http://clampfix.fanworks.net/rgv-fix/crytohea.txt </head><body><pre>Cry To Heaven: The Story of Ashura-ou's Childhood Love by: Kyra Ryuoh "Ashura. . ." Softly, I shut the door behind me, to Ashura-ou's face who wears his heart so openly in his eyes--shimmering eyes mirroring the deep longings of my own. Leaning back against the closed door, I softly pound the back of my head, feverishly shivering. Heat knifes beneath the skin, searing the flesh, shattering the veins which pulse with the light of pain. Through the clouds fogging my dimmed vision, I could make out the glowering dark figure of Father, approaching me. I am not afraid--what more can one do to the dead? "You were with him, weren't you." A statement, not a question, leaves his lips. His heavy dark brows are furrowed. "Weren't you!" His callused fingers tighten around my upper arms in a bruising grip, leaving angry red marks. "Answer me, Kaolin!" I am shaken roughly, teeth rattle. Enervated, my legs give out from beneath as I crumple to the floor like a discarded wad of paper. An elaborate jade vase is hurtled across the room to shatter against the opposite wall, a shower of emerald glass. "I had forbidden you strictly from ever speaking that coward again, yet you have defied me willfully!" His booming voice deafens my ears, a cacophony of discordant strings and shattering glass. "I brought you into this world and I can take you out!" "Fine! Go ahead!" In a burst of reckless energy, of blind rage, I leap to my feet, hands fisted at my sides. I refuse to allow him sully HIS hallowed name. "Kill me then, see if I care! Get it over with if it will stop your ceaseless whining!" "I--I. . ." He is incoherent with rage, his face ballooning in deep crimson. Pushing me aside, he strides hotly out of the room, bellowing, "God forbid you should have any daughters! I'll have Taishakuten sent, then perhaps you will hear some reason!" Slowly, as though in a waking dream, I sweep the mess of shattered stone from the marble tiles with a piece of brown velvet swiped from my closet. "This is all a dream," I whisper, a hoarse voice of scraping gravel unrecognizable to my own ears, as I have whispered a thousand times before--alone, to myself. "Only a nightmare. When I wake up, the cherry blossoms will all be in bloom and the clear brook will pour its sparkling mystery into our ears. Ashura and I, together beneath the shower of white sakura petals, with laughter and light creating a haven of smiles." I can no longer feel anything--numb. Feeling neither pain nor joy, I can neither laugh nor weep. Yet, the rasp continues, "When I awake, I will be curtained beneath his cascade of night-spun-silk, my head pillowed in his lap, and his luminous face the sun which remains constant through out the ages." I can almost smell the sun-drenched meadows and his fragrance of sandalwood, feel his caressing fingers weaving through my hair. What purpose remains in life? The cold glint of a metal dagger catches my eye, peeking from the sheath Father had forgotten to wear, hanging from the notch in the wall. If I died, would I soar free? My hand closes around its garnet pommel. Would my soul run to he who I yearn to see--for one last time. . . ? "Kaolin. . ." I hear my name in his voice, a far off remembrance echoing across the boundaries of time and space, a bright yellow butterfly fluttering within the dark sepulcher of my brain. I wrap my long fingers around its ornate hilt and draw it from its leather sheath. The reflection of a wane girl with brown-black hair and huge dark eyes stare back accusingly--yet strangely devoid of emotion. Her soul is already dead, frozen past repair, past hope. The past and the present collide, meshing in a confused tangle of tapestry. The image of Ashura, a quiet and lonely boy, shyly offering me a single white rose, not quite in full bloom, floats before my dimmed eyes. The dew drops are sparkling crystal beads on its silken petals as I hide my blushes and embarrassed smiles behind its fragrant blossom. Ashura, triumphantly brandishes his first honorary scroll, a reward from the Emperor for Ashura's recent conquests over the Demons--And I, frantic with worry and aching with fear, when he is returned injured. One hand presses over his wounded side, drenching his golden armor and swan's cape in crimson blood, the other loosely grasps the golden hilt of Shurato. Strange. How the blade sings when I had come near. The pained yet grateful smile of Ashura, his proudly handsome features, every inch displaying nobility, is a hundred knives stabbing at my chest--I feel his agony washing over him (over US) in endless waves. The convulsions which wrack his helpless body tear me apart and I pray fervently to God, on my knees, that I may share his pain--for it to be uplifted. His eyes, burning feverishly bright, as his elegant hands firmly but gently grip mine. . . Cool fingertips dance over my knuckles, lightly. Startled, I glance up, shaken from my reverie, half-hoping--half-dreading--to see the Ashura's tender face grinning down at me. Disappointment is keen upon hearing that familiar voice, tinged with sarcasm--slightly mocking, "Trying to kill yourself?" Taishakuten. I had not heard him enter. Reflexively, I snatch my hand away, feeling defiled by Taishakuten's touch. Father's sword clatters to the floor. He bends to retrieve it, his long, platinum hair a glossy water fall curtaining his face, slightly moist. The gold armband studded with a single sapphire catches the fading sunlight. "Aren't you supposed to be at a match?" Was this the man who had debased Sashi? I cannot concentrate for the loud hammering in my ears. "So?" "Where's your armor?" Why must I always feel skittish around this man? "I was tired." Without invitation, he stretches out on the cushions, propping up on one elbow. "So I took off my armor and had a nice, hot bath." He pats a spot besides him, motioning me to join him in the bed of swan feathers. "Irresponsible." I choose to ignore his invitation. "Well, what are you doing here?" My head still swims with the images of the past. "Come here," He stretches his hand toward me, "And may be I will tell you." A lazy smile, a large, deadly panther on the prowl. A shiver runs up my spine. "You can't get rid of me, you know that." "We'll see." The fragrance of sandalwood permeates the air, or is it just me? "Excuse me, Lord Taishakuten. I am not feeling well." Without waiting for his response, I rush out of the room, relieved that he did not follow. I flee, pursued by the monsters lurking in the shadowed recesses of my mind, memories of all that might have happened but never have. To the sanctuary, the garden of sakura where Ashura and I first met. I had thought myself incapable of tears, yet I feel its cool drops rolling down my cheeks. Cry. My mouth opens in a great soundless roar. Wind rushes through my hair, now shoulder-length; I had cut it, a silent testimony of grief, upon hearing of Sashi and Ashura's marriage. Cry. But where is the shoulder I had always leaned upon for comfort? In sorrow? Where were the sheltering arms which had always wrapped around me in warmth, a sanctuary? Not here! Cry to Heaven! </pre><p><a href="./">Back</a></p><p><a href=http://www.dreamhost.com/donate.cgi?id=216><img border=0 alt="Donate towards our web hosting bill!" src=https://secure.newdream.net/donate1.gif></a></p></body></html>