Author's Note: Just a random story inspired by Catherynne M. Valente's short story "Fifteen Panels Depicting the Sadness of the Baku and the Jotai", which I found awesome. Anyway, the writing style isn't my usual style, but I decided to go with something dramatic for once. This is a romance story between a Chandelure and a Roselia in a world of empty darkness. Enjoy! ^^

Nothing

THE WROUGHT-IRON CANDELABRA

When Seedling awoke, he saw Nothing. Note that seeing nothing and seeing Nothing had altogether different meanings, because Seedling's Nothing was a place; a place of eternal darkness and emptiness that pressed on to you from every angle. Nothing was filled with nothing, but Seedling was so used to nothingness that he didn't mind living in Nothing, not even a bit – he minded not the darkness or the stillness or the emptiness that pressed on like an unwelcome wet cloak or the fact that your voice echoed like lonely surreal beings each time you spoke. When Seedling awoke, he saw his usual Nothing.

That, and the eyes of his lover.

The beautiful wrought-iron candelabra was hovering in front of him. She was made of rusty, dull metal and her biggest candle holder was of translucent glass, glowing with a curious but soothing-to-look-at purple flame. Lesser tongues of fire shone in her smaller candle holders, but her eyes were the real light – they were bright and full of kindness and curiosity and seemed to be born from her fire itself. Here was his only light in Nothing – he sole light that enabled him to see the pale red and blue roses.

Seedling jolted to a sitting position and swallowed, involuntarily gulping down a fresh wave of pain as along; a pain he knew and embraced. His throat croaked out a greeting, "H-hello, Ethel." And his voice echoed like lonely surreal beings.

He didn't bother to ask her what time it was, because in Nothing there was no such thing as time itself. Nothing ever stirs in Nothing – no wind blew, it was never day nor night, there was no movement, no light, except the curious purple one from the wrought-iron candelabra.

For a moment Ethel stayed, the sparks for eyes trained on him, watching silently, memorizing. She gave him repetitive up-and-down looks, silently scanning, memorizing, copying his outlines in her mind and letting the image burn into her translucent candle holder.

Finally she spoke. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I enjoy watching you sleep." Her vision traveled to the ground, like that of a schoolgirl who got caught staring at her crush.

Seedling only nodded, and each movement gave him more pain, but he didn't care. He was with the light of his life, so he didn't really care about the pain, neither the one that came with each breath nor the one that visited him with each nod.

Ethel went on, "It makes me happy to see that you have been able to sleep, because it is good for you. How are you feeling?"

Seedling said, "Fine."

But he was not fine, not in the least bit, for he was Broken.

BROKEN

Ethel was Broken. A crack ran across the translucent glass in a somewhat horizontal direction, like the ground after an earthquake, cracked and lined with deep abysses. Even so, it was this crack that became Ethel's smile, out of which her voice came, soothing and silvery yet whispery like the songs of ghosts. Seedling thought Ethel was perfect, crack and all.

But if Ethel was Broken, Seedling was even more so. He was as pale as a rose-scented ghost, and even so he was not as rose-scented as normal roses were supposed to be – he was a rose that had been squeezed of every spirit, heart, and soul to make the rose-scented perfume everyone wanted and didn't care if its making left him Broken, colorless, scentless for the rest of his life.

Ethel was Broken, but Seedling was even more so. He was so broken and ultimately unrepairable that every breath came with pain, every little movement gave him pain; pain was his everything, it has always been and will always be with him. His life has been flashes and glimmers of Nothing, pain, Ethel and pain, Ethel, Nothing, and Ethel, Nothing, pain and Broken, Broken, Broken, everything about him was Broken. Broken all the way, Broken till his end.

And then there was the scar.

It ran right through his right eye and it was jagged like a lightning. Seedling thought it made him look like a freak and "I wish it would just go away" and "I do not even remember how it came to be in the first place" and "why me", but Ethel thought it looked nice and that "it suits you". And if Seedling should go on complaining, she would shut him up with a gentle kiss on his Broken eye before wandering elsewhere – his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, her ethereal purple flame burning and hot, but Seedling never pulled away, he was never afraid he would catch fire.

And when Ethel finally broke off, she would whisper, "You are cracked. I am cracked. Do you not think we were meant to be?" followed by the most mainstream three-word phrase ever, to which Seedling would reply with the most mainstream four-word phrase ever.

TAKEN THE TOLL ON HIM

When the wrought-iron candelabra had asked him how he was feeling, he had said "fine".

Of course. He had always claimed he was fine. Ethel had heard the same "fine" over and over again starting from the one said in a strong, firm voice to the second and third and fourth and fifth "fine"s in a voice getting weaker and weaker and finally the last "fine" said in a very weak yet defiant voice just then.

Ethel knew he was not fine; she knew he was always in pain, and she knew he was always getting worse.

And Ethel actually knew why.

Now she hovered closer, taking a deep breath as if she was about to say some important yet mind-boggling things. No, what Ethel was about to say really was important... important and difficult.

"Do not lie to me, Seedling," she whispered. "Do not think I have not seen through all your 'fine's from the very beginning. Tell me the truth. You have always been in pain."

Seedling suddenly seemed to discover something very interesting to look at behind Ethel.

"Seedling... answer me."

His eyes switched back and locked with hers, and just like that, Ethel knew the answer even before he said it, as if there was a soundless language that enabled her to read the light in his eyes. Ethel's heart of burning purple softened.

"Yes," he said.

"You are in pain now," Ethel went on, her eyes still frozen on his, and the scar that ran across his right eye seemed to look like a crack, a smile...

"Yes," he said again.

Ethel asked her last question, and as she did so, the universe seemed to wait, for the usual silence that laced Nothing sounded even less.

"The pain... it has-" Her voice wavered, so she tried again. "It has grown worse and worse... And now it is immensely great and unbearable."

Seedling answered, "Yes and no."

Ethel's purple flame flared, and the area got a few degrees hotter, as if they were standing next to a blasting furnace. "Seedling..."

Seedling held up a frail red rose to keep Ethel from saying any more. Due to the sudden movement, a few pale petals - they were almost pink and faded - flew out of it like snow. Falling, falling... Ethel's eyes moved away from his and watched the petals instead. Falling. Falling.

And then Seedling spoke. "Yes, the pain is great. But no, it is not unbearable."

Ethel's flame calmed down, and the temperature returned to normal. "Seedling..." she said softly. She looked at him, she stared at him, at his scar, and she suddenly felt a sense of longing and desire. How she longed to bend down to his height and kiss the scar, the smile on his face...

But no.

She couldn't burn him, she wouldn't. She had to stop; after all these years, and especially because he was never afraid he would catch fire. She had to stop. This had taken a toll on him. She had taken a toll on him. Ethel knew she was responsible for things she could not help nor even begin to imagine.

"Go," she suddenly blurted, darting backward as if she had just discovered a poisonous snake. "You have to leave here. This place... It is not good for you."

Seedling stared at her with complete and utter confusion on his face. "Ethel?" he said uncertainly, not understanding why she had suddenly told him to leave.

Ethel took a deep breath and tried again. "Seedling. Look at you. You are as pale and bloodless as a ghost. Look at your roses. They are colorless, scentless, wilting, withering, they are like snowflakes; falling... Falling. Plants need sunlight to grow, Seedling. None of which you're getting here in Nothing."

Her voice caught in her throat when she said, "Open your eyes, Seedling. Look at yourself. You are dying."

He paused. Open your eyes; look at yourself; you are dying. He looked down at his roses and shook them a bit. Faded petals floated to the ground. Every breath came with pain.

She is right, an inner voice said. I am dying.

He smiled.

He looked up at Ethel again - she was trying to keep her distance from him, the purple flames crackling with sorrow.

"If that truly is the case," he said calmly, "if it is true that I am dying, then so be it. I myself do not feel different - I have never felt any difference as long as I am here with you."

At his answer Ethel suddenly cried out and it was a surreal-sounding cry indeed, somewhat like a song and a raven's ballad all rolled into one. She backed away when Seedling walked towards her, step by step by step...

"No! Seedling, stay back!" she wailed. "You have to listen to me. You have to leave Nothing. Without me. This is for your own good! Look for some sunshine..."

"You are my sunshine, Ethel." His eyes were fixed on hers. "You have always been my only light in Nothing."

Ethel whimpered like a cornered rabbit, backing away from him. Her purple fire blazed hotter, but that did not stop him from advancing towards her.

"N-n-no, stay back!" Ethel cried. "Stay back; I do not wish to hurt you!"

"You will not," agreed Seedling. "You have not, and I know you will not."

"You do not know!" Ethel suddenly broke down, her flames leaping out of her glass candle holder. "You say that but you actually do not know!"

The pretty work of iron burst into a fit of tears as if her biggest candle holder was instead a water holder with holes in it.

"Forgive me, Seedling. I should have told you the truth and I should have long ago," she sobbed. "The truth is, I have always known you were in pain. I have always known because I was... I was responsible for it."

Seedling took another step forward.

"Did you not hear me?!" she cried, moving backward a step. "I was responsible for your pain! It was not just because of lack of sunshine, but it was my doing, too! My fire... It feeds on life force. It has been feeding off you, leaving you weaker and weaker in its wake the whole time. But I never had the courage to send you away - I never had the heart to tell you to leave, because you are the only flowers of my life, Seedling. I love you. I need you."

More fat tears rolled onto the crack that had become her smile. She looked straight at him.

"But I understand now," she said firmly. "You must leave me, however lonely that will make me. You must go. You must go or you will die."

This time, to Ethel's relief, he stopped. He froze. His face, although it was blank, Ethel knew he was deep in thought.

"So..." he began. "Some of this is because of you?"

Ethel nodded miserably, shrinking and turning away. Seedling would certainly despise her now. She was the one who pushed him to the edge, until he was about to break. Although she was the one who had the fire in her, she was sure that at that time, Seedling's stare would melt her translucent glass and send heat through her iron works.

"And you have never told me?"

Ethel shook her head. Regret filled her candle holder, almost seeming to drown her flame in it, but not enough to douse it so Seedling wouldn't have to leave.

Seedling was silent. At that moment it was totally silent, the only sounds to be heard were Ethel's sobs. She imagined she was utterly alone. Alone in Nothing. Alone without Seedling. Alone with the crack across her translucent glass and her purple fire. Alone, so she wouldn't and couldn't hurt anyone else. She deserved to be alone. She deserved to be punished. It would be pleasure and it would be pain.

...And snow. Falling... Falling... Tinted pink.

Suddenly Seedling was beside her, leaning against her, feeling the heat against his cheek, his bloodless pale face glowing in her candlelight. Murmuring sweet nothings and whispers of "Ethel do not cry".

"Ethel do not cry," he whispered. "Ethel, do not cry. I will always be with you."

Exactly at that precious moment, something inside Ethel ultimately broke. She felt heat rushing up and down her iron works.

HEAT

The dam broke, they say, the dam broke. The water, the fire, was uncontrollable, uncontainable.

Ethel could not take it anymore. She did not understand. She was responsible for his pain. Why was he still being nice to her? Why did he not despise her? Why was he still here and not in some heavenly garden bathed in sunlight, if there was such a thing? Why was he murmuring sweet nothings and telling her not to cry instead? Why was he sitting so close to her? Was he not afraid he would catch fire? Why was he not afraid of burning?

She deserved to be alone. She deserved to be punished. She did not deserve this. She did not deserve him.

Ethel could not take it anymore. They say the dam broke; it did.

"Stay back," Ethel grunted, her voice different and alien to both of them. "Stay back or you'll g-get burned!"

However, Seedling's only reply was, "I would not worry about that if I were you."

Ethel's eyes opened wide. Suddenly, she found herself to be the one getting pushed close to the edge. She was about to break. She knew it.

They say the water overwhelmed the dam. They say the fire swallowed it up.

It did.

The next moment, Ethel felt the most powerful surge of heat flowing through her, inside her, and then it overwhelmed her translucent glass candle holder and poured out like water from a broken dam; over her own works of iron, over the ground, over the crack that became her smile, over Seedling, the only flowers of her life, over his Broken body, over his jagged scar that Ethel found rather nice.

They say the dam broke; it just did.

AFTERMATH

When Ethel awoke, she saw Nothing. And, as you already know, Ethel's Nothing was a place, a place where nothing ever stirs, where there was no such thing as time, where the only light came from her purple flame.

The place in which she was totally and utterly alone.

The dam had broken. The water was uncontainable. The fire was blazing. She had seen him burn before her very eyes. Now he was not just Broken. He was Nothing.

But then again, he had pushed Ethel to the edge. However many times Ethel had told him to go, he had not done what she had told him to do. When you play with fire, get ready to get burned.

Or maybe Ethel was only thinking that so she would not feel as guilty.

She knew it was her fault. She knew she deserved to be alone; she deserved to be punished.

Before she knew it, glistening teardrops were sliding down smoothly across the glass candle holder. They collected on the crack that was her smile. They shone purple in the light, making them look like tiny glittering amethysts.

Being alone. Oh how it was pleasure and how it was pain.

...

Unknown to Ethel, she was actually not entirely alone. Someone was beside her, leaning against her, feeling the heat against his cheek but without Ethel feeling anything in return, his bloodless pale face would have been glowing in her candlelight had it not been ghostly and transparent. He was murmuring sweet nothings and telling her not to cry.

End