Warning: Angst. This is going to be pretty angsty even by my standards.

Disclaimer: I don't own Ouran.

Authoress Note: This is definitely going to be a challenge for me. I've never written anything where the two characters didn't feel anything for each other and it was multi-chaptered. Yes, the prologue is short, but it will get better. Also, because of my picky nature, this is constantly going under re-writes, but nothing too major, I promise. I should also mention that this fic pulls from, later on, on my other fic "Castle Down." It's not necessary to read it, but it does help.


A delicate hand clenched tightly to a charcoal pencil made swift movements along sketching paper. An intent look in pale, azure eyes showed that their owner was in deep concentration, concentration of what seemed to be forming itself on the pad in front of him. Umehito Nekozawa was completely silent as he let the image come. He, himself, wasn't entirely sure of how the drawing would end up, but he didn't want to worry about that then. It was that time where he tried not to worry about much of anything.

It was then, on the dark hours before sunrise, he was truly allowed to stay himself. With his long flaxen hair framing his dainty face and ivory skin, he wore no cloak and no wig. There was no one around to fear his dark nature. There was no one to witness anything, but the moon herself.

He sat on plush carpet with the white rays of the moonlight barely kissing him and his sketch book. When the rest of the household was floating gently away in midst of dreams, he would often think. It was his private time and his time to sketch everything away.

Nobody knew about his hobby, though. The flowers and serene images he sometimes drew were such a contrast to the Dark Prince; he wasn't sure how any of his club or family members would take it, but it was his paradise. Nekozawa knew that he would never be able to freely see flowers as they blossomed as most people, because, after all, he was cursed, so he drew.

Drawing was sort of a comfort to him. It was something he could have to himself that was precious in its own little way. He sketch helped to not become totally engrossed in darkness. It helped him feel.

The muffled sound of feet outside his bedroom alerted his attention. He grabbed Bereznoff to his right and put the sketch pad underneath his bed. It wasn't like he had a worry of anyone coming into his room and snooping around, but he liked to be careful. The sound outside his door became louder as more people began to run past his room. Eventually, curiosity got the best of Nekozawa and he opened the door, startling a maid running past.

"What's going on?"

"Y-young master! What are you doing up?" She stuttered, avoiding the question.

Nekozawa became more worried when a family doctor neared them.

He was a balding Japanese man in his late fifties. His tan bony hands wrung around each other, a habit of nervousness, when he spotted Nekozawa. The man bowed his head.


"What's going on?" He asked in a firmer voice, "Is someone hurt?"

The man's brief silence and nervous glance toward the ground confirmed his suspicions.

"It's Kirimi-chan…" Nekozawa felt his heart stop, then shatter. A strange lump formed in his throat.

"She's…unwell. She had a high fever and-"

The doctor didn't get out another word before Nekozawa burst out running in the direction of his little sister's room. Tears began to sting his eyes on his way there; he had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

When he got to her room, the door was already open and maids were surrounding the area. They all lowered their voices when they spotted him, as though guilty. It only made the feeling worse. Nekozawa walked near the open door only to be forced back from the brightness of the room. He cursed himself for not thinking to bring his cloak or wig. When his eyes adjusted, he was not prepared for what he saw.

Kirimi had been laid on a mat from her bed with doctors already by her side. Her azure eyes were wide open as her petite body shook and convulsed. A thin trail of blood led from her mouth.

"No…" Nekozawa whispered as confusion and fear began to swarm inside of him. What was going on? Why was this happening? His sister was-Gods, she was… Why weren't they helping her?

The fear in him turned into rage as he pushed himself through the doorway.


"No! Kirimi!"

A strong pair of hands blocked him from the sight of his still trembling little sister, an image that was beginning to blur from tears.

"Sir, you can't-"

"Kirimi!" He screamed hysterically, still trying to keep sight of his sister, but his vision began to dizzy. Something else was pulling him back, but all Nekozawa was concentrated on was trying to get to Kirimi. He knew he was probably still screaming. He was still sobbing and clawing desperately to get by, but nothing else mattered.

The images Nekozawa saw were blurred and distorted dramatically. His head was spinning and his chest was heavy. His breathing ragged and he almost gasped out breaths between the screaming. The images began to get farther and farther away.


It was one last futile attempt. Spoken or thought, Nekozawa couldn't tell. The last sight he saw before slipping to the ground was a stretcher making its way into the bedroom before all he saw was darkness.


A/N: For all of those who are wondering, no, Kirimi did not die. Even I'm not that cruel. I'm hoping I've got the details of the seizure down correctly. Again, please tell me if I don't. Also, I'm sorry if this isn't updated very soon. I'm very busy at the moment.