Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Black Flowers: Perfect Illusion ❯ Perfect Illusion ( Prologue )

A Black Flowers Fanfic By Pixie

((a fanfic written about a fanfic…just when we thought it couldn't get weirder))

Black Flowers does not belong to me! The characters were stolen with permission from their creator Klara! (Just thought I'd clarify that…)

Smile. Tristian, come on, smile. They are all expecting you to smile. Laugh at the bad joke. Come on Trissy, they're all expecting you to laugh. You can't let them down; they need you. That's a good boy.

I always was a good boy. I always did what I was told.

I always lived the perfect illusion.

I was an artist, a wonderful artist, unmatched by all. Well, almost all. Arienne, Eira, Cadell, Rhiamon, and Rayne, we each created our own paintings, our sculptures, crafting out our lives into this perfect illusion.

Sometimes, I forget. I forget what's illusion and what's real. Sometimes I forget that anything's real. And worse, sometimes, nothing's an illusion. All pain, all sorrow, all is real. It is then I am alone.

I closed my eyes. Sometimes the spinning slowed down if my eyes were shut, if I cleared my head. I fell into a blissful meditation, letting the world float by me.

I opened my eyes, letting the peace sink in. Sleep was out of the question, but that was ok. I didn't want to sleep. "Who am I? Who is Tristian? Deep down…am I anyone at all?" I shook my head. It wasn't time to think such thoughts. My soul was sliced, perhaps ruined beyond repair. I remember once, long ago, someone had given Eira a doll, just an old cloth one. I guess we'd been pretty young. The memory was in bits and pieces, scattered throughout my mind, but I remember her love for that thing. They way she held it, hugged it. She always kept a piece of her soul in tact, a part of her heart pure. Something happened…the doll was destroyed, ripped to pieces. I remember seeing Eira, crying, holding the bits and pieces of the doll. I remember hiding her…was that me? Did I hide her, so no one would see her tears? I remember unraveling a bit of a blanket for thread. I remember watching Arienne sew up the doll. We fixed that doll, but it was never the same…I compared the ruined doll to my soul. It could be shredded apart, sewn together, but it would never be the same, no matter how good, how neat the stitches were.

Arienne and I stitched the doll up. But when the time came, that we were too ruined to be loved any more…Who would be left to stitch us up?

Panic overwhelmed me at that thought. Right now I needed someone, anyone to hold me, to reassure me. I glanced out the window. Thousands of woman out there…I could have any of them. It was a powerful thought, but that wasn't what I needed. Not tonight. Tonight I needed someone who cared about me deeper, someone who, when I looked in their eyes, I would see love, understanding, compassion, and empathy. No girl in the world could look at me that way. I needed someone who would touch my soul, and let me know I was loved and I was needed.

"Tristian…" I turned around, ready to order away whoever was bothering me, but I stopped suddenly when I saw Rhiamon. He looked like a little boy who'd lost his puppy in the rain, and I saw my expression on his face, and expression of needing love, of needing to be held. In the illusion, it didn't matter that Rhiamon and I were related. It didn't matter who we were, or why we were there. It was simply two souls, searching for love and understanding within each other. He pressed up against me, his body warm, radiating with love, and I took his hand. I felt his lips gently press against my neck, and he led me away to his room.

"They won't understand, you know that, don't you Tristian?" I ignored him, and ignored the world and just let myself be held. I needed him now; I needed love. I didn't care if no one understood. No one had ever understood me, no one had ever saw through the illusion. Sometimes…you just need someone understanding to hold you, to whisper comforting thoughts in your ears. It doesn't matter who that person is, or where they came from. The world is full of hate, full of strife, of sorrow, of pain. Why not treasure the beauty it has?

I smiled up at Rhiamon, the sexy practiced smile, and saw the love in his eyes. Its all beauty, its all art, its all how you look at it. You've got to treasure the good and the bad, because you are learning from both, getting stronger. Within the perfect illusion, things are always ok. In my illusion, the world is growing brighter, as Rhiamon's arms and soul wrapped around me tight. In the perfect illusion, love is love no matter how you look at it.