there is no aftermath of his accident, no phantom pains that plague him every other step. he is inhuman, untouchable, above the vulgar masses that lie before him, the sharpness of his gaze and the fluidity of his movements unnatural and burning, fire and passion painted in red and gold and black designed to kill those unworthy to lay their eyes upon him.
he is sovereign, possessor of absolute control.
when the applause fades and the curtain falls, shu enters the stage. it's dark, the lights have all been turned off behind the curtain, and the only source of light, strangely, is in the centre of the stage. the heels of his boots click loudly over the wooden floor as he crosses over to the prone form of his perfect, beautiful muse, angelic and delicate and--
shu kneels, for a moment, grimacing, but there's nothing he won't do for his beloved muse, not when leaving such a beautiful, perfect doll on the ground is liable to leave it damaged. he scoops up his dangled form, cards his fingers through the soft, silken strands of blonde hair. ]
You did well. [ it's soft, affectionate, proud. the blonde hair obscures the doll's face, but it still lies listless, unmoving save for the occasional jerk when shu tugs lightly on the strings. ] You move so beautifully, so obediently, according to my every command--
[ and he sweeps the hair out of the doll's face, and shu freezes.
no.
because the doll is wearing nazuna's face, eyes blank and mouth closed and nothing like the nazuna that he knows, and it takes all of shu's willpower not to drop him. ]
Nito? Nito?! [ he's hoping that it will pull some kind of reaction from that blank, blank expression, but no. ] Nazuna, can you hear me?
no subject
there is no aftermath of his accident, no phantom pains that plague him every other step. he is inhuman, untouchable, above the vulgar masses that lie before him, the sharpness of his gaze and the fluidity of his movements unnatural and burning, fire and passion painted in red and gold and black designed to kill those unworthy to lay their eyes upon him.
he is sovereign, possessor of absolute control.
when the applause fades and the curtain falls, shu enters the stage. it's dark, the lights have all been turned off behind the curtain, and the only source of light, strangely, is in the centre of the stage. the heels of his boots click loudly over the wooden floor as he crosses over to the prone form of his perfect, beautiful muse, angelic and delicate and--
shu kneels, for a moment, grimacing, but there's nothing he won't do for his beloved muse, not when leaving such a beautiful, perfect doll on the ground is liable to leave it damaged. he scoops up his dangled form, cards his fingers through the soft, silken strands of blonde hair. ]
You did well. [ it's soft, affectionate, proud. the blonde hair obscures the doll's face, but it still lies listless, unmoving save for the occasional jerk when shu tugs lightly on the strings. ] You move so beautifully, so obediently, according to my every command--
[ and he sweeps the hair out of the doll's face, and shu freezes.
no.
because the doll is wearing nazuna's face, eyes blank and mouth closed and nothing like the nazuna that he knows, and it takes all of shu's willpower not to drop him. ]
Nito? Nito?! [ he's hoping that it will pull some kind of reaction from that blank, blank expression, but no. ] Nazuna, can you hear me?