Angel Sanctuary Fan Fiction ❯ Megalomania ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Geez, I mean, the fact that my drawing ability makes four-year-olds look good ought to be some kind of hint...

 

AN: X.x WHERE ARE THESE COMING FROM? (sweatdrop) I just wrote and posted `Blight My Eyes' like three hours ago... and now this... you Katan/Rosiel fans are gonna go into shock, nervous grin. Note: A great big huge thank-you to XO'MagickMoon'OX for pointing out some typos for me :) If anyone else happens to see any more, please feel free to mention them; impulse post...

 

Xoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooX

 

My body begs and whines like a puppy, and it's just as hard to ignore sometimes, but I think I've been doing a pretty good job of it so far.

 

The cleansing rain beats a gentle lullaby against the ground outside, and I vaguely entertain some idea of finally getting off this bed and going to the window so I can watch it better. I lift one hand to push myself up, and am instantly distracted.

 

Ah, my hands... I'm pleased with my hands. They have become femininely slender - almost skeletal. No, all my fat goes to my stomach, to my hips and thighs. Other people may not know, but the loose cloth that covers those parts of my body does not fool me...

 

I drop my hand to the twisted silk beneath me again, because it has become too much of an effort to hold it above my face where I can see it. A small part of me - that little bit that's still sane, I suspect - wonders what the purpose of all this is. I am always too cold, and so weak that I shake uncontrollably sometimes. My once-luminous skin has developed an unhealthy yellowish pallor, like the brittle pages of an old book. Even my voice seems feeble, sometimes. I am so hungry...

 

Yes, I am aware that this is not making me more beautiful, though I pretend it is sometimes. That isn't the purpose. I wonder idly if I was hoping this might actually be able to kill me, but I don't think it will, so that's probably not it either. My mind flails as weakly as a moth in its attempt to perform this simple task of remembering my own motives...

 

In the end, it is the empty, dimly lit silence of the room that reminds me. Oh, yes... I chortle softly at the ceiling above. Well, why do I do any of the horrible things I do? Megalomania is just a big word for being lonely.

 

Of course, the pointlessness of this endeavor is double-edged. Why would this make people notice me, really notice, any more - or less - than they already do? It's just one more crazy thing. And even if they did care, who would be brave enough to mention it...?

 

My eyelids flutter shut in exhaustion. I only care about one person's noticing, really, but in the fuddle of half-consciousness, I can't quite remember who.

 

Xoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooX

 

Katan really disliked entering his master's chambers uninvited. It wasn't just the fact that there was nothing quite like it for making him feel nervous and impolite, somehow... There was also, every time, this niggling little sensation in the pit of his stomach that he could only describe as apprehension...

 

When he saw his lord sleeping peacefully, all tangled up in his sheets, he let out a breath he hadn't even been aware of holding - though it wasn't entirely in relief. One of Rosiel's arms rested on the pillow above his head, and to Katan it seemed to be as fragile as a matchstick, complete with a hand that, like a match head, could be crushed with ease between forefinger and thumb... Also, were his cheekbones more prominent than they had been a week ago? Were his eyes more deeply set in his skull? Surely his lips used to be more lush and full...

 

He knelt respectfully a short distance from the head of the bed. “Rosiel-sama... Rosiel-sama, please wake up,” he said gently.

 

He saw the man begin to stir after a moment; he watched as the matchstick arm shifted slightly, as the twig fingers curled and relaxed; and finally, his eyes fluttered open. “Katan?” he muttered, staring at the ceiling, and then he glanced over, and smiled a meaningless smile. “Oh, so it is you. What is it?”

 

He bowed his head slightly in apology. “Please forgive me for disturbing your rest... I just wanted to see how you were feeling,” he said frankly. “You missed several meetings today. No one has even seen you, from what I've heard... You missed dinner. Would you like me to bring you something?”

 

Rosiel shrugged slightly. “No. I'm not hungry.” His hand trembled slightly as he said it, so he slipped it under the covers, and then closed his eyes again... and held his breath in anticipation.

 

Sure enough, Katan protested, concern ringing in his voice in spite of his best efforts. “Are you sure? Have you even eaten anything all day?”

 

He sighed long-sufferingly. “I'm not hungry, I tell you.”

 

Katan swallowed undetectably. “Sir... please eat something. Please eat something for my sake.”

 

Rosiel opened his eyes again, and they flashed angrily in the low light. “Why should I do anything for your sake?” he hissed.

 

They stared at each other without blinking for a quiet moment, and it occurred to Rosiel to wonder just what exactly he wanted, anyway. Katan knew what he was doing to himself... wasn't that what he had decided he was trying to accomplish? And yet, by saying that, he had just effectively forbidden himself from eating anything; his pride would never permit it... He found himself hoping that Katan would try to argue with him, would perhaps get angry, but maybe he had realized something too. He merely stood, gave a stiff bow at the waist, and said without emotion: “Forgive me. Good night.” With that faintly brusque farewell, he left the room.

 

For the next hour, Rosiel tried in vain to get back to sleep - something he had become rather unaccustomed to having to do, but there it was. The problem, he supposed, was that he was far too busy wondering what the point to all this really was. Maybe he wanted more than sympathy - he thought with a fresh surge of self-disgust that maybe he wanted someone to force him to get better, to do all the work for him... All he could conclude with certainty was that he was very, very lonely.

 

Finally he gave in, and slipped down to the floor and across it to the door, intending to sneak off to the kitchen and see if he couldn't scrape together a snack by himself. When he opened the door, however, he caught sight of something that made him stop short. After a minute or two of staring at the food-laden tray, he sunk to the ground, clutching his knees to his chest and wondering why he felt like he wanted to cry... He couldn't quite get up the energy to, in any case, so after a little while longer, he ate.

 

Owari