Categories > Anime/Manga > D.N.Angel > my december
(interlude : a world without mirrors 01)
(This then is the past; unchangable and unchanging, frozen and perfect.
Dark walks along the gallery of his memories, brushing gently against the painted faces of Niwa now sleeping dreamlessly. Hello, my friends. Are you well are you happy now? I miss you.
The first of them, frozen in surprise, staring at something. Dark, maybe, or perhaps the Hikari of the time, standing above him as he crouched over his prize.
Someone else, gentle like Daisuke but not as strong, his back against a wall and holding something against his chest, wrapped in silk. Consumption took him, Dark remembers. He coughed and coughed and was always glad to transform because then for a while he could breathe. Dark had liked him.
Little Niwa boys, sometimes raised knowing their fate and sometimes not, as if not knowing what waited for them, watched over them as they learned their trade, would give them a little precious freedom. Daisuke toddling around, serious and earnest, learning the names of every work of art in the house, every lock ever made. Learning bolts and chains and handcuffs, learning the tricks for forcing a knot when someone was tying you up, the way to tell traps and pits and not get caught. Daisuke figuring out a new lock, Daisuke smiling, Daisuke learning to run and jump and dodge.
Niwa wives, Niwa daughters, brooded over and cared for until they left him again; Dark was always a little in love with them, he supposes. Girls coming into the Niwa house, dressed in heavy formal robes. Dark watching from the shadows as Niwa men smiled at them. Little girls running around, in geta and kimono in his earliest memories, then shoes and Western clothing, but always the prettiest girls in the world to Dark.
Emiko, his darling Emiko, his favorite of all the Niwa daughters, pulling the door open and stepping fearlessly into the treasure rooms, calling for him. Pleading, crying, why can't she be a thief too? Dark in the shadows, watching her helplessly. I'm sorry, little one. You can't, I can't, oh my pretty girl, don't cry. Don't cry. You're brave, you're a good girl, so please don't cry.
Hikari faces now, arrogant or tired or sad; Hiwatari's mother staring half-angrily at Emiko (why do you want him? why do you want to be Dark? her eyes say, why can't I stop looking at you?), the first Hikari with his pride and genius. Hiwatari staring at him, steady and intense. I won't let you have him, his face says. I'm tired but I have enough strength for this. Please, let it stop. I'm the last, haven't we paid enough?
Finally, and always, Krad.)
-----------------------------
Yes, this is part of the story line. Sort of. It'll make sense. Eventually. I think.
(This then is the past; unchangable and unchanging, frozen and perfect.
Dark walks along the gallery of his memories, brushing gently against the painted faces of Niwa now sleeping dreamlessly. Hello, my friends. Are you well are you happy now? I miss you.
The first of them, frozen in surprise, staring at something. Dark, maybe, or perhaps the Hikari of the time, standing above him as he crouched over his prize.
Someone else, gentle like Daisuke but not as strong, his back against a wall and holding something against his chest, wrapped in silk. Consumption took him, Dark remembers. He coughed and coughed and was always glad to transform because then for a while he could breathe. Dark had liked him.
Little Niwa boys, sometimes raised knowing their fate and sometimes not, as if not knowing what waited for them, watched over them as they learned their trade, would give them a little precious freedom. Daisuke toddling around, serious and earnest, learning the names of every work of art in the house, every lock ever made. Learning bolts and chains and handcuffs, learning the tricks for forcing a knot when someone was tying you up, the way to tell traps and pits and not get caught. Daisuke figuring out a new lock, Daisuke smiling, Daisuke learning to run and jump and dodge.
Niwa wives, Niwa daughters, brooded over and cared for until they left him again; Dark was always a little in love with them, he supposes. Girls coming into the Niwa house, dressed in heavy formal robes. Dark watching from the shadows as Niwa men smiled at them. Little girls running around, in geta and kimono in his earliest memories, then shoes and Western clothing, but always the prettiest girls in the world to Dark.
Emiko, his darling Emiko, his favorite of all the Niwa daughters, pulling the door open and stepping fearlessly into the treasure rooms, calling for him. Pleading, crying, why can't she be a thief too? Dark in the shadows, watching her helplessly. I'm sorry, little one. You can't, I can't, oh my pretty girl, don't cry. Don't cry. You're brave, you're a good girl, so please don't cry.
Hikari faces now, arrogant or tired or sad; Hiwatari's mother staring half-angrily at Emiko (why do you want him? why do you want to be Dark? her eyes say, why can't I stop looking at you?), the first Hikari with his pride and genius. Hiwatari staring at him, steady and intense. I won't let you have him, his face says. I'm tired but I have enough strength for this. Please, let it stop. I'm the last, haven't we paid enough?
Finally, and always, Krad.)
-----------------------------
Yes, this is part of the story line. Sort of. It'll make sense. Eventually. I think.
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