Tears of Despair:
Chapter 5: A clue
By: Liewe
Standard disclaimer’s apply, I only own Damien and Christof, and of course icky LeFave, and of course the poem which lies hidden in this chapter, please don’t take any of these without asking, my email is liewe@hotmail.com, just drop me a line.
Ariane fell back, her eyes wide as she stared at the unconscious man. His accusation could not be true, she could not be this Midii Une, she just couldn’t. Midii Une was murdered; she fell from a cliff, after being shot several times. She had family, she had friends, Ariane had none. But then the accusation had been made while the man, Wufei, was on the verge of slipping into numb oblivion, his body severely beaten.
“You’re insane,” she whispered softly, rising from the floor, her hands shaking.
“I’m insane,” she whispered again as she moved into the kitchen, her hands searching out the bottle of aged red wine she had purchased the night before.
“My name is Ariane Rougier,” she said as she pulled a wine glass from the cabinet, the crystal falling from her shaking fingers, shattering when it hit the tiled floor.
“This is just great,” she cried as she bent to pick up the broken pieces of crystal. “What else can happen?”
“What kind of imbecile can’t poor a glass of wine? What kind of imbecile?”
Ariane knelt there, her hands trembling as she picked up piece after piece, her body and mind in shock. Her mind wandered as she continued to clean up her mess, she didn’t notice as the ground became stained with red, blood flowing from her pale hands.
Her blue-gray eyes narrowed as the first hints of pain began to nibble at her consciousness, sharp pin pricks of pain, bringing her out of the daze she had fallen into. She gazed down at the blood stained crystal before turning to her hands, her mind cool and analytical as she grabbed the dishtowel from the counter, holding it between her hands trying to stem the flow of blood.
“I had to ask didn’t I?” She questioned ruefully as she moved through the small living room, her gaze drifting to the ebony haired man splayed out on her couch.
“Ariane, think clearly,” she scolded herself as she disappeared into the small bathroom, her crimson fingers searching the shelves for the illusive first aid kit.
“First I can’t pour a glass of wine, and then I cut myself because I begin to damn well day dream,” she scolded herself as she pulled slivers of glass from her hands, wincing with each tug as she focused on her task.
“The Savlon, where is it?” She questioned herself, once the wounds were clean, her movements jerky as the contents of the first aid kit fell to the floor and she searched for the blue and white tube of antiseptic ointment. She pounced on the illusive tube as she grimaced at the now blood stained objects on the once pristine marble floor. She quickly bandaged her hands, taking pains to place the gauze directly on the deep cuts.
Ariane moved back into the kitchen, the drops of crimson plain to see on the marble floor. She glanced at Wufei’s prone from once more, and was surprised to find her vision blurring.
“Maybe, I just need to sit down,” she whispered, as she stumbled across the living room, her attempt to reach the opened bottle of wine foiled as she fell to the floor, her breath coming in short shallow gasps, her vision blurring.
“Trowa…” she breathed the name in her sleep, her eyes closed as her breathing became shallow.
Wufei awoke with a jerk. His body ached, and his head pounded. As his vision began to clear he looked around the small luxuriously decorated living room. The chenille throw fell from his lap as he stood on unsteady limbs, his eyes focused on the shock of platinum hair, strands of pure gold, which was visible through the kitchen door way.
“Oh no…” Wufei whispered, as he moved with trepidation, following the crimson trail.
Crimson drops staining the pure white snow;
Stars sparkling in the midnight sky;
Skin as pale as virgin snow;
Pain felt through every pore;
Sorrow permeating every thought;
Agony tearing apart your heart.
She reread the words, again and again. Her mind picking up only one the key elements, flashes of memory blinding her as she tried to prepare.
The color of the blood which had fallen at her feet. She shuddered at the memory, her hand’s stilling, the brush poised above her lips as she blankly gazed at her reflection.
…Midnight…
Her eyes, midnight blue, contorted with memories, which threatened to overwhelm her at every moment of every day. The color of the night sky, the color under which she had betrayed her dearest friend.
…White …
Snow, innocence, and the color of her skin. The powder fell onto her pale cheeks as she continued to prepare, her mind already wandering towards the show.
Mind numbing, pain, tearing her apart as she watched and waited, her friends falling to the ground in crumpled heaps of bone.
…Sorrow…
Her heart painfully twisting, plummeting to the bottom of her stomach, a
feeling of dread and isolation taking over. She felt terrible about
betraying them, deep heartfelt grief at her actions.
…Agony
Heart wrenching agony, controlling and disabling.
She smoothed her cropped ebony locks as she made the final touch ups on her costume, a golden star adorning her cheek adding to the flair of her costume. She smiled at the thought of her costume, the bodice well fitting, a deep crimson color, the short skirt, a deep metallic midnight. The colors, which ruled her life, her new life.
“Crimson, it’s time,” a soft voice called, and she rose from her seat, her knives held tightly in her hands.
“Woman, wake up,” Wufei gently urged.
“Come on now,” he continued, shaking her form gently, his onyx eyes taking in the bandages on her hands. The once offish white color of the bandages rapidly being replaced by growing crimson stains.
“What did you do,” he asked as he noticed the blood stains trailing from what he could only suppose to be the bathroom. With a worried look, he quickly left her side, stumbling over the upturned contents of the first aid kit.
“This kind of mess could only be expected from a scatter brain,” he mused softly as he searched for the suturing kit, and extra bandages.
“Her hands look worse than Maxwell’s quarters during the war,” Wufei said in a mixture of disgust and pity.
He worked with practice as the long cuts were neatly sutured, the stitches neat and small. He winced at her soft groans of pain, her elfin face contorting in a progression of grimaces as the constant pain continued to nibble at her mind.
“How could someone do this,” Wufei questioned as he gently toweled her feverish brow with a cool flannel cloth similar to the one, which she had used earlier.
“To be without the one they love?” He whispered, his mind traveling back, images of soft midnight eyes, and brilliant golden hair.
“It destroys me without her, how do you survive without him?” his heart contracted at the memory’s of his lonely life, for a short time, he had held love in the palm of his hand.
“I let her go, and I would do anything to have her back. Would you do the same for him?” He asked, thinking of the speeches he had written, the poems, and letters.
“She’s hidden herself from me, just like you’ve hidden yourself from him. But do you even realize who you are?” Wufei asked gently, his lips brushing across her forehead in a feather like caress.
“You’ve done an excellent job hiding from him, an excellent job,” Wufei commented softly, his fingers brushing back her wayward bangs.
“Great show Crimson, you and the silent one did an excellent job,” one of the trapeze artists said as he moved past Crimson, a young woman on each arm.
“Thanks Armand,” Crimson said softly, a fake smile spreading across her face.
“He’s right Crimson, the throws get more accurate each day,” Trowa gently joked, the dead eyed knife thrower an enigma to his troubled mind.
“Oh really now,” Crimson mock snarled back, as she poked the usually silent clown in the side.
“Yes, really, I managed to keep my hair in tact this time,” Trowa responded, a niggling feeling of déjà vu coming to mind.
“You’re going to get it now,” she growled as she lobbed Trowa in the side again, her punch landing short as the agile clown darted away from her.
“Come back here,” Crimson hollered as she ran after Trowa’s retreating form.
“That was a good game,” Mariemaia said softly.
“Yeah, that last minute play was awesome,” Christof, said in reply, his blue-gray eyes following the path of the sun as it traveled across the blue sky.
“I’m glad the Devils won,” Damien piped up from the courtyard, his eyes twinkling with mirth, two cold beers in his hands.
“Are one of those for me?” Christof said pointing towards the cold cans in his brothers hands.
“Of course, little bro,” Damien said with a grin, tossing the can into the air.
“Why thank you,” Christof lightly replied.
“Any chance of a soda for me,” Mariemaia piped up, a soft grin on her face.
“Afraid not rug-rat, you have to get your own,” Damien said softly with a smile.
“Oaf,” she replied, pushing past the looming figure of the raggedy male.
“So you like the little rug-rat?” Damien questioned, his smirk widening as Christof doubled over, the beer spraying all over the stonewalls.
-To Be Continued…