Fortuna.

The monthly masquerade of Earl Kirkum was always amongst one of the most awaited events among the higher nobility in Venice.

But never had it been more popular than after the rumors of Lady Fortuna's scandal with marquis Nimportequi, whom she had recently been in an affair with.

The man in question had apparently crushed the lady's heart by walking out on her after an extremely long and intimate relationship by choosing to return to his homeland France after proposing to her many times.

All of Venice's creme de la creme were eager to see how badly hurt the young lady was. It was the inevitable part of human in them showing: seeing the ones they envied bloody, broken and bruised, because Chiara Fortuna possessed many treats the aristocracy lacked.

The self-proclaimed aristocrat had an air of unnatural grace around her, she was always best informed of the doings on the streets of Venice and the soul of every party she was invited to. Her beauty attracted a lot of men of all ages and the dislike of women.

She was probably the most loved and most hated person at the same time.

So on the night of the ball,  Lady Fortuna was not hard to find at all, for a flock of suitors appeared right at her side when she stepped into the ballroom.

In time, the flock grew in numbers, but the content of it changed occasionally, for some of those men had brought their own ladies whom to tend to from time to time. Those who had attended the ball alone, were constantly around her, hoping she would take interest in them.

One of the suitors was lucky: the light blonde lady allowed him half of her dances, kept him always in her conversations with other nobilities and seemed to take an interest in him.

It was well past after midnight when Lady Fortuna asked him to accompany her to see the Earl's many riches.

The rooms of the Earl's house were filled with paintings, furniture of previous eras and various antiques, making it quite the display during day time.

At night time however, most of the riches were hidden in the shadows, very few of all the curious objects showing occasionally in the moon light.

Lady Fortuna lead the young man into one of the biggest rooms, which had only been furnished with a piano and a few vases filled with plants. The suitor, who had been silent until now, started declaring his undying love for her.

He continued on like that for about five minutes, without noticing that the young woman grew more and more irritated with every passing word.

"Ah, I can not even begin to describe your beauty, my fair lady! Your hair shines in the moonlight so brightly, its silver hue making it seem snow-white! And your eyes..." His eyes widened as the words on his lips died down as he realized his mistake.

It was not the moon light colouring her hair white. Her hair was white and her eyes glowed with a crimson red.

The young woman smiled at him and with a quick snap of the neck, he collapsed dead on the floor, his head twisting at an odd angle.

Lady Fortuna turned around and started looking for two glasses she had hidden in the room earlier, when the  gentle rustle of clothing sounded. She smiled, but didn't turn to look.

"You're early, Scip." She stated, pulling out two glass goblets. Chiara knew the figure behind her must have scowled, but it wouldn't show under the big dark hood he was wearing.

"Don't call me that." The voice was ice cold, but Chiara simply stuck out her tongue while handing him one of the goblets. "Would you prefer Scipio then?" She asked and she was sure the scowl had deepened, but once again, the hood was hiding everything.

"How about calling me by my name for once?" He sounded irritated and Chiara's face expressed confusion.

"But it doesn't suit you at all!" She exclaimed. He let out what seemed like a sigh and started massaging his temples. Chiara watched the long pale fingers disappear under the thick cloth with amusement.

After calming himself down, he finally took the goblet the young girl had offered her.

"Let's just get this over with." Chiara threw him a look that expressed mock sadness for his obvious dislike directed towards her. But then again, he had all reason to, she mused.

How could Death possibly like an immortal like her?

Meanwhile, the cloaked figure was busy with the body. He crouched down next to it and extended one hand hand. He stuffed his hand down the throat of the once so lively young man and when he pulled it out, a small, golden egg rested on his palm.

Death stood up once again and Chiara examined the egg. At her nod of approval, Death cracked the egg with the edge of the goblet. Splitting it in half, he handed one part to Chiara and unceremoniously dumped his half into the goblet.

Something white and something black twisted into the bottom of the glass. It was neither liquid nor gas: it was a state of liquid smoke, the black and the white trying to mingle, yet keeping away from each other as to not get mixed.

"Hmm, 65 to 35 for white. You rarely get people as pure as this these days." She commented before taking a sip of her 'drink'. A smile of glee spread on her face, showing how much she enjoyed it.

"You should stop hunting for pure ones. If you hunt anymore than that, then they're going to become extinct." The scowl in his voice was evident as he raised the goblet into his hood as well.

Chiara didn't seem to be that much concerned with it.

 "Who cares? I mean, I'd rather gather them now, while there still are some than wait for humanity to chase them out of society." Death seemed irritated again, but chose to be silent.

They quietly finished their drinks, Death thinking of nothing at all, while Chiara pondered on the deal she had made with Death so many years ago.

She could barely remember it, the only thing she seemed to remember that it had happened on a full moon night such as this was.

After their ritual was finished, Death nodded to the immortal slightly, who only answered with a sly smile, before returning back to the mortals' realm, where a ball was still taking place.

Selective amnesia.

 It's amazing how many times I have wished for the Geass to be a real (almost as often as wishing for my own  Lulu. But I guess these two things go hand in hand.). But a few months ago(when I was not stupid. And enjoying a more quiet phase of insanity.) was the first time that I wished for the Geass so that I could forget. Forget this one single person. And then I had even no reason to wish to forget them except my own inability to calm my own mind. Perhaps this is the reason even now. But yes, I wished to forget. I knew it would have driven me mad. I mean forgetting that one person would have created quite the blank into my memory. And I am the curious kind. I would have tried to fill that blank. Heck, I even have a scene written about it.
 Alas, reality is cruel and I have no other choice but to take the longer path, forgetting everything at a snail's pace. Even then, I won't be able to forget everything completely, but forgetting about my own feelings is a feat I will probably be able to manage. Time heals all kinds of wounds and even those created by myself will close, fade into nonexistence and be forgotten about when another wound is created. I don't doubt that my stupidity will be always there for me, inflicting pain when I don't need it.
 but then again, those wounds are parts of me. They shape my character, affect my behavior and make me lose myself completely. I didn't feel like myself until a few weeks ago. Now, the daydreaming part of me is slowly returning, along with old habits. I am slowly standing up again, facing fall with the usual mindset and bloody optimism I have. Things feel like they are going to be all right again.
Even if my dreams try to viciously argue against it.

  

And yet, I watch that idiot...

"I've noticed that lately, I'm always around you.

Is it hate? like?

Or just paranoia?"

- Sakura Kiss by Cheico Kawabe

These days have been very busy with nothing at all. I've just had a lot of things to think about and since I obviously couldn't pick anything else, I started rewatching Ouran High School Host Club. Yes, a host club in a high school filled with obnoxiously rich people. Not to mention one of the best stereotypical anime which I can use for reference material for my story(the number of drafts has grown to 4 I think. That's quite horrible).

 So one of the more important questions that it has posed in my mind is: if I ever shared a bed with Ootori Kyouya-san, how mad would he be if I kicked him accidentally? Because he is...the sort of person to get pissed at such things and he is quite capable of making my life a living hell(Private police and stuff...nuff said). And yes, this requires some serious thoughts(Have a look at the anime. That thing ain't serious at all.)

My dad finally returned from his trip to Germany(Waaai~!) and the things we talked about made me once again crave for that wonderful country and the wonderful people that live in it. Which is once again confirming my belief of returning there as soon as possible(though as I know found out, my mother would prefer if I'd study in Estonia at first). Lately, we've been talking with my mother a lot and I am not sure whether that makes me happy or not. 

On one hand, it does deepen the relationship between us. On the other, I have never found it necessary to burden her with my troubles and the outlook on the future kind of shows that at one point, I will have to tell her. But that is in the far off future...I hope. You never know with the way things work these days...

 Though I have been questioned about my future again. It's weird that people want to know, although after hearing my response, they claim that they didn't know what they wanted to do either when they were my age. Why even ask? Do I look like someone, who knows exactly what they want? Do I look like I know what is going on in my own head?

 I'm slowly getting my imagination back...or well any side-effects that are coming with it. The stories have slowly made their way back into my head again and I can exaggerate to my heart's content. With the autumnish weather adding to it, I'm slowly starting to feel like myself again. I'm welcoming this change with open arms. 

It's also about time I started thinking up new characters. At least I have found an awesome name and I am abusing it already. A RPG wouldn't sound too bad at the moment though...so I shall bother people once again.

Also, since when does a game need to know your blood-type?

My belly is a black hole,

H.

A dramatic letter to conscience

Dear weirder, who might be reading this!

I'd call you stranger, but for now I am clinging to horrible puns for the sake of my sanity, if that makes any coins. I've already written a letter today, but I haven't sent it, because it is mainly filled with accusations and directed a person, who is really none of my concern anymore. But I have taken some necessary measures, so the letter will stay as a document in my computer and never be sent.
 I would love to talk about things that I have done lately, but there is not much to tell. I am emotionally drained again, though I admit this is my own fault. It had nothing to do with overtiredness and I'm simply looking forward to seeing my friend again, who I was able to talk to at one crucial point. I broke down in front of her and funnily enough, her words of comfort were not "it is going to be all right" but "you are so cute". Yes, weirder, the friends I pick are unique and you should feel damn proud that I consider you one of them.
 On another note, thanks to a letter I received a few days ago, I have realized that I have done unjust to one of my closest friends. Because I was selfish, I stopped opening up to her and now I realize I have done wrong and I hope to make up to it soon. It will keep me away from bad thoughts for the mean time.
 I wasn't actually planning on writing this sort of letter, but I felt that if I didn't post this, something bad would have happened. Unfortunately enough, I got the move on too late, so I haven't managed to say something especially meaningful. I couldn't tell you about the person who hates me, yet shares a lot with me, I couldn't tell about people I have had incredibly long phone calls with, I couldn't tell you about fish fingers and custard. I couldn't tell you about the silent plea I had yesterday, I couldn't tell about how easily I can hurt myself with words. But let's leave you with a nice thought: the world won't change with pretty words alone. So rather than speaking about it, I shall indulge myself in activities that will help me broaden my mind and realize how ridiculous I have been the last 24 hours.

Yours sincerely,
H.

The scent of selfishness

He paced around back and forth as he waited for her, getting more and more irritated by the minute. It had started a few weeks back, when she asked him to meet her, but he had refused, for it had been a busy time. 

She had backed down for some time, but once he did have an exceptional amount of free time, he started making up excuses. He didn’t want to see her. He had no idea what to do with her.  It was something unknown to him, and he feared the unknown.

He panicked when he was around her, so he made sure he would avoid her as much as possible. In the end, he had given in, when she’d told him that she only wanted to ask a favor and wouldn’t need more than five minutes.

So now he was waiting at their meeting spot, wondering what could possibly cause her to ask constantly about meeting up, the pleas becoming more forceful with every passing week.

She showed up five minutes after the agreed time, carrying a stuffed animal with her. The moment she reached him, she dumped the plush toy at him.

“What’s this?” He asked, examining what could be called a black rabbit. 

It had long ears, with an earring attached on the left one and a chubby body. On its forehead was a blue, round crystal. It had short legs, the hind legs being slightly longer. But it didn’t look like anything he had seen before.

“That’s Mokona Modoki. I want you to take care of him.” She answered, carefully observing his expression.

“Why?” He asked, his brow creasing at the absurdness of the favor.  She pouted, angry that he wouldn’t understand.

“I’m going on vacation and can’t take him with me. Mokona will feel lonely!” She explained, gesturing at the rabbit to emphasize her point. It didn’t help that the so called Mokona was smiling.

 He thought about it for a while.  The favor in itself was ridiculous, but not as bad as he expected.

“What does taking care of him mean?”  He inquired and he saw her eyes lighting up.

“Well, if you want to make Mokona comfortable then you could pet him and hug him and-” she started nonchalantly, but stopped when she saw the look on his face.  “Or you could just place him somewhere in your room and leave him there until I want him back.”

He thought about it for a while and then agreed, but only, because her look had been becoming more pleading the longer he thought about it. She didn’t even bother to hide the joy she felt when he nodded. She smiled at him briefly before leaving, a slight skip in her step.

Once he had gotten home with the weird toy, he contemplated on what he would do with it.At first he opted for placing it on his desk, but the furry animal seemed quite out of place there. He searched with his eyes for a spot that would suit, but in the end he had to admit that the furry animal didn't fit anywhere in his room.

At last, he decided to place it on his bed, for he felt that would seem the most natural.

A week passed until she finally contacted him again. The stuffed toy had stayed mostly untouched on his bed, although he had noted at one point that it made a good pillow. Not that he was going to tell her though.

So once again, he found himself pacing back and forth, with another promise that it would only take five minutes. When she finally arrived, she broke into a run.

“Mokona!” She yelled teary eyed and for a split second he was convinced she was going to hug him, but the toy was scooped out of his arms and she buried her face into it, inhaling deeply. 

'"I missed you so much!" She told the toy.

He wondered whether he felt disappointed or not, but she had already smiled and thanked him, before turning around and walking away. 

So he slid his hands into his pockets and started making his way home.

She, however, went to the bus stop and hugged it tightly the whole time,occasionally burying her face into Mokona. She didn’t have to wait long for five minutes later she already sat on the bus, Mokona still safely secured in her arms. She smiled slightly when a whisk of his scent reached her and she once again snuggled into the soft fabric of Mokona. She inhaled deeply once more and her smile grew into a grin.

She knew it was wrong, but honestly, when the idea had came to her, she simply couldn’t resist. 

It was selfish, but at the moment, she didn’t care.

It had been so long since she had done something for herself, something for her own happiness and now that she had, she was going to enjoy it. The pangs of guilt that popped up every now and then were easily drowned out by the scent she would never be able to describe without exaggerating.

Drowned out by the scent of her own selfishness.