Angel Sanctuary Fan Fiction ❯ White ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Words cannot describe how flattered I would feel if someone somehow mistook me for the creative genius that is Kaori Yuki.

 

AN: Written because of Valentine's chocolate, and an acute case of employee dissatisfaction. It's short, and pointless, and I don't know nearly enough about Sevy-kun to do it justice, but somehow... I think I like it :) I used to hate Sevy, but writing this actually made me feel kinda sorry for him... So, yeah. (crazed look) Review or I'll JUMP! Except... I'm on the first floor... heh... Enjoy the story, nervous grin.

 

xoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooox

 

The white angel was well aware of how powerless he was before his own image. As he stood in front of the mirror, once again - unclothed and unmasked - and tried not to gag at the very sight, he couldn't help but revel in the irony of it all. In this clean, white world that he strived so hard to create, he was the biggest blemish of all...

 

Gabriel... Rociel... Setsuna... These names meandered in and out of his mind in a sickly waltz, and his fragile grasp on reality cracked a little more as he watched. Their filthiness plagued him day and night; all he wanted to do was rub them away, wash them out of his world like the disgusting stains they were...

 

And the worst part of all was that there was still a little something in the back of his mind that could see the madness reflected in his eyes. It was the worst part because he was so imbalanced, these days, that he wasn't even sure which side of him was more unclean. The white vision he held felt so pure that he could never have questioned it, if only its brightness didn't scorch his eyes so.

 

For an instant he thought the mirror had shattered under the sheer force of his ugliness, until he saw the blood flowing through the cracks and realized that it was his own - he had to laugh. The scattered fragments of his face joined in the merriment, and he couldn't help but feel that they were rather too amused.

 

And then began the long process of replacing his mask, and clothing himself, and quietly teasing the fragments of glass out of his flesh so that he could cover the redness with a clean white bandage. It occurred to him that all this stress made it seem like almost too much effort. It was simply mind-boggling, how tired he felt sometimes...

 

He had just finished pulling a white satin glove on over his wrapped-up hand, when someone slammed his door open with a deafening bang and an accompanying cry of “Sevy!” The white angel felt his world shift into another shape with an almost audible `click'.

 

“Metatron,” he muttered, keeping most of his irritation out of his voice and letting the stammering sister who had accompanied the tiny angel fade into the background. “How many times must I tell you to knock?”

 

Metatron glared up at him, though he managed to look anything but imposing, and gave Sevothtarte's robes an angry yank. “You lied to me again, Sevy! You said you were busy, but you're just in here!” He paused in his shouting just long enough to pout. “I won't take my medicine until you tell me a story; I won't!”

 

Sevy, for his part, could only stare down at the little seraphim for a few breaths' time, though it felt somewhat longer than that. This child... It amazed him every time he saw him that his feelings towards the boy weren't more complex. At the very least, all thoughts of him should have been linked to the name Sandalphon - should have been wrapped and writhing around that name like two snakes, should have been tangled completely up in his vision of blinding brilliance. But somehow, no matter how hard he tried, it just didn't work like that. Metatron was just Metatron, and the light he cast was golden and soothing...

 

Behind the mask, though no one would ever know, the white angel's face contorted into something that might have been a smile, even if it did hold a scant amount of humor. “Well, I suppose if you insist...” The Prime Minister of Heaven sat down on the edge of the bed and allowed Metatron to scramble, with an excited squeal, onto his lap, before beginning. There was a sad little quirk to his voice, which seemed to go right over the boy's head, as the white angel said, “Once upon a time, there was a castle in the air...”

 

Owari