in the dark
Silence - Pure
No more heartache
No fires in my mind
Awaken - Pure
A/N: Poem in the premonition is Kitty's "Awakening"