Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ The Window Seat ❯ Prolouge ( Prologue )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Good Morning!
It's your friendly neighborhood Aniah here...This is kinda an alternate
fic...say what if Dimando had gotten Serena? It's something to think about!
I've been for, hmmm...about three months...so it's kinda dark. The Violet refers
to Hope from the Second Book of Ronan. THANKS: Narie for being the first
proof reader, Darkling for being the second, Hotaruchan G. for just being
herself, and everyone at B.N. who gave me HTML therepy!

Q's and C's? mailto:aniahope@aol.com

Disclaimers: All Sailor Moon characters belong to Naoko, DiC, and everyone else who have rights to them...

The Window Seat

Prologue

In the long black hallway that led to the throne room of the Black Moon
Citadel, there was a window seat. The domestics would pass it and recall
moonlit/moonless nights with their loved ones; staring out at the pristine
City of Gemstones, or wishing upon a falling star.
The members of the Family would, on their way to reporting to their
Prince, pause to gaze upon the endless heavens and wonder at earth's
majesty,
close and far all at once.
Now, though, a white-clad figure huddled upon the black velvet almost
always. When the domestic would pass this one, they would give pitiful eyes
to the victim. The Royals, except for a few, would scorn remarks upon her.
At sunset, when the light source would dim, she was carried away by one cold
and White. Behind their hands the subordinates with stature would smirk and
whisper.
This cold and White, the monarch, would awake refreshed and unconcerned
at the huddled also white mass next to him, turned away with dried tears
upon her face. Her china blue plate eyes would blink a couple of times; and upon
taking up the room would shut tight with longing of better times, and warmer
friends.They would breakfast (silently) upon the delicacies that were common in
the Citadel. They were tasteless to the blue-eyed doe, but nothing
had tasted better to the White Prince. Grabbing her wrist like a vice, he would
drag her to the Throne Room, passing the stone domestics' pity. After an
hour or so she was dismissed; so the Prince could speak privately with his
advisors.
She would fling herself upon the fuzz, finger it like it were silk,
although dark, and cling to a cushion as if it were a lifesaver. She ate
nothing when summoned to luncheon, staring at the black tablecloth and
thinking of the culinary delights of the Green Senshi.
In the Citadel the afternoon was a time of freedom (so to speak), and
the White one was free, certainly, because his captive had nowhere to run. She
was a white-gold goddess, and he was the white-black god. Soon it was time
for the afternoon audiences, the goddess was left alone, until the summons for supper.
She had lost everything on the first night, excepting her silence. She
hadn't spoken a word to them for going on two months, and the Family had been used
to her steely quiet. The White hadn't wanted to take her to the Crystal, he
felt the need of some sort of challenge, and so she remained of sound spirit.
"You are mine," the White he had said, "mine, Mine, MINE!" With each
declaration she doubled over more, until she was crouching. The White banged his fist
upon the armrest of his throne. Out of the shadows the Violet came to take
her away to the window seat.
"Don't listen to him," she admonished. "Remember always that there's an
Outside; a freedom. That's how I can stand up to them; they don't have
absolute power everywhere." The Violet was a prisoner of war, so the Family
said, but in reality she had been brought to the Terran dimension by Pluto
to try to lure the White away from the Gold's future self. She failed; and was
condemned to stay lurking in the Citadel until death. Only the Blue Prince
and the Sisters Four reflected kindness upon her; she never succumbed to the
Darkness, and always fought for her beliefs. She was the only friend of the
Gold in the whole of Nemesis; excepting the Blue and the Four, of course.
"I do not know of the world away anymore, I do not remember anything
except my soulmate and soul-friends dying on the floor in there," she
motioned to the throne room. "And the White kissed me while my one and only
writhed on the marble, a slow painful death."
"Come, even my great Mother would never let her people see her like a
muddled commoner," the Violet chided. "I'll draw you a bath, and brush your
hair until it shines again. Then the White will be so enraptured at the site
of you he won't have the will to touch you." So the Gold slipped into a
great marble bath, and let the Violet pull the comb through her tresses like a
fish through liquid sunshine.
"It's cold here," the Golden beauty would mourn. "I used to sit in a
park on Terra and need a drink because it was so hot" she reminiced.
The Violet foreigner would smile ruefully; thinking upon the
similarities between her own tyrannical prince and the one that ruled the corridors. They
were only different in little things like hair and eyes and skin; but the steel
core and cruel dictator-like monarchy were still present.
After the bath a stark sleeveless gown went over her slim shoulders,
trimmed as always with thin gold and pearls. The duo went out into an
antechamber. The Violet, only nineteen herself, would smile in her own
memories. "My father was cruel," she said, "but he let us swim in a little
lake with rafts to float on and a wonderful diving platform. There is no
water here," the Violet sighed.
"An Elementalist needs her element, but when it is not found she will loose
her ability..." she trailed off at the cold glare of purple eyes. She and the
White shared that quality, and no one else in the whole universe did besides
them. "I beg pardon," she whispered, looking at her lap.
Tears slid down the Golden One's face, her arms clasped around her torso
because of the chill. A foreboding sight. Internally, the White Prince
smiled. "Help her stand," he commanded of the Violet. She sat back in the
chair, rocking a little and remembering other times, other monarchs, and
other commands. He cleared his throat, quicksilver hair glinting off of the
light source.
"I am the Ronanite heir, I do not take orders from you," she defied
coldly. Before a gasp could be made there were scorch marks on the lounge
and
the Violet was crumpled on the floor. She glared back at him,
purple-to-purple. "Spirit Elementalists," she scoffed. "They never could
control their tempers," she explained to the Golden One, helping her
nonchalantly to stand. "I myself am a patron of the Water Element."
"Leave us," the White said coldly, putting an arm around the waist of
his
captive. The Violet did so, rolling her eyes on her way out. Damned Spirits,
they have no place in a monarchy.

* * *
The Violet threw herself onto the window seat, but seeking more privacy
she headed toward the humble bedchamber she had occupied since her arrival
to the Citadel. Old ghosts haunted her memories; the peacemaking between her
father and uncle that had taken over fifteen years to concrete, the birth of
her sister and the death of her mother through Darain; the White's Ronanite
universe counterpart. Worst of all, because of the White's damned obsession
over the Gold she was condemned to this universe forever. The Great
Continent on the Ronanite planet would go to ruin, Darain would have absolute monarchy
over the whole world.
"The Gold is pregnant," the Green Sister commented softly from the
doorway.
"Ah, no wonder she was ill tonight," she replied, getting into position
for a meditation. "What is my place here?" she asked, mentally reciting the
Litany of the Elements:

On the bridge of rainbow
The fish silver in sunlight
On the bright piercing firelight
Heat upon the faces of the chosen
On the rolling hills so green with woods
The warmth make the plants grow
On the life within all and everything
The healers' luck to the worlds

Fire within all, earth blanketing all, water bathing all, life taking
all. "You're a healer, better then the Blue is with his computers," the
Green Sister said truthfully. "The Prince should value your knowledge and
logistics as much as any of us, or more." The Violet thanked the Green
Sister for her advice and continued meditating. The shadows deepened, as she sat
there in contemplation. In time a domestic would summon her to dinner, and
one or another of the High Subordinates would return to her door to rage
about the fact that she was not at the meal. Let the Gold cut her own meat,
she decided.
It was not one of the notable members of the Clan which presented
himself as an escort, but the Blue Prince himself. "I am trying to put myself into a
trance," the Violet said, frustrated, "tell your oniisan that if any of
the above actually gave a damn then I would have a position of reckoning here,
no offense." Arms crossed the Blue left the tiny chamber, and the Violet
relaxed into nothingness.

* * *
Although it was a meal of great importance, no one noticed the
indifference in which the Golden One took on everything. The gown was only
slightly more revealing, trimmed with only a bit more finery, and the White
had not changed in the least, except maybe his wine was of a finer quality.
The others, however, down to the domestics, were dressed in whatever finery
they owned. The Green Witch had forsaken her short black dress and boots for
a clinging fushia that complemented her fan.
"A toast to the Royal-Couple-to-be," the Blue Prince said, raising his own
(non-alcoholic) glass. The Gold was committed to stand, but she did not. The
White grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet, without flinching. With
that toast the domestics and Lower Subordinates finally understood that this was the official announcement that the lives of the Gold and the White were to be bound forever.
The empty seat in which the Violet usually sat did not go unnoticed, and
the White finally had the Sisters drag her to the room. In time both the
Gold and the Violets' expressions resembled the faces of statues. What is my
place here? Why did Pluto condemn me? the Violet asked herself again, silently. It was a pity that she forgot the telepathic abilities of most the Clan, because they all (with the exception of the Gold) heard her question.
The courses were done, the dessert and after-dinner drinks served. The
Sisters were escorted to their rooms by the Blue. The Red and the Green
fought under their breaths as they left the Great Hall. Then it was just the
Gold, White, and Violet (still reciting the Litany of Elements under her own
breath). Finding the pain of the Gold too much to bare, the Violet flung her
napkin on the table and fled the Hall, hair streaming and cloak flying
behind her. The stone servants witnessed the brutal, long, and yet passionate
embrace of the White to the Gold.
As the Violet readied herself to bed, a whisper of a teleport came to
attention in her head. The White's breath caught at the site of the all
together different goddess, begowned in semi-transparent silver, presented
in front of him. It was his Citadel, he had free reign over it and woe unto
those who wished to not behold his presence whenever he chose.
He was quite a domineering sight, arms crossed, legs shoulder width apart, and cape swirling around his feet. The Violet looked away, seeing in her mind's eye his other-universe counterpart gazing at her the same exact way. "What?" she asked, returning to the task of plaiting her waist-length black hair.
"You spoke of your place here," the White commented. The Ronanite shrugged, tying off the braid, and turning away from her mirror to face the prince. "My brother would not mind a companion in his workroom."
"He is used to solitude, Lord, and you of all people should know this." Rage flickered in the Nemesian's amythest orbs.
"Are you accusing me of not being attentive to him?"
"The Queen would rather throw herself off of your balcony then willingly spend an hour with you. Your ootoochan, however, worships the air you exhale." Reaching for her journal and a pen, the Violet glared at the prince. "Leave me now." Before she could react he had pulled her into his pale-sleeved arms, and their eyes locked, twilight meeting midnight. His kiss was not hard, but gentle and unhurried. When he came up to breathe, she slapped him.
Shock, anger, and amazement were all present on the White's chisled face, and, journal in hand, the Violet flew to seek the company of the Sisters, to whom she told everything.
* * *

Q's? C's? Was it REALLY BAD? Email me: mailto:aniahope@aol.com