Disclaimer: I do not own Yami no Matsuei.
Absinthe and Aconite
By Silver Sailor Ganymede
It was a bitter irony, he mused, the white was a colour commonly associated with purity and goodness. No one seemed to remember the past, times long ago when white was not a symbol of purity but of death. White was a mixture of everything and nothing at the same time, a paradox by its very existence, much like death itself. This theory did indeed make sense in his mind, though perhaps in his mind alone, for sanity can only be found within the depths of deepest insanity after all.
If his logic followed through and proved to be correct which, he reminded himself, it always was in some way or another, white was indeed the true colour of evil, if there was such a thing. That was why white moved first in chess; someone had to do something widely believed to be wrong before others would move and counter it, and when a move was countered it was not so much for justice as it was for sustaining one's own worth and ideals. Good and evil were not things that truly existed; they were just an absinthe-induced hallucination, their true nature more bitter than poisonous aconite.
Sometimes he despaired for humanity, blind as they were. They could not see they beauty in blood, the glory in pain. Those that knew of what he did would have thought he was nothing more than a demon, taking life as he did for his own gratification. What did they know? That was how he survived for so long, how he could prove his own worth; in bringing death to others he knew that he truly wielded the power of a god, no matter how much people would say such a thing was impossible.
So if humans could wield the power of gods, then what was god himself? Nothing more than a figment of the imagination created by fools who needed reason for their own weakness. 'I am this way because a higher power intended it.' He saw how many could have found tanquility in such thoughts, but he could not. He never would be able to. Only blood could bring him peace anymore.
He wondered how much time it would take before people would begin to see these things that he had realised long ago. He doubted they would ever see. White symbolised purity and black corruption; do not listen to the wisdom of the ancients. They would just continue to live on in their wormwood-induced fantasies, ignoring the bitter taste of the poison they were themselves becoming.
How long would it be before humanity realised that even the wings of the dove were broken and stained with blood?