A/n: This is quite different from my usual genre (in fact I hardly know what to call this genre. If you have any idea let me know.) - I usually stick to angst, or mildly comedic romance, but writing this piece was a lot of fun for me, and I really enjoyed delving into a more... descriptive and metaphorical thought process. This story would take place after Elliot gave Statice to Leo, because he doesn't view Leo's eyes till later, and I just had to incorporate them. Besides, Elliot does say that the piece is something new he's working on, so I would say this is the completion of his song writing, while in turmoil over his feelings for his companion. ^^; Yes, this isn't quite pristine condition, but I really don't feel like going over it again at this point of time. Perhaps later... in any case I hope you enjoy!

Thanks to: List Locked Lover for her advice regarding shift in flow and/or writing style. I have a feeling that I would have fretted over the problem for much longer had I not taken it.

The room was dimly lit, and the hour late. A single candle flickered upon the smooth exterior of the old, well kept piano, its flame reflecting gently in a mirror in the furthest corner, the light rebounding off of it in a silent decrescendo of light, casting a symphony of shadows upon the beige walls.

Hands ran feverishly over the keys, stroking them silently, eyes closed, as his fingers skimmed over the ivory and ebony surface, counting quietly under his breath.

Pale, ruffled hair- almost silvery in the moonlight- moved in the gentle breeze that entered through the open window, eyes the glassy color of cobalt opening for but a moment, as tense hands scrambled over bits and pieces of paper, with much splattering of ink, and the insistent scratching of a nib against parchment filled the near empty room.

Forget.

His hands were trembling, as they strayed over the keys again, biting his lip as he sought for that perfect pitch, that perfect sound that would save the song, trying to push every last thought that came to mind.

Forget! Forget already!

He struck a chord at random; listening as the dissonance filled the room, and faded, easing the tension with a soft insert of a downward half-step, nails scraping over the glossy eggshell.

That resounding beauty.

This wasn't right.

Why was it that he could only think of him?

Why was it when he tried to imagine their familiar, proud faces, their warm smiles, all he could picture was him- shadowed and dark. An anomaly.

Flawless.

It wasn't right and he knew it. The notes and sounds he was stringing out now were meant for their attentive ears, not his.

His fingers itched to move, yet he held them poised over the keys in mid air, hands tingling in anticipation.

But he couldn't do this.

He had to stop.

But how to do so? He feared that those sinfully lovely smiles were etched to the insides of his eyelids, those gorgeous eyes burnt forever into his memory, that uncomfortable heat to stay for all eternity.

Tantalizing.

That's what he was. Their relationship was built on spun sugar, delicate as a spider's web.

Fingers dropped forlornly to their owners lap, as he drummed his foot against the marble floor, the staccato sound droning on through the room, as he gave a resigned sigh.

It was simple really. He was trapped.

He could imagine that warm breath ghosting over his neck as he leaned over his shoulder to point something out. Just hear that rude tone as he berated him.

Enchanted.

He was caught in the web of spells that the other male had unconsciously spun. A web of promise, of smiles, of unprecedented enjoyment. He had lured him with those sarcastic smirks and deep, deep eyes until he had sunk so far that he could no longer think of anything but him.

He absent mindedly struck yet another triad on the piano, that beautiful color just in the depths of his mind.

Those sensually beautiful eyes, the soft curve of that gentle mouth as it slunk into a taunting grin. That dark tangle of hair -wave upon wave- obscuring those eyes -set like gems- from view.

So how. How was he supposed to chase that devious creature from the depths of his mind? He himself had so little power of his own train of thought as it was, defeated by that dark angel of books and library shadows, with little self control of his own.

Torturous.

Spending time with that demonic splendor was as much torture as it was pleasure – caustic and cynical remarks thrown this way and that, an occasional chair or two to follow. Not to mention one slip of his tongue and his feelings-

His arms tensed, and his fingers clenched, as he drew his head back to glance upwards, at the ceiling, eyes traveling along a crack that resided there, face gradually paling as he took a deep intake of breath.

Concentrate.

He had to stay focused. He had to complete this – how often had inspiration like this struck him so easily, and the process so painless and dreamlike? Never. Never before.

His fingers strayed towards the ebony keys this time, reluctant, languid, about to make contact, about to release a sharp array of 8th notes… but they froze, as if stopped by an invisible force, and he could not bring himself to touch the cool surface before him.

It's not right.

The music that had poured from the depths of his heart moments before had not been for them. He wouldn't dare have them listen to such a thing. Not when the music was for another.

He swore under his breath, his whisper ghosting through the room like a silent plea, silvery and gentle, and precious in that glorious glow of the moon. His fingers once again sought the keys in a hesitant, fluid arpeggio, shrouding and masking his delicate murmur of defeat.

Glorious eyes, burning with an inner golden light, unveiled, uncertain, demanding.

Remember.

The song was of twilight eves, wrapped in the pages of a book; royal, heralding, purple - mysterious and sad- the sky a reflection of the heart, mourning the sun's death, soon followed by night's mantle of death. Golden lights of a treasure trove brimming with wealth, dazzling the heavens like the tears of a god, dusting the world with its light.

The flower sat before him, in a simple pallid vase- the same pale tone of his captors skin- smooth and flawless under the cover of darkness, hiding its cracks and blemishes within its folds.

Purple. The stalks rose out of the vase, in slender droves, standing stubbornly upright, undeterred by time. Dried blossoms, still as perfect, still as vibrant as the day they had been seized from the servants by impatient, hasty, hands.

They were purple. Immaculate, temperamental, regal purple.

Statice.

The notes were fading now, receding into the recesses of the dark room, tangling with his shallow breathing, leaving his fingertips with a lonely echo.

It was no longer a murmur in his mind, a half-thought melody whirling through his thoughts, but it was no golden trophy to dangle before his family in all his pride and exhilaration either.

The song truly was his. It whispered his name between the beats, a short staccato of breathes between each note. He had given it to him with hardly a though, hardly an expectation. Just curiosity.

Just curiosity.

Tomorrow.

He would definitely say it tomorrow.

An exhaled breath. Darkness.

The moon was a distinguished blot against the aborigine sky, iinlayed with amethyst and sapphire, the twisting despair of evening being swallowed by the isabelline purity of the white, rose like clouds.

Tomorrow.

"I want you to be my servant!"

A/n: Not my favorite piece, and I think it's rather choppy, but i had fun writing it :D I don't think I've ever interwoven so many hidden meanings behind words before... so this is quite a first. The color and flowers have a lot of meaning in this... Also, when I say 'them' I'm referring to Elly's elder siblings, because of his pride for being a Nightray, and their interest in his musical skill (or at least Vanessa was interested) I thought that it would make sense for him to write a lot of his songs to have them listen to...

If you have any questions, feel free to ask!

Reviews are greatly appreciated.