Hello, Black Alya Wolf speaking. If anyone's listening, it's a miracle that I hope will stick around for a little while longer. This is the Prologue, a thing a lot of people skip because they (usually rightly) assume it will be explained later in the story. Hell, a lot of Author's Notes aren't even read so I might be typing this for no reason at all. Anyway, I just wanted to say that it would be a really wise idea for you to read this particular prologue, as boring and unrelated it may seem for a while. I got this idea randomly, really, and I don't think it's so much an idea as it is a story forcing me to write it out. Seriously. I mean, the prologue didn't even turn out quite like I expected it to. I just got an urge to write a DW fanfic with the first sentence already whispering in my ear.
So that's that. Now for more official business:
Disclaimer: Oh, stuff it.
Pairings: 10Rose, JackJenny (but it doesn't play a too important part, so if you don't like it it doesn't matter), sorta MasterOC, MarthaTom, OCOC, and Donna/otherOC
Warnings: None yet, but maybe just a tiny bit on the language. Nothing really bad as yet, but knowing me it'll probably get worse. No smut, no gore, and definite angst from my OC. Oh, and I suppose that should be a warning, too. The OC, I mean. Big one. But don't worry about her, she's just helping me along.
Summary: Eternal Midnight, an impossibility of impossibilities that sets off a chain reaction of other impossiblities that were never meant to be. Known only to mortals as Midna, she seeks just one thing: balance. And if balance isn't what she's going to get, chaos is what will wreak the multiverse until naught is left but the Void and love is ash in the memory of all survivors. 10Rose, alternate end to the series 4 arc.
Edited: Sept. 28, 2008
In the Beginning: Prologue
She smiles. It's not pleasant, and she doesn't know why she does it, but do it she does. And she doesn't stop. Why should she? Why not? It's perfectly normal to smile, after all. That it probably doesn't reach her eyes means nothing. Right? And why should it? A smile is a smile is a smile, she always says. Well, not really, but there's a start to everything, yeah?
Her hair is very annoying, she decides through her smile, and not because it is ugly or frizzy or of an unwelcome color or unfashionable style — no, she certainly isn't irritated by that, not one bit (to what point would she care, anyway?) — but rather because it is long enough to constantly flap itself at her face. It's itchy. She wishes she'd thought to pull it back before it happened. And don't even get her started on it. She could go on for hours and hours — talk for the whole world, she could, all about it. Yeah. It.
Anyway…right! Hair! Annoyingly super-long, very browny-goldenlike, thick, unruly, infuriating-enough-to-yank-out-no-matter-the-pain-involved-in-doing-so hair. She should really do something about that someday. Like cut it. Ooh…cut it; lovely idea, that. Would help if she had an actual body to do that with. Maybe the length was her imagination, then. Well, her imagination should cut it. Like, seriously. Or just forget the hair enitirely. Yeah.
But she can't forget anything. Because of it. It is something she loves, something she hates, something she would die for, live for, give everything for — mostly because she already has — something so far from her and yet so close, something just in reach yet too close to bear, something that has kept her from rest or sleep or eat or drink or any kind of comfort at all. It is a wonder she has not yet been driven mad. Or has she? It's hard to tell, really. What is madness to a madman? What is sanity to the sane? What did it mean if you did not know because you really fit neither?
She closes her vibrant yellow-green eyes (or the eyes she had as she remembers them and now doesn't have so really only exist in her imagination, which still hasn't cut her hair for her) and she smiles and does her best ignore her stupid hair. She basks in the warmth of the golden light that isn't really there because there can be no physical manifestation of the place where she must reside until she deems it safe to do otherwise, but it surrounds her, loves her, smothers her, destroys her, and she basks in it because there is nothing else to bask in...
She sighs, and it's a sigh of neither happiness, weariness, or resignation. It's a sigh just to be a sigh. Then she does it again, just because she likes it.
Child of contradiction, she knows she is. That's what they all call her. Sort of. Most cultures call her the Dark Angel, actually, but Child of Contradiction seems more fitting, more apt to explain who she is. Or chaos. She's pretty chaotic, never following the rules, always something completely different to that which the expectations of the universe have in store her. That could be who she is. What she is. The old child, the wise fool, the dark light, the stupid little fifteen-year-old girl who lost everything only to get the chance to take it all back so she could lose it again. Yep. That's her in a nutshell. Sorta.
Where is she? She doesn't know, at least not completely. She has an idea, but she doesn't know. She doesn't know much anymore, really. Her memories should be fuzzy, and you would think they would be, but they're not. They are sharp and clear, achingly so, so that she knows so much she can't say she actually knows anything at all. Could get confusing at times, that.
Maybe it's because she is in Hell. Sorta. Kinda. As mentioned, she doesn't really know, but she has an idea, and the idea feels like Hell. No up, no down, no light, no dark - and no substantial thoughts, come to think of it - talk about scatterbrained! She can't observe anything, either, which makes it kind of hard to do anything, particularly as she can't feel where she begins and this place ends and what she's actually feeling at any given moment - whether she's lonely or sad or pleased or impatient or utterly at peace. It's a kind of excruciating torture that makes absolutely no sense at all and is, therefore, a perfectly fitting self-afflicted punishment for her.
An "angel", a savior, goddess, superwoman-thing made to suffer in Hell. Fancy that.
Wait...'fancy'? Wasn't usually something she used in her daily vocabulary, but things had changed. Oh, how things had changed.
An ordinary girl, living an ordinary life. An ordinary girl who became extraordinary and got treated differently for it. Sounds like a coming-of-age story, if she were to be honest with herself — as she was, mostly. When she wanted to be. Well, when she wanted to want to be. Well, when she…never mind.
Ordinary girl, yes. With strange thoughts that cropped up occasionally, thoughts no one else could ever dream. Thoughts of darkness and of light, of right and wrong and everything in between. An ordinary girl who understood nothing and yet comprehended everything. An ordinary girl who could sense every single emotion of every single living thing in every single universe in every single galaxy on every single planet, continent, island, country, state, province, county, district, city, town, village and hideaway during every single second that ever existed or ever would exist. An ordinary girl whose eyes could literally pierce the fabric of another's soul, delve into their hearts, their minds, learn their deepest, darkest secrets yet cursed to tell no one.
An ordinary girl who wanted none of that and yet would die if it was ever taken from her.
Her smile fades into a smirk. Why she smirks, she doesn't know. It's just something her not-a-body feels like doing, she supposes. Maybe it's her subconscious doing it. She can't control it, certainly. Can't control much of anything anymore, her. Nope. Not her. Not ever. Never ever; not since it, at least.
It. Enigmatic, that word, if it is not explained beforehand or right afterward or somewhere in between. In between? Did that even make any sense? Of course it didn't. She's not sure she cares anymore. Well, yeah, she cares, she cares a lot; she cares like no one's ever cared before, but she cares so much it's almost like she doesn't. And that hurts. It hurts so much she's been made numb with the pain of it. And what did that say about her?
Everything, she muses, as everything says everything about her. Everything is a part of her. She is the Core, after all, and what is the Core but everything that the Hell that surrounds it isn't? And Hell is nothing, so she must be everything. Or something. It makes sense to her, anyway. In her head. Mostly. Sort of. Kind of. Well, technically kind of, but that…that really wasn't the point. Really. She thinks, and hates how she loses track of all the different things she's capable of thinking at the same time, and finally remembers the subject at hand, the subject boring into her mind like drills and woodpeckers and sledgehammers.
It had been nothing dramatic, no flare or flash of light or warning or death or threats or remarkable discoveries; it was just what she referred to as the singular event that turned her ordinary life upside down. Well, if it was really upside down she probably would've been dead, but she isn't so her life isn't really upside down, just…figuratively! That's it! Figuratively upside down, her life had been turned.
Had it been yesterday? Nah, just an hour or so ago. An hour of an eternity. Or a dozen. Or a million. Lot of eternities, that, especially considering how dreadfully long they were. Maybe it was only two, come to think of it. Yeah. Two eternities lived in two seconds. That sounded about right.
Her universe, the Foundation, the first of them all and from which branched infinity more, is torn and shattered under her feet. And who is at fault but her? Who is at fault but the one who could see and understand everything yet was blind as a bat and so utterly naïve? Destroyed her own universe, she did, even if she hadn't actually meant to.
No. She'd simply lost control. One moment, one little bit of frustration and anger and horror and terror and betrayal and hurt and a tiny bit of love that she should have known she would never have been allowed to feel for herself without a hefty price, and it was all gone. Everything she knew, everything that had made her who she was, everything that she was ever supposed to know tumbling about around her ears, chaos as the blurry lines between reality and dreams were erased, chaos as the calm night of trillions and trillions and so many beyond-trillions of deaths shattered the multiverse.
On her shoulders. All on her shoulders. All because of her. Because she wouldn't die with them, and she'd had so much more to lose. She lost reality and everything and everyone within it. She heard their screams, heard their pleas, knew she could stop them, knew she could save them, and yet she had been too confused and surprised and angry and numb and so, so lost that she had done nothing. Just watched them burn, watched all the galaxies and planets burn at her fingertips, her touch, her thoughts, and did nothing to save them, nothing to stop it, nothing to end the misery, the despair, and the incessant, neverending burning.
It hurt. It hurt beyond belief, beyond anything. She was suffering, and so wanted others to suffer because she was lonely and had no desire to ever be so alone, ever again. But at the same time, she knew, from her upraising, from her family that just because she hurt didn't mean everyone else had to as well, and so instead she tried to rectify things. Rectifying meant making things worse, in the end, like making a room messier to clean it. She became "chosen", chosen to do things no one wanted done but which had to be done anyway and only she was willing to pay for it.
So she moved on, moved beyond the Foundation and onto the others, destroying — so much blood, so much death, such darkness, such monstrosities — and she hated herself for it, hated everything that she was, but she couldn't stop, could never stop, because no one could stop her, no one could keep her from doing what she wanted to least, not even herself…not even love.
And from the ashes of such destruction came Hell, and she its Core. And from the Core burst more, burst what she had consumed, burst everything she had taken, everything she had never even wanted to begin with. She locked her body in a place no one could ever find, trapped her mind, heart and soul in the Core, and vowed never to leave, never to let herself reign over the worlds again.
It isn't her fault. She tried to tell herself that, at first. Tried to tell herself she'd been forced to do it, but now she does not bother. She knows what happened and knows what could have been done to prevent it and exactly what she hadn't done to keep everything from collapsing.
One moment; one fatal, crucial second had been all it had taken for her to rewrite existence as it was known everywhere. One second where she had merely had to trust someone other than the one she'd trusted, to love someone else, to throw herself at death and not at some idiotic attempt to rescue anyone from something they didn't rescuing from. A chance to rewrite everything. She is not a goddess, not a god, not a deity, no matter her reputation or the stories or the legends or the Rebirth she had caused. Oh no, definitely not more than that. She is human. That's all. A human. Impossibly, a human, a human whose soul refused to die, no matter the body she once resided or the blood she'd once inherited. She'd simply taken the ashes of everything she was (and is) at fault for and consumed it, took it with her into Hell and revived it, convinced it all to begin anew, convinced it all that existing is worth existing. There is nothing divine about that.
But no matter how hard she tries, no matter how many universes she brings back and gives life to once more, life that should never ever have been taken and never would again, it will not bring back the Foundation. The Foundation had been the foundation, after all. You can't have the start be a start a second time. Not when it was long dead before it even had a chance to truly begin.
She finds, however, that as her humanity gradually returns and she loses much of the power she was never meant to have to begin with, she more and more appreciates…well, everything. From the way her mother's arms had felt around her as she held her tight as a child to the way an old dying man's voice sounded so sweet as he sang his last breath that it always breaks her heart to hear it. She really is human, after all, no matter the evidence to the contrary, and human is all she will ever be. Metaphorically speaking, at least. She finds that there is beauty in life, all life, even her own, and all the sufferings and joys within it because life is the one thing that ties everything together, the one thing that keeps the stars pulsing in beat with the music resonating from planets in perfect rhythm to the beats of mortal and immortal and immoral and moral hearts. She finds an appreciation for love and hatred, the balance of light and dark and the chaotic harmony in which they live. Hatred for no reason and hatred for good reason, love for friends and love for lovers, and then every damn thing that went between those. She finds that there is something out there worth more than just dying or fighting for, but something worth suffering life for.
And, she vows as she sees though herself and through the many windows of Hell the separation of the kind of love that should never ever be broken, a love between a storm and a wolf, between a darkness and a light and the perfect kind of chaotic harmony she has come to realize is extraordinarily similar to the unique energies of the Foundation, she will fight for that love and that balance until her final breath — a breath, she knows, that will come soon to her, or else will last forever in her defending of a love transcending the depth of all others. It is a life, she is aware, that she does not deserve, but a life she must and will live nevertheless. It is not her choice, but the choice of the force that made her destroy all those universes all that time ago, the choice of the one some people may like to call God but which she likes to refer to as the thing that makes everything tick.
She considers, as she contemplates how she will manipulate the freeing of her forever unfound mortal body, that love is not about letting other people wriggle into your heart, as she had once believed — it's about giving other people the chance to do the same, as she'd never done for fear that whoever came into contact with her would only end up getting hurt in end. (And it was because of that mistake that anyone was ever hurt at all; a bitterly ironic end to something she never deserved to have.) It's easy to befriend someone and stay distant; be loyal to them and get no loyalty back. It's easier that way. No obligations beyond all that you're willing to give. No worries. Just a bit of laughin' at oneself when it's all said and done. And then move on. Just move on.
But you can't follow that policy forever, she realizes, and her smirk becomes a shining smile once more, and the golden light around her pulses in time with the beating of her heart (not metaphorically speaking) on a planet - a real, solid planet - so far away. You'll become a monster if you let others walk all over you and do as they please and wreak what havoc and chaos they can just because you believe you can't stop it. Hell, she already has become that monster. Not living, just existing, surviving, because it's all she's ever done.
It isn't enough. It's never enough. It never will be. And you can pray and say 'never say never ever' but it doesn't change reality.
You only have one lifetime. At the end of it you'll say it passed in the blink of an eye. Just a blink. And as you close your eyes one last time, you'll remember it all. Everything.
Bring to your grave a sense that you have lived a life worth dying for.
Such is the decision of Eternal Midnight, the wise child who went from a suffering angel to a human who desires so much more — who changed from a savior to a monster to a suffering angel to a surviving martyr in the blink of an eye. Just a blink.