"His Tale, My Memories"

-Part 2-

"…h—"

A trembling breath of a beautiful widow's rising and rising cries for her cruel, cruel fate…escaped from my own lips when my crystalline snow flake coated fingertips curled around the scarlet Indian tulle embellished kimono Koujaku wore to honor his bloodline—The slave…he…his bittersweet golden eyes that carried a beautiful, beautiful flame despite the choking; black, black oil he had to drink from his master's hands—were tormenting me, haunting me. Even though my thick and ebony ink laced lashes were resting upon my snowy cheekbones in pastel colors of happiness; my eyes that became hidden beneath my theatre masque sang voiceless pleas for him to leave me…alone. White pearl teeth that became shapeless blurs of pearls; beneath the beautiful hues of dancing lanterns above us; pierced through my oval shaped bottom lip when I trembled with a dawning fright of a far, far away howl…that echoed inside my mind…

A crying agony.

A black, black flame of breathed hatred—For who? For what?

…It was inside my mind…

It was not real, I told myself. It could not be. The beauty of swaying emerald leaves and slumbering golden brown patches of earth—the forest—was far, far away from our small village. The weeping melodies the moonlight walkers of the towering shadow of a beautiful forest sang; could not reach our ears.

So…w-why his broken hearted howling echoes inside my ears?

Must be my imagination.

Must be my imagination.

Must be my…imagination…

One more, one more!

Say it with me.

Repeat, my mind, repeat.

My—

"Aoba."

Thank you, Kami~sama. A voiceless voice soared from my bleeding, bleeding heart when I felt a fallen feather resembling softness of my sworn brother's palm upon my whiteness hazed cheek—seeking for the beautiful, laughing hazel eyes he loved with his heart.

"Aoba. Are you alright?"

The blue, blue sway of my hair fell upon my snow flaked cheeks and small structured chin; when my eyes rose from the wandering nightingale's song of a crying, crying heart. His gentle thumb began to draw shapeless circles upon my cheekbones to chase my bottomless fright and restless souls away from my tensed, boyish muscles. A beautiful and calm smile dawned upon my pearlette lips. Arigatou, Koujaku, for being my only; only wooden shelter for me to slumber within in my rainy days—after…after my grandmother's timeless and sudden departure from this earth.

"Yes. I am—"

"…We can go if you want to."

"Iyada. I am fine, really."

"But—"

"Na~Don't you believe in my words, Koujaku?"

"Okay, okay. You little imp. Don't scare me too much, alright?"

"Hehe. Gotcha!"

He must have understood, he must have saw…the black, black figure that dug his merciless; ruthless claws inside the bleeding, bleeding, bleeding walls of my sanity—the scarlet red of the dripping, dripping liquid resembled the flowing blood from a torn piece of fresh meat from the victim's twitching limps.

Perhaps, I should leave. Perhaps, I should wet my lips in my friend's calming cure for the seeds of an unknown sickness that became planted in the vast desert of my mind. Yet…I wanted to hear his tale…from the beginning to the end.

"—No master wanted this slave. He was too stubborn to let hands of another human control his mind and actions. Thus…he was thrown to the arms of cold Arctic nights and heated Arabic days. Days have passed, my children, the days have passed. His body weakened from lack of proper meal and food; yet, the iron will my children…His eyes still shone with desire to live. One blessed or doomed day, an angel appeared to save him; yet the beauty was only an angel in his eyes. His heartless beloved came with an offer—"

The memoirs.

The forgotten memoirs of a fallen flower from my tree…

…Of me…Of me and a…a…slave…

I don't understand anymore. His eyes are—still—watching me.

I could only close my worn eyes and lean my cold, cold forehead upon my sworn knight's shoulder; watching the crystal piece of mirror playing my buried pages from my own history.

The summer nights…the nights of gypsies…the nights of us. When the toothless elders and voiceless voices of storytellers retreat to their houses for the midnight walkers' reign, we would appear.

Dance.

Dance.

Dance.

The wildfire we would create from dry woods; would be our light. The youth's musique would rose and fell; rose and fell from the silver pearl décor carrying flutes and harmonicas when two figures would dance around the red, red flame that whispered our unspoken love.

Me and her.

I was only thirteen years old; what would I know of love?

Yet, I loved this girl as we danced, danced and danced.

My barren; snow flaked arm would embrace her small, small waist—resembling the beautiful, beautiful angels welcoming us to our church—my cold, cold yet gentle fingertips would curl around her creamy, whiteness hazed; naked stomach. Musique would rose and fell; rose and fell when our crystal irises—mine choking yellow, hers mystic ebony—would met. Her arms would reach to embrace my strong neck; the artisan drawings of golden sand and scarlet fire colored flowers that started from her delicate wrists and ended upon her elbows; would not cease to leave me breathless. The silk yellow tulles that fell from her elbows to her barren feet would carry the elegance of a fallen feather of a newborn bird. Our snowy tips of noses would touch and flirt with one another when our dance would reach its bittersweet end. My other arm would reach for her milk coated leg that became hidden beneath her long, long silk golden flowers embellished skirt; that danced above the gray shaded emerald weeds and brownish patches of soil. I would not want to any harm befallen upon my dancing goddess, I would think, when I would raise her leg and let it rest upon my boyish muscled waist. I would then dip her upper body to the earth where our flame and musique would become one.

"Sly."

She would say…that was my name, how they would call me, in this gypsie carnival we created.

"Yona."

That was her name…That is how I know her.

"Tomorrow we will do this again, na?"

"Hell yeah, baby."

Sweet laughter would leave from our lips when we would say our goodbye in our youth's language and we would leave the square in drowning silence. Night would claim the square as its own.

I reached for my leather pouch when my fingers curl around a chocolate chipped biscuit my grandmother gave me in a blue dotted handkerchief. She was always, always worried about my slender figure. She would at least wish for me to eat a piece of her homemade biscuits after my dance ended.

When my white pearl teeth began to pierce through sweet aroma of the biscuit, beautiful golden brown hues chased the smothering hands of shadows away from the alley I was passing along. A stray animal, perhaps…The poor thing must have been starved under the golden sand's reign, I thought when my soundless steps echoed amongst the swaying dust beneath my feet; resembling a firefly that began to sway towards a bright, bright light, I began to reach for those shining hazel irises.

"Ah~"

For my slight disappointment there was not a small creature for me to feed in the alley; yet, there was a boy; his golden brown eyes were watching my boyish figure. He was resting against a brick wall that was dyed in pale brown; his barren yet boyish muscled chest rose and fell; rose and fell in voiceless whispers. His moon dewed arms were dangling from the raised knees. What caught my attention was though was his defined muscles. How old was he, I wondered in my simple minded silence. When my eyes were fallen to the black ink markings—two large vertical strokes of an artisan's brush—a bittersweet smile dawned upon my lips.

"A slave huh? Oi, buddy. Are you hungry?"

A creamy palm rested upon a chipped brick when those breathtaking irises rose in a quite desire; the hazel crystals were burning, burning with a flame I could not understand.

"I can give you some biscuits, do you want them?"

As soon as he heard my promising words, his knees fell upon the unforgiving, merciless ground and his palms rose—almost a sweet, sweet syrup of laughter dripped from my oval shaped lips. He resembled a dog.

"Hai. Here you go, puppy."

I could almost hear a taste~less growl coming from his opening and closing lips—humiliated, huh? Well, I did not care.

The whiteness hazed fingertips curled around the silk handkerchief that held the sweet, sweet flavored biscuits when I placed them in his palms in gentleness. My young heart fluttered when his lips curled into an angelic smile before he began to eat. It was a nice feeling to help others, na?

A milk coated palm rested upon my lean waist when a thought came to my swaying mind. What if…he comes with me—he could help my grandmother with house chores.

"Oi. Come with me."

"…h—"

"You heard me, pup. Come with me."

"…w…wait a minute. Why do you-?"

"Ah~So you have a voice. Look, pup, I am going now, if you want to come with me…tag along."

When I began to turn away from his hesitating figure, my own hazel crystals caught a shine in his own golden brown irises—A thank you…I saw in those eyes. He was coming, then. Nice.

"—Call me Aoba, okay?"

"…A…Aoba. Arigatou, Aoba…"

The memories…The memories were fading away…resembling a scattering vapour beneath the garden of growing wind.

'Ao…ba…'

'…Aoba.'

His voice echoed inside my mind. A slave…I still don't understand, I don't want to. No. I don't want to.