Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Beyond the Looking Glass ❯ Dolls Part 2 ( Chapter 11 )

Beyond the Looking Glass

Chapter 3: Dolls

 

Author's Notes: Yay, I wrote seventy pages more this year than last year! This chapter is sooo much longer than it should have been, but each part of this chapter holds vital information about the past. The title `dolls' isn't just for the child ghost looking for his doll, it's about the control traditions had over Duo's life, and death, and his vulnerability against those traditions. As the ghosts allude to at the end of the introduction, Heero and his friends are all dolls to be played with and broken.

 

There's no way I'm going to get the next part out before Sunday, so Happy Halloween!

 

Don't forget that I will only be working on Violence plus Sex equals Love all November.

 

Part 2

 

 

“Houses are alive. This is something we know. News from our nerve endings.

If we're quiet… if we listen… we can hear houses breathe. Sometimes in the depth of the night, we hear them groan. It's as if they're having bad dreams.

A good house cradles and comforts. A bad one fills us with instinctive unease.

Bad houses hate our warmth, our humanness. That blind hate of our humanity is what we mean when we use the word “haunted.””

-Rose Red

 

 

 

*****

 

 

It felt like he was falling backwards, like he had when he had fallen down those stairs, only there were no stairs to fall over, only emptiness. He felt cold, colder than he had ever felt in his entire life, but mostly, he just felt wrong. His skin prickled, as though he were being pinched all over, and his head felt like it was on fire. It felt as though minutes, hours, days, and weeks were passing him by, all in the span of a second. That sensation alone was almost enough to drive him mad. Then, he felt flat floor under his feet and it was as though he hadn't been falling at all. The memory of the doll, slowly rising to its feet and stumbling towards him, was sharp and vivid. He frantically reached behind him for his gun, the gun which he hadn't even thought to use until now, but he quickly realized that there was no doll.

There were no dolls at all, actually. No shattered workbenches, no broken wall, no pain, either. Some part of him knew that he was not ok. The doll had taken a large bite out of his neck and he was bleeding, but for some reason, it seemed far away, as though it had happened to another person. Or rather, he was no longer connected to his body. He should be shocked that the room he was looking at was completely different from the room with the hanging dolls, but he was more relieved than anything. More than the carnivorous doll, he didn't want to see that boy anymore. He didn't want to look into those flat, piercing eyes. Eyes that could look into your soul with gleeful accuracy, and no sympathy or human empathy.

The smell was familiar, the smell of wood and age, but there was no scent of something rotting or dust. Though the smell of age was there, it was lessened. At first, Odin thought it was tempered by the cleanliness of the room, the fact that it was well maintained, but then realized that it was because the age itself was less. The wood that made up the room was lighter, not broken or rotted or faded. The wood was still old, though, but more like the place had been built decades ago, not centuries. Among the smell of wood were two other distinct smells, one sweet, the other hot and thick, the smell of food. Such a smell didn't belong in the old mansion that he had entered. It made him realize how hungry and cold he really was. The sweet smell was earthly, the smell of flowers, but not like cut roses. It was lighter and reminded Odin of the large cherry tree he had seen before he had entered the house.

The room was big. Not huge, but bigger than the workshop and the pit with the broken floor. IT was a bedroom. There were expensive touches to it, scrolls depicting beautiful watercolor scenes, a dresser made of thick, glossy wood. The flat floor wasn't wood, like he had thought at first, but made of tatami. The mats were softer than any other tatami that Odin had walked on before, obviously made differently. The colors of the room were different than what he had experienced so far in Japan, bright and lush. There were several toys about the room, but the space looked neat, unlike a usual child's room. A well-loved, bright red ball sitting in one corner caught his eye, but Odin wasn't sure why it seemed to draw him in, besides its color. There was a pretty little paper lantern that had tiny butterflies cut out of the paper, to make shapes when it was lit. It wasn't lit now, daylight streaming through one, circular window. Odin was more interested in the futon near the lantern, and the person laying in it.

His heart chilled. The boy with the long hair and the white kimono was there, his eyes closed, and a large amount of blankets wrapped around him. Odin thought of his gun again, but something stopped him from actually reaching for it. Something was wrong with all of this. Not just the lack of age or the different room, but the boy himself. His skin was still pale, but compared to the little boy that had looked up at him in the darkness of the pit room, it was flush with color, a light peach tone. His hair was mussed and sweaty, his face reddened. The blankets were up to his neck, so Odin couldn't tell if he would have those terrible cuts, but he didn't think so. The boy was breathing heavily, in whooshing pants, as though it were hard for him to take each breath. Odin easily saw the signs of a bad fever and seeing the boy's small chest, covered in blankets, rise and fall with each choked breath was painful. This boy... he wasn't the same as the other one. He was alive, vibrant, though ill. Odin didn't feel the chill and the fear that that other boy gave him, just a strong sense of sadness and regret.

Another boy walked to the little brunette's bed, kneeling down on his knees and regarding him tensely. He looked a few years older than the sick boy, his hair thick and a deep, dark brown. Odin would have guessed that, unlike the long haired boy, this boy was purely Japanese, if it weren't for his dark blue eyes. Given the expensive items of the room, Odin knew that the sick boy belonged to a wealthy family and noticed that the blue-eyed boy was probably a servant. He wore a very simple, dark blue yukata that wasn't poor or old, but not as luxurious as the next man who came into the room. He wore robes that Odin believed were close to Shinto, though he couldn't be sure, and looked very expensive. He was middle aged, his hair a dark grey, his eyes a light brown. He looked mostly European, with some Japanese thrown in. He walked with importance, a sense of power around him. However, when he looked down at the boy in the futon, his gaze seemed to soften with emotion. Odin thought that the man looked worried. The blue-eyed boy took the younger boy's hand in his, holding it lightly, clasped between his two tan ones.

“Teishu-san,” he murmured and Odin realized that this boy was even more worried about the younger one than the man was.

The boy on the futon cracked open his eyes until they were half lidded. They, like the boy that had tormented Odin, were blue-violet, but they were prettier now. They weren't dark and flat, but lively. They looked hazy with fever, but he imagined that, in better health, they would be bright.

“Told you not to call me that, Heero,” he rasped.

Heero smiled down at the boy apologetically. For a moment, Odin was struck by the softness and care in the boy's smile, a boy who seemed so quiet. That smile seemed so rare to him, as though he knew, somehow, that Heero was usually cold, focused, and stern, usually unmoved and uncaring towards other people. The type of person who cared only for duty, for what he had to do, and not so much why he had to do it. Odin could certainly understand that sort of personality.

“Duo,” Heero corrected himself, “How are you feeling?”

The longhaired boy, Duo… it was almost strange to put a name to the child that had led him through the dark tunnel, who had no warmth or affection, who had, certainly, brought him to his death. It was even stranger to see that boy become relieved by Heero's touch and voice. Children were so often frightened by illness and a in a time when medicine wasn't so readily available or accurate, Duo had reason to be frightened, but seemed to trust the older boy. Duo was uncomfortable equating the feverish, scared little boy in front of him with the other one.

“… Hot,” Duo whispered, his eyes slipping closed as though he didn't have the strength to keep them open anymore.

The man approached the two boys, his expression sharp and stern, not quite cold, but authoritative.

“Heero,” he said and to Odin, his tone sounded more like a boss about to scold his employee than an adult addressing a child.

Heero turned, got on his knees again, and bowed deeply, but one of his hands did not leave Duo's, twisted and obviously uncomfortable by the new position. Still, he didn't let him go.

“Shujin-sama, (1)” Heero greeted.

The man gave Heero an appreciative nod, seeming to be both glad and unhappy with the blue-eyed boy's presence at Duo's bedside.

“You will leave now, Heero,” the man ordered.

Heero seemed shocked by this, his deep blue eyes widening. He looked torn between not wanting to disrespect and disobey the man in front of him, and not wanting to disregard his personal and professional duty by leaving Duo.

“Matsuei-shujin… I don't understand what you are ordering me to do,” he protested.

“You are to leave my son's room and not return for the time he is ill,” Matsuei clarified, not upset at Heero's questioning.

“Duo needs me!” Heero argued heatedly, his fear of his master being overriden by his concern for his charge, “I'm his Guard, I have be here for him!”

“Precisely the reason why you must leave,” Matsuei said coldly, “Duo will need you when he is well and you will not be of use if you are sick from his contagion. There is nothing you can do for him now that his nurse cannot.”

Heero looked up Duo's father, his blue eyes piercing, but Odin could see that the boy was going to relent to the man's logic. He turned to Duo, that piercing look still there, but combined with a deep worry, an almost panic at the thought of leaving. Duo's face was slightly pinched, his breathing deeper from obvious stress from the heat of his fever. He picked up a cloth that was by the longhaired boy's bedding and dipped it in a basin of cold water. He seemed to have dismissed his master's presence, completely focused on the ill boy. He gently put the wet cloth on Duo's forehead, pushing back his long bangs. Duo moaned lightly in happiness at the feeling of cold. He opened his eyes blearily again and very weakly gripped the hem of Heero's yukata as it hung over the blue eyed boy's bent legs.

“Heero…” he begged breathlessly, “… don't go…”

Heero chewed on his lip, torn on what he should do, but managed a smile.

“I won't be gone long,” he promised, “Listen to your nurse and you will be well again, soon. You can see me again, then. When you aren't contagious anymore, we'll watch the cherry blossoms together.”

Duo pouted childishly, letting go of Heero's clothing.

“Don't want nurses,” he whined, “You take care of me better.”

Heero's smile grew and he patted Duo's head.

“I'll bring you something nice when you're better,” he told him, “Just rest.”

Duo looked away from him, anxious about something.

“Heero…” he murmured hesitantly, “What… what if I don't get better? If I die… what will happen to my family? What will happen to you?”

The child sounded honestly frightened and Odin puzzled over the twin looks of fear on Heero and Matsuei's face. Were they just afraid for Duo's life? Was he really that sick? Was that what had happened to him? Was that other boy a ghost? But, those cuts…

“Don't speak that way,” Matsuei snapped at his son, “You have enfluenza, nothing more than that. Do not concern yourself with such questions.”

Duo nodded, but there was a chill in the room, his question lingering in the air with a seriousness that Odin couldn't understand.

“You won't die,” Heero said, his voice much softer and kinder than Matusei's, “Your father is right. You've been sick since yesterday and your nurse says you should be feeling better by tomorrow.”

“I will die,” the violet eyed boy murmured, so low that only Heero and Odin could hear, “I'll die… maybe not today… but I'll die.”

The chill that was in the room settled around Odin's heart, gripping the organ. Those words weren't the words of a child scared of being sick. They were the words of someone who knew their own death, someone with terminal cancer or looking some terrible enemy in the face. Duo spoke with fact, not fear, and it made Odin feel sad and confused at the same time. Heero was looking at his charge like he was searching desperately for some comforting words, but couldn't think of any. The blonde assassin watched as Heero and Matsuei left the room, leaving Duo alone with his heavy breathing and look of resignation.

As though someone had flipped a switch, things changed. To his relief, the room was the same, but little things were different. The sun was gone, the light replaced with the lantern's flickering flame, casting tiny butterflies on the dark walls of the bedroom. The water basin by Duo's bed had been refilled at some point. There were several cups near it, all of them empty, a few tipped over. They smelled of tea, milk, and honey. The boy in the bed was still breathing with rasping pants, his eyes closed, but Odin didn't think he was asleep. The washcloth that Heero had put on his forehead had fallen to the side of the futon. Odin knelt down near Duo's head, studying him.

He just looked like a normal kid to him, but he knew that wasn't true. There was a strange sadness to the boy's expressions, an almost maturity and deep loneliness. Duo's chestnut bangs moved up and down from his heavy breaths. Everything was telling Odin that this wasn't real. This wasn't his time, not with the way these people acted and the clothes they wore. And yet, it was so vivid, so real. He felt as though, if he were to reach his hand out right now, he could touch those silky, sweat-soaked bangs. The door to the room slid open and Heero walked in, quietly closing the door behind him. Odin felt an odd relief at seeing him. For a moment, he wondered if the things he were feeling were really his feelings, that relief, feeling that Heero was naturally stern and cold… he shouldn't know or feel those things.

Still, he supposed it was logical. This wasn't his time and these images had to come from somewhere. Besides, Duo was all alone here, not even a nurse was sitting by his bedside. Shouldn't someone be watching him? He could easily imagine the little boy's loneliness. At his age, sitting alone with a fever had to be frightening. Though Heero had a white cloth wrapped around his nose and mouth, he didn't seem all that concerned about Matsuei's warning that Duo was contagious. The older boy was inexplicably carrying two boxes, a small white one and a large one wrapped with blue paper and a white bow. He put them down next to Duo's futon as he kneeled there. Duo really hadn't been sleeping and looked up at him, surprised by his presence. His eyes weren't glassy anymore and his face wasn't as red, his fever starting to fade.

“Heero?” he whispered, “Shouldn't be here…”

Heero shook his head.

“I was careful. With this,” he pointed to the cloth, his voice slightly muffled by it, “and making sure your father wouldn't catch me. Besides, it's your birthday tomorrow.”

Duo's eyes seemed to brighten and become more alert by his friend's presence, the fear becoming dull and distant.

“How old are you going to be anyway?” Heero teased.

“Eight!” Duo exclaimed proudly, then sobered, “Three more years,” he murmured.

The second of energy diminished and darkness filled Heero's eyes, he looked pained. He fought a smile onto his face, though, and glanced at the boxes. Duo's gaze followed his and his mood seemed to improve again.

“Those mine?” he asked with shyness, as though he were afraid that Heero would take them away.

“Of course they are,” Heero snorted, “Who else do I like enough to go into town and spend my money on?”

Duo's violet eyes widened, the flickering light catching the deep purple colors in his eyes.

“You got them in town?” he asked in shock, looking at the boxes like a unicorn had pranced into the room.

Heero nodded.

“Which is why you have to hide them from your father, alright?” he said.

Duo nodded seriously, but though gifts from town were obviously taboo for some reason, he still looked at them happily. What sort of place was this, Odin wondered. A prison? Heero helped Duo sit up, propping pillows under his back, and put the bigger box on his lap. Duo touched the blue paper lightly, marveling at it as though he had never seen a present wrapped that way in his life, or maybe he was just enthralled with the idea of something that was wrapped in town, away from the mansion that he was clearly imprisoned in. He slowly unwrapped the large box and opened the lid of the white package. When he saw what was inside, he squealed with delight that only a child could feel.

“Dolly!” he said happily.

Odin felt chilled and stood sharply, only to breathe in relief when the boy pulled out a stuffed bear, not the terrible, wooden doll. The teddy bear was a cute, beautiful, and expensive thing, reminding Odin of the Steif bears that he had seen as a child. It's fur was lush, a light chestnut, and it's eyes were two, blue-violet buttons. The bear was about a third of the size of the soon-to-be eight year old and was unadorned except for a bell tied above one of its feet by braided, red, satin strings. Duo wrapped his arms around it and hugged it tightly, snuggling against its soft fur, obviously in love with the bear already. Odin looked around and realized that Duo didn't have any stuffed animals at all among his toys. It made some sense. If Duo wasn't allowed toys from outside the mansion, unless someone in the house knew how to make stuffed animals, he wouldn't have any.

` `Dolly'…' Odin suddenly realized, `Was this what that boy wanted me to find? Was that why he was so angry when I showed him that wooden doll? Because he really wanted this teddy bear?'

Heero chuckled at Duo's excitement.

“Not a doll,” he corrected, “Westerns call it a teddy bear.”

His smile turned distant and slightly pained, lost in some memory.

“My father used to travel west. My mother came from the west and he enjoyed visiting her people. When he returned, he would often bring me one of these bears as a gift, since I couldn't travel with him,” Heero told Duo, touching one of the bear's rounded ears.

Duo touched Heero's hand, his expression comforting and warm, sympathizing with the older boy's pain. Odin realized that, with Heero's pained look, his father was probably dead or had abandoned him.

“When he came back home with those bears,” Heero murmured, “I was so happy,” he gave Duo an affectionate look, “I wanted you to feel that, too, Teishu-san. I know you're lonely sometimes, and I can't be with you all the time, especially not when you have your sacred duties to perform.”

For once, Duo didn't scold Heero for calling him teishu, simply hugging his bear tighter and nuzzling it. Heero continued to have an affectionate smile as he reached for the second box, happy that Duo liked his gift. Odin wondered at that. It looked like Duo's father was the head of this mansion, which meant that Duo was filthy rich, but he didn't act spoiled. The bear looked expensive, but not something that a rich boy would settle with, yet Duo looked so happy with it. Was he really that lonely, that he could be happy with a sincere gift from a friend, even if it was simple? Heero gave the box to Duo, who continued to keep the bear tucked in one arm.

“It's cheesecake with strawberries and sauce,” Heero told him, “From the same shop I bought from during the Fall Festival. I remembered how much you loved it.”

Duo opened the box with glee, finding a large piece of fresh, plain cheesecake, drizzled with sugary, strawberry sauce with slices of ripe strawberries on the side. Duo loved fruit, but strawberries and apples were his favorite. Again, Odin was struck with the impossibility of that knowledge, but was starting to let go of his confusion. He was starting to understand that, in this place, there wasn't anything that was outright impossible. If Duo's thoughts and knowledge was in his head, there wasn't anything he could do but accept it.

Or maybe it was this house. Maybe its memories of Duo were locked inside and it was broadcasting them, perverting Duo's ghost into something horrific, and remembering the people who had lived within, little, trivial facts about them. He didn't think that there were actual rules about hauntings. Odin watched, feeling like a voyeur at this point, as Heero fished a fork out of the tie around his yukata, handing it to Duo. Duo didn't seem to have much trouble holding the fork, but considering his European features, he was probably familiar with a few Western things.

“Share?” Duo asked Heero, his eyes large and pleading.

Heero looked torn. He knew that he would have to pull down the cloth and sharing food with Duo would increase the risk of him catching Duo's flu, but he wanted to make him happy. He steeled himself and nodded, Duo's immediate, beaming smile relaxing him. Heero found a tray of dishes on the other side of Duo's futon, which his nurse hadn't taken yet, and found a clean spoon that Duo should have used to eat his soup. Odin got an impression that Duo liked to drink his soup and not use a spoon, something that his father frowned upon. The two boys sat together and took small chunks out of the cheesecake, both looking content and happy, but Odin knew it wasn't just from the sweet desert.

Out in the hallway, Odin heard a creaking sound from someone walking close to the door. It was so like the creaking he had heard much, much earlier, above his head, that he almost flinched. A light came from under the door and both Duo and Heero held their breaths, but the light passed. Heero breathed with relief.

“I should go,” Heero said mournfully.

They shared a sad look and Odin, who was far from prone to having sentimental feelings, nearly felt heartbroken about it. He wasn't sure if that was because of the supernatural forces, the same ones that were giving him these memories and impressions, or if the two boys really looked that lonely. The cheesecake was all gone and Heero gathered up the boxes and wrapping paper, eager to dispose of them before Duo's father saw them. He took the cloth he had wrapped around his mouth and tucked it into the belt of his yukata, no longer needing it. He put his hand on Duo's still hot forehead, but quickly removed it, smiling at him.

“Happy birthday, Duo,” he murmured and started to walk towards the door.

“Heero!” Duo gasped after him, his sore throat making it impossible for him to speak very loudly.

Heero stopped and looked back at him, worried that Duo might be in pain, but his charge was smiling, hugging his present tightly.

“I love my bear,” Duo said softly, his smile somehow shy and bright all at once.

Heero beamed back at him, then opened the sliding door, looking both ways to make sure the no one would see him coming out of Duo's room. He quietly left, closing the door behind him. Odin watched as Duo's happy expression fell as soon as the door closed, like a puppet whose strings had been brutally slashed. The little boy tugged his pillows until he was able to lay flat again, and curled up on his side. Clutching his bear tightly, his face still red and his pretty eyes starting to become wet with tears, he looked utterly miserable. The tears fell down his cheeks in thick torrents, tears of complete anguish, not just a temper tantrum. Tears that made Odin's heart ache. The boy buried his face in the bear's dark fur, but his thin shoulders continued to shake.

“I know I have to die,” Duo said with shuddering breaths through his sobs, “I know… that's the only reason why I was I born at all. I told Heero that I wasn't scared, because it's something I have to do, but… even though I know it's something that I have to do… I'm scared… I lied… I'm so scared…”

The child sobbed heavily. The flickering of the lantern's candle seemed to sympathize with his sorrow, casting wild shadows and sharp light, although there was no wind in the bedroom to make it flicker this way and that. It reminded Odin of the trap door that hadn't been there one minute and had materialized the next. Something impossible, but so easily ignored or reasoned. Duo lifted his head and stared at his bear as though the bear was a living thing.

“Daddy says that it's going to hurt,” he whispered at the stuffed animal, “And after, it'll hurt even worse, and it hurts forever. He says that the Darkness hurts and keeping it back is like getting ripped apart in every direction. I'll feel it always and always. It goes here,” he pointed to the middle of his chest, not the left side where his heart really was, a childish mistake, “It wraps around you and shows you things. It finds the cracks in your heart and fills them and twists them and if you break, everyone dies.”

Duo swallowed roughly, not wiping at his tears that dripped down his neck.

“If I'm not strong,” he murmured, “Everyone will die. Heero, Mommy, Daddy, the town, and then, everyone else in the whole world. But I'm not strong. I'm a crybaby!” he said bitterly, “When I fall down or hurt myself, I always cry! How can I keep the Darkness back? I don't understand what I'm supposed to do! Daddy won't say, just “you'll know when you face it”! I'm not supposed to doubt or want anything. But… but I do… I don't want to fail and I don't want to go there, into that dark place, forever. I want to stay here, with Heero, and Mommy and Daddy. I… I don't want to die… Those feelings are bad. I'm special, I have to be stronger than anyone else. It's my duty. You'll keep the Darkness away, won't you, Teddy?” Duo pleaded, “You'll stop me from being afraid… the dark place is scary and full of monsters… but I have to face it… I have to… to be like Heero. Have to be strong… even if there are monsters…”

Duo's voice tapered off, starting to become weak from sickness and his stormy emotions. The boy's words were mature, speaking of a great responsibility, but his pleads to his teddy bear to make the monsters go away was so normally child-like, it was painful to listen to. Odin couldn't even begin to understand what he was talking about, but it sent chills through him. He had this sudden image of this little boy trapped someplace dark, filled with terrible things. The stuff of every child's nightmare. And his father was asking him to go there, without any doubt or fear, or they would all die. To put such a responsibility on the shoulders of an eight year old…

The coldness grew, filling his veins, like the coldness from before… there was that prickling feeling, too, and his head was on fire. He was going back, he realized with fear. He didn't want to. He wanted to stay here, where the ghost was just a sad child and the room looked new instead of ancient, smelling of hot food and the scent of flowers, not rot and dust. He knew what was waiting for him if he went back. He took the glock out of the back of his pants, even though he knew it wouldn't do him much good. He didn't fall this time. Odin could see the workshop under the bedroom, like a superimposed image, and as that feeling of cold increased, like a snake around his heart, the workshop seemed to seep into the room and filled it until the child and the walls filled with butterflies from the lantern disappeared completely. It was as though Hell had oozed through the wood.

He could feel sharply, while before he had only been dimly aware of it, the hot blood running down his neck again. His almost-healed bullet wound was soaking his shirt with blood, too, but he couldn't remember it reopening. With quick reflexes, Odin shot the doll the second he saw its shadowy form. The bullet struck the doll on the side of the face, some wood flying off in sharp shards. It fell to the floor again, but Odin didn't feel any relief, remembering how quickly it had gotten up last time. How did you kill a doll? Maybe with fire, but he didn't have any. And even then…

His killer instincts had the hair on the back of his neck rising, screaming at him that there was something else, something different in the room. He whirled at a flash of white in the corner of his eye, seeing a figure standing by the mirror wearing a pure, white kimono. The braid trailing down its back told him what he was looking at, even though the being wasn't a child. It's shoulders shook and Odin struggled to see its reflection in the mirror. He didn't want to get close to it. Still, he approached it slowly, stepping to the side so he could see its face.

In his teenage years, Duo had matured from an adorable child to a beautiful boy. This… specter was crying, just like the living child had been. This Duo, however, was very much dead. The ghost seemed transfixed with what Odin thought was his reflection in the mirror, still not able to see the mirror in its entirety, one bloodless hand pressed against the flat surface. Suddenly, those eerie violet eyes slid over to Odin, finally noticing him. Odin felt a shock from that, but not the fear he had felt in seeing the ghost child. There was something about this teenager that was terrible, but he didn't feel threatened for some reason.

“Murderer,” the ghost accused bitterly, his voice distorted and raspy, sending more chills through the assassin.

Something prickled inside of him at the insult. In the past, he might have defended himself. He wasn't a killer. He did a job, that was all. Now, he realized that he had no words to deny that. He was a murderer. There were no shades of grey. The understanding in those dead eyes told him that. The ghost looked at his hidden reflection again.

“You're a murderer,” the ghost murmured, “As I am.”

Horrible things flashed through Odin's mind, each worse than the last. Five old men hanging from ropes wrapped around their necks. A little blonde girl, her small body stashed in a closet and slashed, as though by a bear or some other large predator. A beautiful woman with two blonde braids, her stomach ripped apart, like she had swallowed a bomb. Or something had tried to crawl out of her. A man, all skin and bones, mangled and covered in blood, holding the head of a woman. Birds feasting, tearing strips of remaining flesh off an unrecognizable, man-sized corpse. Odin grabbed at his pounding head, trying hard not to vomit.

“Stop it!” he screamed.

So many dead… it was as though this house had been built on the bones of so many corpses… and this boy was saying that he had done it. He couldn't believe it at first, that the sweet little boy that had cried, clutching a teddy bear, had killed anyone. But then, he remembered the flat-eyed child, peering at him through the darkness like a cat at a mouse, and he could believe it easily. The older ghost seemed unperturbed by Odin's screaming and his eyes fell on the doll, still lying on the floor in a heap.

Blue-violet eyes that had only been filled with sorrow became angry as he stared in contempt at the doll, almost like a bitter child. It made Odin realize that, though this Duo was clearly older than the one in the vision and the one that had been haunting him, he was still very young, too young. Those eyes were not the eyes of a living person. They were flat and haunted, not the eyes of a corpse, but filled with a sort of anguish that no living person could possibly feel, but seeing that irritation and bitterness directed towards the wooden doll, the ghost suddenly seemed shockingly, and paradoxically human. It was a freakish thing, a crime against nature and reality.

Odin followed Duo's heated gaze and watched in astonishment as the wood of the doll started to blacken, as though time was being sped up in some kind of pocket around the doll. It's wooden frame split and cracked, it's limbs making loud snapping sounds, the sound of bones breaking, as they splintered from some malevolent force. It was hideous and too easy to think of the doll as a living thing being tortured. It brought bad memories to Odin, of those rare times when he had had to 'persuade' people to give him information about his targets. For the first time in his life, guilt struck him. He understood it then, seeing that doll and remembering the terrible things the spirit had shown him. Duo wasn't just a ghost... he was a force of nature. Odin had sealed his own fate the second he had decided to come up here. He was going to die... just like all those people he had seen in his mind. He didn't know what was more terrifying, the pain he knew that he was going to experience in this lonely place, or how helpless he was to do anything about it.

Something bright flashed in Odin's vision and he got the impression of a sharp, biting cold like ice, then an intense heat. For a moment, he thought the room was on fire, then, the vision sharpened, like a camera coming into focus. There lanterns made of delicate, bright red paper, all lit and blinding to him. His vision was blurry, as though he were crying and he couldn't make out most of the room. Duo, as a child, was standing there next to Heero, whose back was as straight as a rod and looking stern. Duo's white kimono was plastered to him with water and he was shivering with cold. The kimono was no longer a pure white, but a dingy whitish-brown. His right arm was bandaged heavily and in a sling, obviously broken. His fingers on his left arm were bruised so deep, they were black. He looked like he was going to cry, but was holding back his tears.

In the far wall of the room was a small hearth that was lit, the flames casting an orange-red glow on the two boys. Matsuei and a woman stood by it, their expressions pinched with an irritation that only parents could express, about to scold a child for doing something forbidden. The woman was beautiful, just a head's shorter than Matsuei, her blonde hair done up in an elegant, oriental style, an ornamental hair comb in a flower pattern used to keep it pinned up. Her skin was almost as pale as Duo's was, her eyes a crystalline blue. Unlike Matsuei, she didn't have a drop of Japanese in her, looking mostly European, but she wore an elegant, long-sleeved kimono, a deep blue with pink sakura on it, the obi a contrasting orange. She stood elegantly, a woman of class and privilege, but didn't seem stuck up or arrogant. The way she looked at Duo, and the similar, pretty features of her face and the older ghost's easily told Odin that the woman was Duo's mother, Matsuei's wife.

Matsuei's expression was hard and cold, almost angry, though if he was, he seemed to have a great deal of control over it. When his brown eyes looked at Heero, the boy lowered his head in shame. While Duo was shivering from cold and pain, Heero was outright trembling with poorly repressed self-loathing and fear. Clutched in Matsuei's hand was Duo's bear, but it was as wet as Duo was, filthy with dirty water and algae. With a careless, almost cruel flick of his hand, he threw the bear into the fire.

“No!” Duo cried out in anguish, trying to run forward to save his precious toy, but Heero grabbed his good arm, keeping him back.

“Duo,” his mother admonished, approaching him with a kind, but frustrated look, “It's ruined. You can't keep such a filthy thing.”

In the fire, the bear's soft fur burned up quickly and the cloth curled and blackened. It's button eyes, covered in ash, seemed to gaze out of the flames accusingly.

“That's not why you're burning it!” Duo yelled angrily, “It was my teddy! I don't care if he was dirty, he was mine!”

“Your uncle can make you a new doll,” she told him, her voice becoming sterner and Odin thought her tone was spiked with some fear, but he wasn't sure if that was fear of her own child or something else, “A better one. One that is more appropriate for you.”

“I don't want one of Uncle's ugly dolls!” Duo screamed in a childish tantrum that was filled with true anguish, beyond simply a child wanting a toy, “I want my teddy! It was a gift, something special! I don't want anything else!”

Panic and a dark fear came over his mother's expression, turning her pretty face into something ugly. She struck him, open handed, across his face. Duo looked up at her in shock, unable to believe that his mother had hit him, but his tears seemed frozen, brimming in his eyes. She knelt down and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him harshly. Duo's eyes squeezed shut as the shaking hurt his arm.

“You cannot talk in such a way!” she demanded harshly, “Do you understand me, Duo?! You are the mirror sacrifice, you can never have such thoughts, such selfish desires! It is wrong and you will turn your mind from such foolishness at once!”

Something indescribable and just as ugly as the look on his mother's face came over the boy. Odin thought that it was hate.

Just as quickly as the vision had come to him, it was gone and he was back in the workshop. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, hoping to keep the visions away, but he knew that it had nothing to do with his sight. The older ghost was still there and it was looking into the mirror again, it's hand flat on the surface.

“Murderer,” the ghost accused his reflection and Odin felt something sharp dig deep into his heart.

Suddenly, as though a cloud had lifted, Odin could see into the mirror. He could see Duo's reflection. But... it wasn't really his reflection. At a glance, it could be, but Odin was close enough to see the truth. It was the same size and shape as Duo, the same long, chestnut hair and blood splashed, white kimono. It's eyes were different, though. The same shade of violet, but darker in their expression. They weren't haunted, but filled with malice. There was no regret, no sorrow there, but a kind of glee, as though this reflection was watching Duo's pain and hearing his accusation of murderer and finding pleasure in it. There was a cruel smile on its pale lips, promising something horrible. Just staring at those eyes and that smile was maddening, but the thing that caught Odin's eye, the thing that made him realize that this was no reflection, but a gateway to some dark place, where the things coming out of its back.

They seemed to move in and out of visibility, or more likely, in and out of reality. Some were pale and almost translucent while others were so solid, he felt that he could reach out and touch them. All of them terrible, disfigured, specters that mimicked humanity enough to mock it, all screaming and writhing, some in pain, some in laughter. He got glimpses of bony finger and sharpened teeth, dead eyes and exposed bones, strings of flesh clinging to the bone. The Duo on this side, out of the mirror, seemed transfixed by the apparition on the other side of the glass. A single tear trailed down his left cheek and dropped from the corner of his jaw, but disappeared in the air, as though it had evaporated. Again, Odin thought of rips of time.

It was nearly impossible to think that this boy had killed anyone with such a sorrowful, self-hating expression, but the thing in the mirror… that thing was a killer. It was in its eyes, not just the capacity to take a life, but a love for it. Odin had met enough fellow assassins that had a taste for blood to see it clearly. He took a step back, though every reasonable thought told him that running would do him no good. Not now. Duo had marked them both as murderers, but there was no companionship in that group. He knew that the thing in the mirror was just toying with him, biding its time. Sooner or later, it would rip him to shreds.

But then, there was Duo. Odin was smart enough to understand what he was seeing. A mirror, splitting a blood-thirsty ghost from one filled with anguish and remorse, like a barrier between the good and the bad. Every human on the face of the earth had at least two sides of them. It was the balance between them that made you who you were, compelled to do bad, or compelled to do good. For some reason that he couldn't begin to understand, in this place, this boy's soul, his balance between good and bad, had become something physical. If that were true, if that thing in the mirror was just Duo's rage and desire to do violence, then couldn't the Duo on this side be able to sway the monstrous side?

If he could convince the ghost that he wasn't a murderer, that there was some good in both of them, maybe he would let him live. That concept was like grasping at straws, like trying to turn air into a solid, but he had nothing left. Either grasp at that impossibility or accept the fact that he was about to die, something that his mind couldn't do. But… but even if all that was true, that he could put his life in the hands of a dead boy who had killed who knew how many others and walk away from all of this intact, how? He had seen Duo as a child, a little boy who had only wanted his teddy bear and to spend time with his best friend. This thing in front of him was just an echo, a shell of that person.

And how was he any better? If anything, he was worse than this ghost who had terrorized him for who knew how many hours, how many days. He had killed because he was good at it and had arrogantly assumed that that was the only thing that mattered. If you were good at something, you did it, because it was an easy way to make it in the world. He had never felt regret. He had never felt blood lust, either, but remembering that little boy that had cried into his stuffed bear, he felt an overwhelming sense of shame. Blood lust or not, he was a murderer and this shadow of a human held more regret than he ever had.

Somewhere, that little boy still existed, those regrets and that self-hatred still lingering, frozen in time. If you regretted your actions that much, you make yourself better. Here Odin had been, thinking about giving up his life as an assassin, not because he hated what he did, but because he had started to like it, when he should have given it up years ago. It had taken being a hit himself, hunted by rage and a desire to hurt, to make him see what a pathetic person he really was. Duo had been a lonely, scared boy once, and had felt a deep love for his only friend. Those memories told him that. And those feelings made him human. But, a small voice inside of him asked, didn't those feelings and that humanity make his ghost all the more terrifying?

“I can change,” Odin protested, his voice sounding oddly meek as he looked at the strange reflection, “The both of us can.”

Duo turned to face him and as he did, he seemed to melt away, replaced by the thing in the mirror. Those two images of him, the one with tears in his eyes and the one with the eerie smile, seemed to switch places. Odin, shocked by the sight of those evil, distorted apparitions growing out of the ghost's back and how close the spirit was to him, stumbled backwards, falling, then scrambling back to his feet. In the small workshop, there was nowhere to run or hide to. Violet eyes ripped through his soul, making his head and chest pound with a sharp pain. The wood under the ghost's feet started to rot, cracking like the doll had.

Looking into those flat eyes, Odin suddenly realized his foolish mistake. This… thing was not a reflection of the boy he had seen in those memories. It wasn't just a part of his anger, having died so young. It was evil and dark and rage, all twisted up with something horrific. If it held a part of Duo's soul, then that soul was mad, gone insane and had only the desire to destroy everything in its path, like cancer, just growing and growing… It couldn't be reasoned with. It couldn't be stopped. It couldn't even be rationalized. It was like a rabid dog, pained and crazy, but a mad dog that could think and change the very space around it. The ghost smirked at him, a cruel, superior expression.

“Is that what you believe?” it asked, mocking.

A shudder tore through Odin's body. The ghost's voice was so much worse than the child's or Duo's. It was the sound of breaking glass, of a warped record, of fingernails clawing down a blackboard. It could barely be labeled as speech, yet Odin could understand what it had asked. Hearing that voice, those words, the whole room felt still as though death had descended on everything. It made him feel like carving out his veins.

“No one changes,” the spirit sneered, it's voice on the edge of laughter.

It was like hearing the voice of God telling him some ultimate truth that only it could know and understand. There were no words to refute such a thing.

“There is only this,” it placed one pale hand over its heart, if it had one, and Odin wasn't sure if it did, and dug its fingers into the white cloth.

To Odin's shock, the blood that marred the kimono spread towards that hand and the ghost's cold smile grew.

“There is only the darkness inside the human heart, the things you cannot speak of, but is rooted there. Doubt, sadness, regret, hatred…” it chuckled a parody of human laughter, like it had heard it before but had never really tried to mimic it until now, and looked back towards the mirror.

The Duo in the mirror had nothing growing out of his back, but the back of his kimono was shredded, the worst of the blood coming from there. The cuts in the white cloth showed Odin glimpses of Duo's bare back. The skin there was slashed to ribbons, all bloody and raw, deep cuts to the bone. He had seen his fair share of horrible things, but the sight of those wounds made his stomach turn. The ghost in front of him regarded him again, contempt for Odin's presence clear behind its sinister grin and Odin realized that its glance at Duo had been a barb, everything it had been saying meant to hurt the other spirit, not Odin.

“The only thing that is real,” it said, its smile vanishing and the ghosts rooted to its back quivering in what Odin thought was anticipation, “… is the darkness.”

The parasitic ghosts darted forward, though they remained rooted to the ghost's back, as fast as striking snakes. Odin had a moment to wonder who was feeding off of whom, before he grabbed his gun from the back of his pants. He aimed his gun at one translucent horror, something that looked like a woman, her clothing barely recognizable as a kimono that hung open, just barely hiding her small breasts. Her mouth was sliced wide open, showing off a piranha-like maw and the complete absence of a tongue, her pale skin splashed with blood. Her chest had been slashed apart, the cavity open and naked, her ribs dangling out and reminding Odin of the wooden planks of the wall in this room, curling out. She only had flesh dangling in that cavity, what he thought were lungs, but he couldn't see her heart. From her waist down was serpentine and trailing back towards the ring leader of the horde. As she darted to him, his gun fell from lax fingers and he wondered why he had bothered to pull it out at all.

“You can't kill what's already dead,” was his last coherent thought that wasn't filled with agony.

The female ghost's bony, cold fingers dug into his shoulder like icy tree branches as those piranha-teeth buried themselves into his neck, right where the puppet had bit him, but this was nothing like the puppet. These teeth weren't made of chips of wood. They were sharper than knives, longer than the doll's and unlike the doll, he had nothing to grab and fling off of him. Her top teeth and bottom teeth connected and, if those teeth had been solid and human, they would have made a loud clicking noise, but there was only silence as she ripped open his neck, blood gushing down his chest in an unpleasant, wet warmth. The sound of his screaming in the hollow room sounded strange, but he didn't have the luxury of wondering why as more of the parasitic ghosts surrounded him, like jackals at a carcass.

A ghost that he couldn't see buried its face into his stomach and started to feed, gorging on his flesh and filling Odin with overwhelming pain as he realized that it had reached his organs. Two python-like demon-like spirits wrapped around his arms and squeezed, like steel wire. The last thing he heard before he bled out was his shoulder bones popping and snapping, like the sound of the bones of a chicken wing being pulled back, as the serpents ripped his arms from his body and he fell to the floor in a wet, grisly mess. Blood pooled on the wood floor, soaking his blonde hair. His blue eyes looked ahead at the corner where the child was crouched watching all of this with flat eyes, Odin's eyes holding the same expressionless look. The ghosts feeding on him returned to their master, still hungry for living flesh, but they were no longer interested in the assassin's body as his heart stilled.

The Darkness looked down at the body with coldness and distaste, but also with some satisfaction, its pupils like twin beads of blackness against the violet. The smell of death mixed with the smell of rot and age, a familiar mixture in the mansion. The old wood creaked, as though it were groaning, in either pain or glee. The child suddenly appeared at the Darkness' side and grabbed at his kimono, tugging at it like a child trying to get the attention of a parent. It smiled down at him affectionately, putting one scarred hand on the top of his head.

“I want my dolly,” the child whined.

The Darkness stroked his hair lightly with all of the gentleness of a mother.

“You can't have your dolly,” it said.

The child bit his lip and looked like he was on the verge of a temper tantrum.

“Why not?” it asked with childish curiosity.

“Because it's gone forever,” the Darkness looked down at the corpse again, “Your bear is never coming back. So many things... they will never come back...” it murmured, but it held no sadness, no regret, only amusement.

The Darkness smiled at the child again.

“Don't worry,” it soothed, “I'll find you better dolls to play with.”

“You promise?” the child asked with a small sniff.

Its smile grew from affection to malice.

“Don't I always find you play things?” it asked, almost sneering with cruelty.

The child nodded happily, smiling up innocently at the demonic spirit. Someday soon... he would get to play again. The Darkness always knew the best games.

 

 

*****

 

October 13, 1888

 

 

Hiiro (2) struggled to keep up with his shujin as they walked across the walkway above the servants' quarters that was barely used, but his nine year old legs were too short to really do much but chase after him. They had come here by going down the steps and into the door on the wall that none of the servants were supposed to go through, up some more stairs and into this narrow walkway, like a tunnel that was above instead of below. The tunnel-bridge was made of crisscrossed wood, like a cage, and had a triangular roof. Light streamed from the square gaps in the wood, but Matsuei-shujin carried the ornamental red lantern in his hand, casting an eerie red light in the shadowed tunnel.

The lighting of the shujin's sacred lanterns, which only he was allowed to light and carry, was only done during special ceremonies, like today. The Day of Meeting was one of the most sacred traditions that the Matsuei had and it overwhelmed Hiiro to be a part of it, even if he had been training most of his life for it. The Day of Meeting was usually performed in the night, so the use of the sacred lantern was important, but his teishu was frightened by the dark, so they were holding it during the day this time. Hiiro had been born into the role of Mirror Guardian, as his teishu had been born to be the Shattered Mirror Sacrifice. His father had been a Guardian, or Hoshoga, as well, for the previous Mirror Sacrifice, but he was gone now and all Hiiro had had to look forward to was this day.

He wondered what his teishu would be like. Hiiro had heard his father speak of his mistress many times. She had been the Shujin's older sister, a beautiful woman named Kyoko. She, like Hiiro's teishu, had been first born. It was tradition for the first born of the Matsuei family to be labeled as Sacrifice, or Gisei, as it was traditional for the head of the family to sire another child once the Shattering Ritual was completed. According to the books that Hiiro had studied, it was so the second child was not tainted with the pain of the sacrifice. So, Matsuei-shujin had never met his elder sister, but Hiiro's father had praised her, even though he had spoken about her with a great sadness. Hiiro wondered if he, too, would speak of his teishu with that sadness five years from now. Five years was not a large amount of time for a servant, but he would serve his teishu with honor and respect, no matter the time.

When he hadn't been training for Hoshoga, Hiiro had been a plain servant, washing floors, cleaning dishes, and tending to the other various members of the lower Matsuei families. The mansion was divided by the lower family and the higher family, the higher family being the one that owned this mansion and Nasue, the one that was in charge of the rituals and tending to the house. The higher family had their own, select servants and the lower family and its servants were not allowed on that part of the mansion. Hiiro had known that this was the day he would be leaving the lower family forever without knowing the date when he had been presented with the soft, dark blue yukata that he wore now, instead of his drab, worn servant's clothes.

They finished walking through the bridge and Mastuei led him into the higher house. Servants, wearing dark red yukata, the color of the higher family, bustled about, holding trays filled with expensive, breakfast food, and cleaning the walls to a shine. All of the doors to the rooms were open, a warm air rushing through the hall from open windows. This part of the house was beautiful, everything seemed to shine compared to the lower house. It made Hiiro worry that he should have brought a gift to his teishu.

Hiiro's previous station had been far below even the servants he saw here, and his teishu was the Matsuei's only son… he should shower him with praise and presents, especially since today was his birthday. But, the dark blue he wore marked him as a servant only to the Gisei. He was only below his teishu and Matsuei-shujin, all the servants here had to listen to him. It was a strange thing, after living his life scrubbing at floors and being bossed around by older servants. His teachings told him that it wasn't traditional to bring the Gisei gifts, that he, himself was the gift, but he still wished that he had access to his father's leavings so he had been able to buy something in the village. He wasn't allowed any earnings, let alone his father's, until today. Matsuei stopped in the front foyer, right before the door leading to the front of the house and the large gate.

“Your father was a loyal Hoshoga to my sister,” Matsuei said, regarding Hiiro with a piercing gaze, “I expect nothing less from his son.”

Hiiro slid to his knees and bowed low, his forehead almost touching the floor.

“I will do justice to the Yui name and serve the Gisei loyally, always, Shujin-sama,” Hiiro vowed.

Matsuei nodded, starting to turn to go, then paused. Hiiro returned to his feet.

“You will find that my son is a very simple boy,” Matsuei informed him, “He does not require, nor rejoice expensive, lavish gifts.”

Hiiro blushed a little, realizing that Matsuei had seen through his nervousness.

“What does Duo-sama like?” Hiiro demanded boldly as Matsuei started to leave him.

He flinched as his master turned and stared at him again, expecting to be struck for daring to speak to the man. To his shock, Matsuei gave him a small, approving small.

“My son likes flowers,” he said simply, then continued to walk, leaving Hiiro in the foyer.

Hiiro kept that information in mind as he steeled himself to go outside, where his teishu was waiting for him. His knowledge of the lifestyles of wealthy people had been limited to the stories his father had told him of his trips abroad and of serving the Matsuei head family, and the members of the lower family that Hiiro had served. They had always commanded the best out of everything, with expensive and exotic tastes. That his teishu would enjoy something so simple was a relief at the same time that it was odd.

It was warm out, but not hot or humid as it had been for the last few days. It was a good omen, Hiiro thought, as the wind brushed his face. There were no bothersome mosquitoes or beetles, either. The blooming sakura tree in the front yard was beautiful against the back drop of the clear blue sky. Standing underneath the tree was a woman that Hiiro recognized as Matsuei-shujin's wife, Helen-aijin (3). He had only met her twice, once when she had come to oversee his studies with Matsuei when he had been very, very young, as was tradition, again later at the wedding of one of Helen-aijin's personal, servant girls, which had been held in the higher courtyard. Helen-aijin was easily recognizable, even from the back, having a stunning beauty like the queens from western fairy tales. Her eyes were blue, lighter than Hiiro's, which was rare in Japan, but even rarer was her hair, the color of daffodils and gold, wavy, falling just to her shoulders.

This time, however, Hiiro's attention was focused, not on his mistress, but on the child with her, who was crouched, balanced on feet, his knees bent, but not touching the ground, poking around the stone garden that had been created underneath the tree's protective branches. If he had not already been aware that Matsuei's child was a boy, the long braid that dangled between where his shoulder blades would be would have made Hiiro mistake the child for a girl. The shade of the tree, and Hiiro's distance, kept the color of that hair a mystery, but he was mesmerized simply by the style of the hair.

He had never seen a braid before. He knew what it was from his father's tales of woman in the west, who enjoyed tying their long hair up in the most elaborate fashions, but most of the servant girls in the mansion kept their hair short, to keep out of the way of preparing food and the hard task of cleaning so many floors in the giant mansion. Those that did have long hair kept it tucked in clothes wrapped around their heads. A few of the Matsuei women had long, black hair, but kept them up in the current style: a simple bun on the top of their heads, kept their by ornamental chopsticks or combs. He had seen a few geisha in the village wearing their beautiful, glossy black hair in such a style. It was pretty and elegant, but boring compared to the way this boy's long, straight strands were tucked and twisted around each other, like ribbons of silk or the vines of a willow tree when the wind was violent.

Helen-aijin noticed his presence and turned to address him, with a slight nod of her head. Though she was not his master and he would never have to take orders from her, she was far from a servant and he bowed lowly in respect. She walked out from under the sakura, her steps elegant. She was as poised in her blue kimono as any of the native born Matsuei women, though Hiiro knew that she had been born far west, in Germany. Her child followed after her, though he had to nearly run just to keep up with his mother. When the boy realized that Hiiro was present, he hid behind his mother, his little hands grasping at her kimono. He reminded Hiiro of the little, yellow ducklings that he saw every summer in the swamp, swimming behind their mother, scrambling to keep up with her.

The boy, though obviously shy, peeked around his mother and stared at Hiiro in curiosity. Hiiro was startled by the appearance of the boy. From his father, he had learned that Kyoko had been a Japanese beauty with almond shaped, black eyes, straight black hair that fell about her waist, and skin the color of cream. With that image, he had thought it only right that his teishu would have the same features. He supposed it was his mother's doing, but Hiiro could see no Japanese in the boy. His long bangs fell in his face, hair like the sun, red and gold, but with also a light, chestnut brown. His skin was pale, like milk, the skin of a boy who had spent most of his life indoors, being cared for, and not toiling in the sun as Hiiro's tan skin was.

The most incredible, though, was his eyes. They were a deep blue, tinged with violet and indigo, giving them a very dimensional look. They were the eyes of Irish fairies, beautiful, but dangerous in their alluring strangeness. Helen finally realized that her son was using her as a shield and chuckled, placing a comforting hand on his head. When those violet eyes turned from Hiiro to his mother, Hiiro felt a strange loss.

“Now, now,” she soothed, “Don't be frightened. This is your Hoshoga. He will be your best friend and with you always.”

Hiiro wondered why the boy would be frightened of him. No one in this village would dare to ever lay a hand on him. If he were allowed to walk through Nasue, he would treated as a prince, given the respect of every man, woman, and child. No… he would revered as a God, and in his way, this child was. A God that could walk among men as their savior and would, in time, truly have the responsibilities of such a deity. To harm Matsuei's first born would be to do harm to one's self. Only a fool would think of it. Surely, this boy realized that, had known it from habit, that he was forever safe. Yet, he seemed skittish now, like a rabbit.

But, even though he looked scared, he also had a strange expression as his mother mentioned Hiiro being his best friend. He looked… lonely. Hiiro understood the feeling. For eight years of his life, it had only been his father and him. They had shared a room in the servant's quarters together, a room bigger and more opulent than the others because of his father's status as a previous Hoshoga. After the sacrifice of his father's Gisei, he had been given a large amount of money for his services, and had spent some of it traveling. The Hoshoga, like the Gisei, was not supposed to leave Nasue during their service, but was free to do whatever they wished after the sacrifice.

His father had always seemed lonely, too, and had talked about Kyoko often, having a far off, sad look in his eyes. Hiiro had heard the other servants whisper about him, saying that he was a wretched, cursed soul. They said that his father had not loved his mother, but had slept with her to ease his loneliness over Kyoko's death, who had been his true love. Silly, romantic things that bored servants liked to speculate about. Hiiro was sensible, even at nine years old, and he didn't protest such speculation on his father's behalf because he couldn't deny that it might be the truth.

Now, he understood a part of his father's loneliness, having been left alone, to care for himself. Some of the other servant women had tried to take them in as their own, finding the next Hoshoga to be a lucrative position, a way to boost their reputation, only to find that Hiiro was responsible and had no desire to find another parent. Perhaps it was childish, but he had no yearning to be mothered, only wishing that his father was still with him. Compared to the love he had had for his father, nothing seemed to match it. He had always been responsible, since his father had gone on frequent trips, especially during the summer months, but Hiiro had never felt truly lonely until he had found himself alone, and hating his father for his selfishness.

He couldn't understand why Matsuei's son would seem that lonely. Didn't he have servants and cousins to play with? Hiiro and the other servant children on the lower side didn't have time to play with each other, and knowing Hiiro's role, the other children had stayed far from him, leaving him to his important studies. His teishu, however, was wealthy and could order the servant children to play anything and anytime that he wished. He had relatives catering to his every whim, yet he looked at Hiiro with such curiosity, as though he had heard of the term `friend', but had never really experienced it before. Helen patted her child on the back.

“Go on, then, Duo-chan,” she urged.

Duo, it was a strange name for a child, but the boy himself was strange. He shuffled out from behind his mother, starting to come out of his shyness. Outside of Natsue, Duo's attire would have seemed strange to anyone, but here, he was easily recognizable as the Gisei. The kimono he wore was odd, meant for a girl and not a boy, the sleeves missing, like the kimonos that the prostitutes wore, to entice men, but the stark whiteness of the kimono was more somber than seductive. The kimono was traditional, worn by every Gisei since the first one. In his studies, Hiiro had read of the first Gisei, a fifteen year old girl, the only daughter of the Matsuei clan, named Reiko.

Local folklore told of a terrible darkness that had descended on Natsue from the mountain that the mansion had been built upon, unleashing evil in the hearts of every villager. Within just a year, that evil spread through the surrounding villages and everyone there died horrible deaths, the very land tainted with calamity.
Shinto priests came to the Nasue mountains, but none of their prayers and sacrifices appeased the evil and many of them parished or were driven insane by the darkness. Then, a priestess named Matsuei Reiko came upon the town. She was rumored to have a great, psychic power and upon coming to the mountains where the evil had been unleashed, had a vision.

Reiko told the priests that only one with a great spiritual gift could seal the darkness and that they would have to be sacrificed every eleven years, or it would spread again and more calamity would fall, not just on Nasue, but on the entire world. Reiko fought with the darkness, which tore her kimono and harmed her, but her power was able to force it back into where it came. Then, her father, who had accompanied her, sacrificed her, and the darkness was locked away for eleven more years. The next year, her mother gave birth to a boy and the clan's line continued. The priests believed that the first born of every generation of that family would be blessed with Reiko's gift and every eleven years since, the darkness had not returned.

The kimono that Duo wore was the same style and color that Reiko had worn, the belief being that her sacrifice had to be repeated in the same way. It was a strange coincidence that the obi was the color of his eyes, as though it had been an act of fate or destiny. Of all the generations of Matsuei sacrifices, only three, including Duo, had been born male. The Matsuei had seen Duo's birth as a good omen, believing that the male sacrifices were stronger and better able to perform the ritual than the females. The six year old peered up at Hiiro inquisitively.

“Are you really my Hoshoga?” he asked, still a little bit shy.

Hiiro bowed for him like he had Matsuei, on his knees, his head nearly touching the earth.

“Teishu-sama,” he said respectively, “I accept my duty as hoshoga, to serve you honorably and loyally, for the rest of my life and yours.”

Hiiro was completely unprepared when Duo, instead of dismissing or acknowledging his vow, smiled at him and extended his hand. Hiiro was awestruck for a moment, so used to the sternness of the Matsuei clan and the lessons that had been drilled in him since birth, to always be respectful, to never look a Matsuei in the eye unless he had been spoken to… but his teishu was regarding him simply as another child, a friend or playmate instead of a servant. His lessons told him to rise on his own or keep bowed, but he remembered his one true purpose: to serve the Gisei and always do what was best for him. He took the younger boy's hand, allowing him to help him to his feet. Helen was smiling approvingly at the both of them and bowed slightly to Hiiro, who bowed back, and left the two children alone.

“I'm Duo,” the chestnut haired boy said, his smile suddenly bright and lacking all shyness.

In that moment, when the shyness left him, despite the white kimono he wore, Hiiro had a heard time seeing him as anything else except for another child. Wasn't he supposed to introduce himself as Hiiro's master? That was the proper greeting, and surely Duo had been trained as Hiiro had been. But he was acting so familiar, far from proper.

“H-Hiiro, teishu-san,” he greeted with a stammer.

His training had not prepared him for this, what he should do after their greeting. He knew how to act and what he would need to do to tend to his master, but nothing more than this. He was unprepared for Duo's sudden pout.

“Not teishu,” he whined, “Du-o.”

Hiiro found himself smirking at Duo's candor and was startled by his own reaction. He was not the sort of child to find amusement in such things, or to smile that often, but this boy was so open, so trusting and informal, that it was hard to remain cold or clinical towards him. He was not at all what Hiiro had been expecting.

“I apologize, teishu,” he began, as his training dictated he should.

“DUO,” the younger boy demanded, “Why do you have to call me teishu, anyway?”

“Because it is proper,” Hiiro argued, “You are teishu, my master. To call you anything less, as a servant, would be rude.”

Duo cocked his head to the side and Hiiro was distracted by his long braid falling over his slight shoulder. For a westerner, Duo was very thin and delicate looking, shorter than Hiiro had been at that age.

“But… my name is Duo,” Duo argued back, his mindset truly that of a westerner, either not understanding the customs Hiiro had grown up with or just didn't find them necessary, “Not Teishu. My parents call me Duo, nothing else,” he suddenly got a sly look in his violet eyes, “If you're my hoshoga, then you have to do whatever I say, right?”

Hiiro found himself biting back a grin and felt relief that Duo did indeed know about their positions. His boldness was so different from his earlier shyness and his Japanese was perfect, having grown up in Nasue, but his manner of speaking was foreign, showing an intelligence gifted upon the wealthy. Duo probably had dozens of tutors.

“Yes, Duo-san,” Hiiro relented.

Duo huffed at the `san', his breath ruffling his long bangs, but conceded.

“Is it true that we have to sleep in the same room?” Duo asked and Hiiro could tell that his teishu would be a fountain of endless questions.

“Yes,” he said, “I must be with you at all times, to better tend to you.”

Duo bent in the grass and Hiiro almost scolded him about getting his white kimono dirty, but Duo had been well trained and only bent low enough to pick up a rock without his kimono touching the ground. It was a skill that geisha and women of the higher class were taught.

“Why?” Duo asked as he examined the rock in his hand, which was perfectly round and a milky red color, “I can't leave the mansion, and all my meals are brought to me. What is it that you are to do?”

“I am to make sure that you perform your duties as Gisei,” Hiiro informed him, watching as Duo rolled the palm-sized stone in his hand, “I am your companion, your friend. If there is anything you need, I will give it to you.”

Duo looked up at him through his bangs, that shyness returning.

“What if I need to tell you something, something that I don't wish my father or mother to know?” he asked quietly, “What if I need something that this house cannot provide, or my father will frown upon?”

“Anything you need,” Hiiro repeated, this time with conviction, “I will give you. You are my charge, I am your guardian. Your needs, and your needs alone, are my only concern.”

Duo tossed the rock in the air and caught it.

“What if it's something that you're not supposed to do? If I told you to get me something in town or disobey my father, would you do it?” he asked.

Hiiro fidgeted, uncomfortable with the strange question. Duo, as Gisei, was not allowed to leave the mansion and in turn, he was not allowed access to anything from outside. He was supposed to remain pure, in body as well as in mind. If his mind strayed from his duties, even for a moment, his effectiveness as Gisei might lessen. One who has ties to the living world, who desires things outside of their station, could not be a Gisei. And Matsuei was the head of the household… but his duty was to Duo, not to Matsuei.

“I would, if you asked me to do it,” Hiiro said nervously.

“I won't,” Duo whispered, looking down at the rock, and the older boy felt an incredible relief, “I won't ask anything that you don't want.”

Hiiro watched, perplexed, as Duo walked back over to the stone garden.

“You could,” he pointed out, “I can't disobey you.”

“I know,” the longhaired boy said, kneeling to inspect the stones, “But… you said you're supposed to be my friend. Friends don't bully each other. My father says that I am not allowed things from the village, so I will never ask that of you. It wouldn't be fair. I don't want a guardian, I want a friend.”

Hiiro shook his head.

“You have many friends, I'm sure,” he said, “I am the only hoshoga for you, though.”

Duo looked back at him and Hiiro's heart tightened at the look of sadness there, that shouldn't belong to such a bright child. Duo looked back at the garden, his back to Hiiro and the Japanese boy wished he could see his eyes.

“No one wants to be friends with someone who is going to die,” Duo murmured.

Hiiro felt a sharp pain in his chest. He had forgotten, for a moment, inexplicably, just who Duo was, and what was going to happen to him in five years. Hiiro approached him, knowing what he should say, but not wanting to, even though it was his duty to.

“It is your duty,” he said, wincing at his own words, “If you do not perform the ritual-,”

“I know,” Duo interrupted, but his tone wasn't angry, “If I don't die, then everyone else will. Mother, Father, you… I know that and I know why none of my cousins want to play with me, because the dead shouldn't play with the living.”

That statement furthered the pain in Hiiro's heart. He wanted to protest that Duo wasn't dead, not yet, but those words seemed hollow. This boy in front of him would never be a teenager, would never grow old or even hit puberty. It was necessary, but still strange, knowing that he was talking to someone who would die in such a short time. And the way he was going to die…

“I know what has to happen to me,” Duo said, placing his red rock near some grey and black ones, “I know its necessary and that its my fate to die, but I'm not afraid. I have to die so so many can live. I don't mind dying. I just want to protect my family and this town.”

He stood and turned to Hiiro, who was shocked to see a smile on the violet eyed boy's face. This boy truly was blessed with an abundance of spirit and kindness, fitting of the Mirror Sacrifice, one who loves the world and therefore is willing to be sacrificed for it… Hiiro had been raised to do his duty, so it was easy for him to say that he would do the same, but he wasn't sure if, on that day, he could let his own family kill him…

“I must throw away all connections to this world,” Duo said, looking up at the sakura tree, “I must sever the connections to my parents, my family, but… I think…” his violet eyes met Hiiro's blue ones, “I think it would be nice to have one friend…” his smile turned into one filled with devastating sadness, “… It's lonely…”

Hiiro remembered his own loneliness after his father had gone and walked to Duo, taking his hand in his. Compared to his own, Duo's hand was small and as thin as his bare arms. The longhaired boy didn't shy away from his touch, his pale fingers wrapping around Hiiro's tan ones. Hiiro looked down at the stone garden that the younger boy had been fussing with. The stones were all round and mostly black and dark grey, arranged in meticulous circles and various patterns, the way that the flowers in the courtyard were arranged. The cold stones were somehow beautiful and the red stone that Duo had placed stood out brilliantly. It was like a drop of blood or a flower petal against starkness. It was so much like Duo, he thought. Those violet eyes, his bright smile… he was like a red gem among dull, black rocks.

“I am your hoshoga,” Hiiro said simply, “I'll always watch over you and protect you, even from loneliness.”

That promise felt more important than his vow to serve. He tugged lightly on Duo's hand.

“Come on, I want to show you something,” he urged.

Duo let Hiiro lead him back into the house and didn't protest, even when they crossed the bridge to the lower house. Hiiro knew that Duo had never been to this side, if he had, the servants would have been gossiping about it for years, but to his knowledge, he didn't know if Duo wasn't allowed. He was the son of the head of the household, he couldn't imagine that Duo couldn't go somewhere in the house. He had no intention of any servants seeing the boy, so he didn't worry about Duo being here or causing a stir. Duo kept up with him easily and Hiiro didn't see it, but Duo was smiling warmly as he followed the older boy through the house.

Hiiro snuck through the servants' quarters, feeling like a thief in the night with the way they waited at corners for servants to leave so they could pass without notice, but Duo seemed to enjoy it. This was probably the boy's first attempt at hiding and playing, if he hadn't any friends before now. He didn't think that Duo's parents were the sort to play such games with him and he had probably spent most of his time alone or with his studies. Hiiro continued to lead him, liking the feeling of Duo's warm, slender hand in his, until they reached the lower courtyard.

It was not as beautiful as the higher courtyard where hundreds of flowers and trees bloomed, but it was well kept by the servants. It was small, with just two trees: one sakura and one cedar. Most of the plants that grew here were weeds and vines, but pretty ones. There was tall grass under the cedar tree and, as they approached the tree, Hiiro pointed to it.

“Here, pull that back,” he told him.

Duo looked at him warily, as though he were expecting him to play some trick on him, while all this time he had allowed Hiiro to lead him, which made Hiiro curious.

“You'll like it, I promise,” he smiled.

Duo knelt down and pushed the grass apart. His wary look slowly grew into one of wonder and delight as he saw, by the side of the wall behind the tree, grew a small bush of red roses.

“Pretty,” he said in awe, reaching out to touch a silken petal, then looked at Hiiro, “How?”

Roses did not grow naturally in Japan, and until he had found this bush, Hiiro had never seen a rose before, but Duo, having a mother and family members who came from Europe, probably had. Still, Duo looked at the flowers in absolute wonder, making Hiiro feel relieved and confident, having chosen correctly after hearing Matsuei's advice about his son liking flowers.

“One of your distant cousins planted them some years ago,” Hiiro told him with a small, pleased smile, “This is alien soil to them, but they have thrived nonetheless.”

Duo knelt in the grass, his careful training forgotten and he kneeled like a child would, on his knees. Hiiro no longer felt an urge to scold him as those bright eyes studied the roses. He dug around in his yukata for the little knife he kept there for housework and reached out, cutting three rose-heads from the bush, above any thorns. Duo watched with wide eyes as Hiiro placed the delicate, crimson flowers in his hands. Duo cupped his hands around the petals, clearly enjoying the color against his pale skin and the feel of the soft petals.

“Happy birthday, Duo-sama,” Hiiro said.

Duo stared at him for a moment, then smiled, but this smile was gentle and, Hiiro dared to think, affectionate.

“Thank you, Heero,” he said softly.

Hiiro touched his cupped hand.

“It might be your fate to die, but for as long as you are alive, we will be together, forever. There is nothing you can do or say to get rid of me. We're friends for life,” Hiiro promised.

“You promise?” Duo asked in a near whisper.

Hiiro nodded. Duo cradled the roses in one hand to his chest and reached out to Hiiro with his other, one pinky extended.

“Promise,” Duo urged and his voice sounded so desperate and needy to Hiiro, a sad little boy yearning for some companionship.

Hiiro hooked his pinky with his charge's.

“We will always be together,” he vowed.

 

 

 

 

End Part 2

 

(1) Ok, so as I've said before, Duo is Heero's master in that, basically, Heero is his servant, although Duo doesn't see him that way. Heero refers to him as teishu, which means master. Shujin also means master and the difference between the two is splitting hairs, but there is a difference. Teishu translates to master, host, and landlord. As the head of the household's only son, Duo is, technically, these three things for Heero. Shujin means head, proprietor, employer, master, and landlord. This describes Matsuei, Duo's father, more than Duo. He is the head of the household and Heero's employer, since he gives Heero his wages, a place to stay, and has ordered him to care for Duo. While Heero has to do what Duo says, Duo isn't the one employing him. While it isn't necessary for Heero to call Duo and Matsuei different honoraries, it makes it less confusing about who he is referring to.

 

(2) From this point on, Duo's best friend and mirror guard is written as Hiiro, while the one in the present is spelled Heero, to avoid confusion.

 

(3) Aijin is mistress