Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Shadows ❯ Touching the Shadows ( Prologue )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: normalisboring 
A thirteen-year-old Dilandau contemplates his existence.
Anime/Manga: Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 02.19.2002 | Pages: 1 | Words: 580 | Visits: 299 | Status: Completed
A thirteen-year-old Dilandau contemplates his existence.
Anime/Manga: Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 02.19.2002 | Pages: 1 | Words: 580 | Visits: 299 | Status: Completed
Shadows
Author's Notes: This is the prologue for Iris. In this, Dilandau is two or three years younger than he was in the series. Obviously, he isn't quite so obsessive, and is much more calm and contemplative but this is the point where he starts to become the killer he is in the series. This is told from first-person. It's short, I know, but there's more to come. Also, I'm pretty new at writing fanfics, so if you could review and tell me how I'm doing that would be nice. Even if you flame me, it'll still help me improve. Personally, I think this part is better than the rest of the story, which I already typed, and I just typed this two days ago. I'll post the rest once I get the hang of uploading chapters. Oh yeah, and it's not romance yet, but it'll come soon, I promise. And now, here's the story.
The candle casts a flickering shadow, bestowing both light and darkness in the morbid room. (Or perhaps it is only I that is morbid...?) The flame burns bright, starkly contrasting with the otherwise black of the room. On a whim, a single breath escapes from my lips, blowing the candle out. It is pitch black, so dark that you can't tell whether your eyes are closed or not.
Ah, the darkness... It embraces me, penetrates into the deepest corners of my mind. How comforting it seems, the only tangible thing in this world of masks, of facades. There is only one thing I love more than the darkness, and that is fire.
I strike up a match again, and relight the candle. I raise my hand up to the golden flame, and grin, seeking its warmth, the only warmth I have ever known. It deceives me, it leads me on, instilling momentary joy, yet...it vanishes so soon...as does my faraway smile.
Sometimes I wonder why I can never find what I truly seek, why happiness always stays within my hold for only so long, before it seeps between my fingers like water. It infuriates me, frustrates me, and saddens me. Am I for some reason, not meant to be happy? Has Nature made some awful mistake in the making of me? Could it be possible I was engineered to only be a cold, and unfeeling soldier?
I don't know what's wrong with me. All I know is something's missing, something crucial to the very existence of my being. At first, I thought it was only joy, but there's something else...something I cannot even name. And...I can't seem to find it...
No one understands me, and I don't blame them. They have all labeled me "insane", "a lunatic", and "mad". Yet...they don't dare to move a muscle when I am in their presence. They don't even breathe when I cast a look at them, for who would dare to touch or insult the youngest prodigy in the arts of the sword ever to grace the nation of Zaibach?
I must admit though, I enjoy this dominance over people. Fear is power here, and I have abounding valleys full of it in that aspect.
Although, there is just one thing I do not have... Well, perhaps I am only to be a ruthless warrior. Perhaps it is my fate. I sigh wistfully, eyeing enviously the fire and its untouchable, ethereal brilliance. All I will ever be able to touch are the shadows...
Author's Notes: This is the prologue for Iris. In this, Dilandau is two or three years younger than he was in the series. Obviously, he isn't quite so obsessive, and is much more calm and contemplative but this is the point where he starts to become the killer he is in the series. This is told from first-person. It's short, I know, but there's more to come. Also, I'm pretty new at writing fanfics, so if you could review and tell me how I'm doing that would be nice. Even if you flame me, it'll still help me improve. Personally, I think this part is better than the rest of the story, which I already typed, and I just typed this two days ago. I'll post the rest once I get the hang of uploading chapters. Oh yeah, and it's not romance yet, but it'll come soon, I promise. And now, here's the story.
The candle casts a flickering shadow, bestowing both light and darkness in the morbid room. (Or perhaps it is only I that is morbid...?) The flame burns bright, starkly contrasting with the otherwise black of the room. On a whim, a single breath escapes from my lips, blowing the candle out. It is pitch black, so dark that you can't tell whether your eyes are closed or not.
Ah, the darkness... It embraces me, penetrates into the deepest corners of my mind. How comforting it seems, the only tangible thing in this world of masks, of facades. There is only one thing I love more than the darkness, and that is fire.
I strike up a match again, and relight the candle. I raise my hand up to the golden flame, and grin, seeking its warmth, the only warmth I have ever known. It deceives me, it leads me on, instilling momentary joy, yet...it vanishes so soon...as does my faraway smile.
Sometimes I wonder why I can never find what I truly seek, why happiness always stays within my hold for only so long, before it seeps between my fingers like water. It infuriates me, frustrates me, and saddens me. Am I for some reason, not meant to be happy? Has Nature made some awful mistake in the making of me? Could it be possible I was engineered to only be a cold, and unfeeling soldier?
I don't know what's wrong with me. All I know is something's missing, something crucial to the very existence of my being. At first, I thought it was only joy, but there's something else...something I cannot even name. And...I can't seem to find it...
No one understands me, and I don't blame them. They have all labeled me "insane", "a lunatic", and "mad". Yet...they don't dare to move a muscle when I am in their presence. They don't even breathe when I cast a look at them, for who would dare to touch or insult the youngest prodigy in the arts of the sword ever to grace the nation of Zaibach?
I must admit though, I enjoy this dominance over people. Fear is power here, and I have abounding valleys full of it in that aspect.
Although, there is just one thing I do not have... Well, perhaps I am only to be a ruthless warrior. Perhaps it is my fate. I sigh wistfully, eyeing enviously the fire and its untouchable, ethereal brilliance. All I will ever be able to touch are the shadows...