Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ The Little Prince and the Demon ❯ Moonlit Sleep ( Chapter 1 )

“Little Prince”

by Shojo Kamui

(Based on the legend of the princess and the demon from Haruko Iida's `Crescent Moon'.)

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Crescent Moon or Yugioh in any way.

 

Will be rated X in the future due to content such as: explicit sex scenes, incest, violent character death, and a strong possibility of cannibalism. Yes, cannibalism. I shit you not.

Also, it'd be a little strange for the two Bakuras to have the same name so I'm changing Ryou's last name to Kanzaki. Hurray for Escaflowne.

  

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“Little prince, little prince, why are you up?”

I struggled to decide what had happened, my head still full of cotton. Logic is not always the immediate answer for children, and I was so sure then that he wasn't a dream. I recall blooming flowers, bursting, lush petals; but it's all a heady blur.

“I think someone was talking to me…”

I climbed into her lap and breathed in deeply the comforting smell that only a mother can have. My mother's skin and clothes were scented with smoky incense and burnt candle wicks, since she spent so much time praying to our ancestors.

“Who was talking to you, my little prince?”

My small hands grabbed the string of wooden beads she wore around her neck, playing with the smooth, polished globes from days of old.

“Um…a demon…yeah, that's what he said he was…”

I had decided and nodded my head assuredly.

My mother turned pale.

“Why was this demon talking to you, my little prince?”

She became so stiff, as if she had seen a ghost.

“He said he wanted me to marry him. Isn't that silly?”

“…Yes…”

Why did she hesitate?

“Yes love, it's very silly. What did you tell the silly demon?”

She sounded so frightened.

“I told him, `A boy is supposed to marry a girl.'”

She stroked my hair, and I felt her hands tremble.

“And what did he say to that?”

I played with her long, white hair; smooth and bright like polished silver.

“He told me he still wanted to marry me, and that he didn't care that I wasn't a girl.”

“So what did you tell him?”

Her hands stilled.

“I thought about it, and I think he wouldn't have left me alone unless I said yes.”

I yawned tiredly.

“So I thought that I didn't feel like marrying him right then, but, I didn't want the demon to be sad or mad, because then I'd feel bad, or the demon might've become scary, so I asked him if we could get married later.”

I smiled happily. Does any child really understand what `getting married' is?

“Then he asked me how long that would be, and I said I didn't know, so he got upset and made an angry face like this.”

I scrunched up my face and frowned greatly.

“And then he said `That doesn't help me much.' But then he stopped and asked if ten years would be enough, and then I thought about it.”

I put my hand to the side of my mouth and whispered to my mother's ear, as if it were some big secret.

“Ten years is a long time, you know, so I said `Ok then, just like in the song, we'll get married in ten years.'”

I was sleepy and my eyelids drooped with effort to keep them open.

“What song?”

She held me so tight it hurt. I pushed away and onto the bed, wriggling into my sheets.

“The one the demon sang when I saw him.”

She continued on, speaking softly, sadly.

“Sing me the song.”

Somehow, I remembered every word of that strange song, though I remember none of it now.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

I remember, when I was little, I had a very vivid dream about a demon. He came to me with long, wild hair and eyes like lightning, and foolishly, I made a promise that after ten years I would give myself to him as a sort of virginal bride.

Soon after that, my family and I moved to England under the insistence of my mother.

You see, after she married my father, my mother disappeared for a month. Some thought she had run away, but none of her things were missing. So, others came to the conclusion that she had been kidnapped, but no one ever called about a ransom. Then, one day, out of the blue, she reappeared, rambling and only slightly scratched, though when the wounds were studied they were found to be self inflicted. Mother refused to talk to any one of the shrinks father and her family sent her to, except for one whispered phrase: `He'll come for it! Dear God, he'll come for it!' She was never right in the head after that again, and for some reason, Mother became highly superstitious.

Though no one ever addressed the subject directly while I was in their presence, I know that she was probably raped or something of the sort.

Or, perhaps she fell in with some strange lover with deep eyes and dark hair, and then became insane when he stopped loving her. I've heard such things happen.

It was about 9 months after the incident that I was born. Some say that Father wasn't really my father, but he refused to get a DNA test, saying that no matter what, I would still be his son. Also, I looked so much like Mother, no one could really tell whether I was born of wedlock or not.

Mother was very protective of me, and secured spirit wards over my door and window.

Dear old mum took my dream for a real meeting between me and a demon.

She pleaded with my father, telling him that a demon would come and take me away. When that didn't work, she said that there would be better, more prestigious schools in England, half way around the world, and better sources to study and survey ancient Egypt, just as my father had always wanted to.

After a while, my mother won. Father almost always gave in, because he loved her.

Now it's ten years later. My mother died a few months ago of cancer. For the last few years, with chemo and surgery, mum became even more unstable and was hardly my mother at all. I miss her a lot.

Now my father has decided to reintroduce me to the country from which she came. We still own the house grandpa left us in his will, which was my childhood home.

I live here alone now, Father digging through the hot sands of Egypt with his son safely thousands of miles away, unable to remind him of his lost love.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

This house is still the same in many ways, but different.

It smells musty, with no one to live in it and light incense and candles or cook. The magic that made it a home has long left this house. New, more modern furniture has replaced the dusty dull pieces of once-colorful-now-faded children's furniture in the room that once was mine and is mine again.

Only ghosts have lived here for a very long time. I don't suppose they're too happy I'm back. Even now I can hear their restless wandering selves whispering to one another. Ghosts are big gossips, you know; they don't have much else to do.

Old smells are coming back, smells of incense and of food, awakened by memory. Tonight the moon shines brightly through my window, not yet full, but in a few days time, it will hang in the sky like a ripe, silver peach.

I like the moon. She's so pretty and demure, and every month, she is reborn, so I can treasure her beauty when she is full. I sigh in contentment.

Though my eyes are closed, I know that on the desk across from my bed is a stack of school books and my book bag, and my uniform hangs over the chair. Wisps of steam hang in the air from my shower, but they are quickly disappearing, along with the sweet smell of my shampoo.

I bury my head in my pillow, and I know my wet hair causes water to blossom across the cotton covers. I wish I never had to get up. My hands ache from clutching her necklace so tightly. I feel the glossy lacquered wood beads between my fingers, under my pillow.

The night is cool, and a comforting breeze blows through the open window. I like this place, floating between sleeping and consciousness.

I sense movement from something other than the wind and my instincts react. Through bleary, sleep doused eyes, I see a silhouette is standing in front of the window, broad shoulders outlined by the moon's silver embrace. It comes towards me, and for some reason I am not afraid as I feel a kiss; something passes between my lips, and hands grasp my throat and stroke, making me swallow. It's a strange thing, soft like petals and bitter like wine.

My body feels on fire; limbs become heavy burdens. My head feels full of water.

There are soft kisses on my face and neck while calloused hands hold my shoulders; a stranger's body is pressed to mine, making me apprehensive.

But the arms are so warm and comforting, and loving hands stroke my hair. I'm floating again, adrift between gentle fingers and whispered words whose meanings are lost to me in this place of not-quite-consciousness. Is this a dream? A melody passes my ears, feather light in its dance. It seems so familiar…

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

I am asleep.

I dream of my mother. She weeps with my heart in her hands, my blood still warm running down her arms. She cries, `My son! My son!'

I dream of a boy named Malik, who is in my class with me. He smiles kindly, like he did when I first met him. I like him very much. He offers me his hand, and I take it. He pulls me close and kisses me.

I dream that a man, with long wild hair and eyes like lightning, holds out my mother's holy necklace; the hand that holds it bleeds and crimson liquid flows in rivulets down his hand, the unstained glossy wood pristine. He looks into the night sky lit up by the full moon and sings as ten silver drops run down his cheek. He looks at me, and I wake up.

Hazy sunlight filters lazily through my window as my clock radio plays the sound of soft music. I get up for school, leaving the comforting warmth of my bed.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

I am far away during English, and I am farther away during math. I think of my strange dream, and already it is time for lunch.

Yugi and his friends sit with me.

His eyes shine like bright amethyst, but I know he has suffered.

A darkness lingers in those eyes that he cannot hide from the likes of me.

I know he was lonely, and his own smile bruised his heart, but he kept the mask.

Maybe he did it to believe in the lie, or maybe he really did believe he could be saved. He is better than me in that way. Yugi hopes for the future, while I still linger on the present.

Is that why he looks so young? Perhaps the years can't catch up to him? Is that why he's all right now?

He seems so innocent. What would the boy be like if he should take a lover? I hope that never happens to him, and that he stays perfect.

Yugi, I hope you never fall in love and take a lover to your bed, because I've seen nothing good come from it.

His friends chatter on, and I've decided I generally like this lot.

Jounichi is honest and pure hearted; Honda is dependable and tells it like it is; Mazaki is kind and understanding.

And then there is Malik. His skin is dark from the desert sun, though his hair is light from that very same sun. Isn't that ironic? I feel so odd compared to him.

It is true we both have light hair, but his hair is blonde, as if it soaked up the gold of the sun he was so fond of playing in as a child; my hair, however, is white, like my mother's hair, and my skin is white, like my father who was English born. Malik smiles at me, and I smile back. He is so mysterious and confident, and I am so shy and strange.

Class has started again, and at the end of the day, Malik asks to walk me home.

The sky rumbles, heavy with grey clouds.

“You might get stuck at my house if it starts to rain.” He smiles in a way that makes my heart jump.

“I have no problem with that.”

I accept his offer.

It's Malik that talks mostly, with a few words added in from me, but he doesn't seem to mind, and neither do I. It's nice, actually, and I discover that I really do like him, especially his ambitions to see the world on a motorcycle. We laugh, and I am content.

He walks me up to my door and I smile and stop for a moment, not knowing what do say.

“Thank you for being so kind to me. I sincerely hope we become good friends, Ishtar-san.” My politeness is a habit that makes others uncomfortable at times, but I can't help it.

Malik takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing me to him. He is now considerably closer.

The other boy's pretty lips turn up in a sly grin, full of audacity. His eyes seem to burn with an emotion that I do not know, and pools of lavender make me tremble.

Do you know that sensation when something so cold touches your skin that it feels like you're burning? I feel that now.

“I sincerely hope that we can become more than friends.”

Why am I attracted to him like I am? Aren't boys supposed to like girls?

The demon didn't care. Should I?

The sky flashes, and soon after it roars. Water pours down.

I pull away and hastily push my key into the door. My face feels hot and my arms feel tight. Chest pounding, I quietly speak up.

“D-do you want to come inside?”

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

He sits in the living room, and I get us some tea.

“Tell me Ryou-san, do you live here alone?”

I want to tell him about the ghosts of the past, about how they whisper to me about the memories of this house that people have long forgotten. I want to tell him about the darkness who comes to me at night by the light of the moon. I want to tell him how my heart pounds when the shadow comes for me. But I don't.

“Yes. My father is staying in Egypt at the moment.”

I set a white porcelain cup before him, beautiful in its frail perfection.

“And what about your mother?”

He leaves his tea before him, and I sip the hot, bitter drink with no milk to cool it.

“She passed away a few months ago.”

“Aren't you lonely?” His eyes are sympathetic.

“Sometimes, but I don't mind being alone…” He suddenly touches my wrist, making me jump and spill hot tea on my hand. I wince.

Malik puts his lips to my hand and starts to lick where I was burned, his tongue rough like a cat's.

“Ryou…”

I've never heard anyone speak in a hushed, desirous way towards me. He pulls me into his lap. My heart beats so hard that I'm not sure how it's staying inside my chest.

“Ryou…”

A sultry voice makes me unable to think. His hands are slowly stroking my back, seducing in circles. His forehead presses to mine and I can no longer hide from lilac eyes. I hear harsh breathing, and am surprised to find that it is my own. My face sears with a blush as his lips touch mine.

First kiss; my heart pounds. Am I bad? Does he mean it? Do I mean it?

I feel his wet mouth, teeth grazing over my lips and making them feel too small.

I smell the musk that is his, like sweat and sunshine and grass and wind. I can't push him away, but then again, I don't really want to. Is this right? Do I belong in this boy's arms?

Malik straddles me, pushing hard against me. His lips work mine open, a skillful tongue coaxing mine to life. He's overwhelming.

His need presses against my stomach and thin hands find their way beneath the shirt of my uniform, touching and teasing skin that no other has touched.

We moan like one, and my own hands find their way to his skin somehow, feeling the smooth expanse of his stomach and chest.

I'm sure you're wondering if I'm being hypocritical because of what I said about Yugi. I'm not. Yugi is perfect; light in human form. I was born defective, or perhaps made that way long ago. It doesn't matter for me because I am weak. I do not fight.

He presses himself as close to me as possible and whispers, “You're perfect…”

Thunder sounds and startles me.

My eyes dart to look out the window as the sky flashes once more, the rain stopping. I feel my heart stop also when I see golden orbs, eyes of lightning, and I know it is wrong.

“Stop…Stop now!”

Mustering all the strength I can, I push the Egyptian boy off of me.

“W-what's wrong?”

He is disgruntled, his obvious need causing a substantial bulge in his loins, my own need mirrored by the tightness of my pants.

My lungs struggle to draw breath.

“I-I'm sorry. I can't do this. You have to leave.”

I hurry Malik out the door, and I wish I could explain, but I know he wouldn't understand. I know he'd think I'm crazy. The door is shut, but my breathing has not slowed. My hands become fists, and I slowly look over through the window. I'm not sure whether I'm hoping to see or not see those familiar eyes. However, they are gone. Perhaps they were just a figment of my imagination, made up by my subconscious to tell me that I don't like Malik. I tell myself this over and over like a mantra, as if saying it over and over will make it true. My legs carry me up the stairwell and to my room. They feel as if they aren't a part of me.

I want so badly to sleep and forget all this confusion. I can smell him on me, his wonderful smell.

I lie in bed once more, happily embracing the softness of my pillow and comforter. It is a simpler in this place before dreams. Here, there is once nothing to confuse my heart; no bedroom eyes and wet lips and eager hands. I hear the crickets chirp outside, and I bless the cool night air.

With his kiss, Malik stirred my blood and made me desire him. I clench the sheet tight.

I know he is here again. I know that the silhouette takes the form of a man, though he wears the shadows to hide himself.

And tonight, as I lay sleeping, he watches me.

I dream of hard kisses that make my lips bleed, and rough hands that make my body weep for more.

Long hair brushes against my thighs and I moan.

Arms wrap around me and hips thrust in a steady, maddening rhythm.

He causes a sensual pain between my legs, and I beg for completion as my dark lover grins.

I feel a wet, warmth within me and a long kiss.

I wake up to cold damp that makes me wonder.

Was that really just a dream?

 

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo