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Selamat datang di Black Order Headquarters! Waktu dunia Black Order HQ saat ini adalah: Februari 1880

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[ONESHOT] Of Shadows and Memories I_icon_minitimeby Ravel Kohler 21st December 2015, 17:50

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 [ONESHOT] Of Shadows and Memories

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Vanya Muller

Vanya Muller

Posts : 58
Pemilik : masamune11

Posisi: Finder
Cabang: Afrika - Timur Tengah
Umur: 23 tahun

[ONESHOT] Of Shadows and Memories Empty
PostSubject: [ONESHOT] Of Shadows and Memories   [ONESHOT] Of Shadows and Memories I_icon_minitime14th May 2010, 22:20

Of Shadows and Memories
by: masamune11

Vanya Muller (c) me
Leon von Konigswalde (c) me
Abiel Nathanieth (c) *vainGlory [or *Oxalis]

How she loved music.

There are times when Vanya Muller would love all too dearly… to play. In the body of a certain 23 years old, the girl still had the ­­­spirit of a 5-years-old toddler. That spirit was manifested, even after years of torments (Vanya never acknowledge them as part of her torments), and such beauty had never failed to impress him.

That quality is one of the things why a certain blond loves her, to the deepest core of his heart.

Every time Vanya lifted her violin so easily, his eyes, no matter how drowsy they get, would never fail to catch up her performance. The silent—but quick—movement of her hands combined with the strength she put into making the most beautiful sound he could ever hear… was mesmerizing. Leon von Königswalde fell under her spell, for each stroke of her violin might even send him to heaven…

…which is actually not a bad thing.

And here again, they met under the same tree on the field of lush greens. Both of them had been meeting for some times, under the same tree, in the midst of night—his princess, if only his family would allow him to take her hand on marriage. Yet, his family forbade him to; who is he to oppose the old aristocracy of his own family? A naïve young lord such as him would not stand a chance against the old carved rule hanging next to the fireplace of his home.

It was the rules which tell the Königswalde to not marry other than those of nobles.

The smile on Leon’s face did not falter, not even when that thought crossed his mind. His eyes were plastered on Vanya’s hand on the neck of the violin—how she was capable of playing a piece with such ferocity (oh, Leon was aware of how her fingers danced gracefully between the strings) was beyond his understanding. Perhaps his love has been bleeding her fingers out, just to master this piece of song.

The melody suddenly stopped, and blue eyes could not help but hardened at how the hands stopped moving. Before he knew it, his love lowered her hands and formed akimbo. Blonde eyebrows raised; blue orbs quickly scanned the feature of her face, and found a certain line in the girl’s forehead. Somehow, even though he was looking at the annoyed form of his lover, Leon could not even fathom the tremendous beauty radiating from her core.

“I don’t know which you were doing, hearing my song or examining my figure all the time.” She started; a short little argument which always brightened up their days—his days, at the very least. Leon managed to show up his playful smirk—the kind of smirk which would always piss the hell out of her, but made her felt accepted at the same time. As expected of her characteristic, Leon could see how her cheeks inflated—puffy Vanya. He’s five seconds away from having Vanya blurted complains on her boyfriend. Therefore, he was ready to accept whatever came at his way.

However, the anticipated blow did not come.

Instead, he could see how Vanya’s face contorted into somewhat silly face. Her smile—which, by the way, always takes his heart away—was crafted with so much beauty that Vanya mayhap be his goddess—the only person whom he could offer up with anything. Yet, the mischievous glint sparkling in her eyes said signs of what’s in store for him—a dreaded one, at that.

Leon cleared his throat, before answering Vanya’s questions, “What about both?” The blond smirked, as Vanya’s mouth quivered, making a sly smile. If his brain the personification of human, this is the time when his brain would actually screaming and running, at least until he has found a nice sanctuary to hide from the black-haired girl. “Eyes were meant to see and ears were meant to hear. So, why not try the two of them combined?”

The man could see how those cheeks flushed, perhaps due to his comment earlier. There were no damage done though—what he always did was always teasing her. Why changed them now… or ever? Those lips pouted; the words forming through her lips were simply inaudible in his ears. He could not blame her—what would one do when she (or he) was being teased except pouting? A quiet smirk showed itself in the frame of Leon’s face. Vanya’s eyes were wide, while her hand—right one—gave him a slap on his left shoulder. “I know you did that on purpose!”

Leon chuckled, out of amusement. His right hand moved toward the slapped shoulder, not really sensing any stinging feeling. After all, it was a light slap—nothing serious, not for the man whom she had loved the most in her life, no?

Yeah, in her life.

Leon always wondered how things could be much better if she could actually forget the thin line which will always grow fragile for each passing day. His Vanya was (and still is) too precious to be let crumbling, wasted away in the hands of time. While she would be wasted just because of him, Leon would stay stagnant—here in the field of flowers, in the place where the two of them vowed their promises to each other.

In her memory, he would stay like that—forever.

“Hey, Leon.”

The teen girl called him, happiness radiating from the very bottom of her core. Her face inched closer—the boy just realized—close enough for him to see some sort of sparkles in her eyes. It really reminded him of gazing into blue seas, even though his mother had always said the same to his eyes as well.

The black hair strand was actually ruffling with his spiky blond, mixing together just because the wind willed it. Their nose was so close that Leon wondered why they (their noses) had not touched. His eyes were now limited of view and can only see Vanya’s face. It was mesmerizing—but sad at a same time.

For whom, he thought? Perhaps there none who’s not hurt; perhaps Vanya had realized how improbable for her to gaze upon the endless sky which belonged to Leon von Königswalde—the very windows of soul which reflect how gentle he could be. The blue on his eyes was reflected from Vanya’s gaze, and Leon realized all too dearly that it was the same blue that captured her heart and perhaps… her soul as well.

You can’t chase a ghost.

He swore that the girl smiled. If not for the sad tone which had appeared several seconds before him gazing upon his eyes, he would not swear under his breath. He knew what caused this misfortune to befall upon his precious Vanya and hated himself for letting that happen. But how can one defy his/her destiny? If death is meant for him, wouldn’t that mean struggling is meaningless?

It was fate that brought them to this state.

“Hey, Vanya.” His words sounded real, soothing, and caring. It was the very thing which always reminded him that he still existed—somewhere in the world, Leon still loved him… that he’s still alive and well. His hand movement—the right hand which was caressing her left cheek—felt soft and warm. This man was still alive, because her senses would not betray her, not like the man who had saved her and brought her to the safety of Black Order. Yes, Ravel Kohler, General of Exorcist, might be her uncle, but he had lied nonetheless; Leon was still alive… with her.

“Listen.” Vanya nodded. Leon was there, existing. She would do whatever it takes to make him stay, because she’s nothing without him. His hands were already gripped the sides of her head and forced hers to be right in front of his. Their foreheads touched. For the briefest moment, Vanya was sure she felt a tingling cold sensation… a shockwave of frostbite from the touch. It was small, yet the uncomfortable feeling which she got left her… uneasy?

“Vanya… you’re always beautiful.” Those hands were not only gripping her heads tightly in place, but also caressed her cheeks slowly, gently, as though said girl were so fragile that she would break. His caresses were feathery touch—it was as though to remind her that he existed—he’s right in front of her the whole time, and the world had tried to hide him away from her.

No. Fate could not bring them apart. Never; that was what Vanya had believed, up until now.

“But as beautiful as a woman could be… A woman should not hide behind a fake smile.” Leon smiled, but his smile gave her a slight pang of guilt—it was distressing, it was disappointing, it was disapproving, it was…

…just… sad.

Vanya gave off a nervous chuckle. The love of her life was actually blabbering about something which she does not understand; no, it was not that she does not understand. For Leon to speak of abstract things would be pretty much usual, even in the old days. Yet, for him to gives off such knowledge to her with sad face… it was her first.

And it felt suffocating.

“But Leon…” Her right hand caressed the strong hand of her lover, gently. “You’re here. I don’t have to show a fake smile to the whole reason to live.” Soft smile tried to ease out the sad one, trying to understand what was in his mind. Yet, deep down, somehow Vanya realized that she already what he was thinking—or rather, what he was worried about. “I will smile gladly, because you’re here, with me.”

“But Vanya…” Leon held her caressing hand with both of his, freeing her from his grip. “...I’m not here.”

Because no matter what ones do, the ghost will always disappear—
leaving behind just a trail of thin smoke, almost…surrealistic
as if it is not there in the first place.

“W-what are you talking about, Leon?” Vanya was quite surprised to hear her uneven tone of voice. Why did she sound afraid? Leon was there, right in front of her—it would be absurd if her five senses were actually playing her, wouldn’t it? Yes, what she felt from his touch were real—too real to be an illusion, too real to be just a wonderful dream. “You are here. You’re standing right in front of me. Isn’t this real enough?!”

Her voice sounded harsh due to pent-up frustration which had built through her days without him. Both of her hands quickly covered her lips, blue eyes almost bulging out of its original frame. Steps were made unconsciously, bringing distance between her and Leon; she’s the one who make the gap. Vanya would believe that the things she felt—the lush green grass, the sound of wind rustling, the fresh air of summer—are real; that includes Leon.

But said man actually wanted to deny it all.

She could see Leon smiled sadly, trying to give off the silly smirk which Vanya had always adored. He did, with poor improvements though. Yet, they were still the same smile which was always able to melt her heart—not only then, but now as well.

This was Leon; this was real. Yet why her reaction somehow betrayed her?

Before Vanya could step several feet back, Leon had already lunged towards her. The man was now actually hugging her, but Vanya did not feel comfortable. The warmth of his skin was leaving slowly; blue eyes—Vanya’s eyes—widened in surprised and horror. The back of her mind told her to let go, but her body refused; she hugged him back, no matter how cold Leon’s skin had become.

“Vanya. I’m not meant to be here. Can’t you see?” Said man hugged her tighter, not wanting to let her go. Whether it was a silent plead so that the hugged woman would understand or because he himself was in the brink of insanity, one could only wonder. Vanya, however, shook her head, denying the comment which her love had told her. Leon bit his lips, hugging her tighter. Vanya did not flinch nor show any fear; the coldness of his skin become something customary, but she could feel his tightening strength decline—Leon somehow hugged her tightly, yet could not apply the force over time.

“You have to let go, Vanya.” Leon had actually said it gently, emphasizing the word have. His words were so real---nothing escaped her ears, not when Leon had actually spoken the words next to her ears. Vanya missed him so much to the point that she would not let go—not when her five senses told her that he exist. As such, she shook her head again, disapprovingly. Tears slowly rolled from her eyes; part of her had succumbed to the harsh reality: there’s no Leon anymore.

But part of her still denied it.

Leon sighed inwardly and shook his head. Somehow, he felt his body becoming lighter—something which means that his visit is long overdue. They were asking him to come back immediately, and there’s nothing he could do. His Vanya was still grasping anything of him, even though there was nothing left. Only memories remain, and Vanya could not bear to only have the memories of him.

Ghosts are not meant to be in the same plane as humans.

“I am just a fragment of your memories, Vanya.” Leon whispered, his body becoming lighter with every second. “A figment of your imagination, the very portrait of your lover whom you had filled with personality… according to your bidding.” Leon bit his lips, for every word he told her were lies.

No, not lies; misleading truths.

With each words, Vanya’s hands had already circling the waist of her lover, tightly embraced the man. Tears rolled more. “Lies. You’re here, and that’s reality! Can’t you feel me embracing you now, Leon?” she sobbed, more tears rolled as she closed her eyes. There was a pang of guilt—something which she could not interpret—before the figure before her disappeared, without a trace.

As though he was not there.

“But I’m not here… can’t you see?”

Vanya Muller was drowned into strings of distressing shriek.


“Vanya! Vanyaaa! Wake up!!”

As a start, she could only see the blueness of someone’s eyes. Worries were engraved upon the orbs, as though she was the one who had caused all this. Her eyes did not widen at the sight of the person—who was then shaking her like a pop stick—with those clear blue eyes; she knew who he was without telling; not to mention those blond hair, the quite round face, and the Finder’s suit… It must be Leon.

But something hit her as odd; how come Leon has a Finder uniform?

There was a sign of headache rushing through her head again. Her mind was still wondering why Leon was made to wear something of Black Order. Leon may have known of the organization, but never became an active supporter. Yet… why?

“Ah.” The boy blinked several times, and smiled. However, her heart ached as her mind raced. Why the teen did have to smile like that? It’s very unlikely for Leon to smile as widely as that. Something was not right and her vision as though backed up her assumption. Her eyes were still captivated upon his, until it moved to see how his lips moved.

“It’s good to have you back. Man, you’re creepy when sleeping like that.”

What…?’ Vanya blinked several times. Her ears tried to process the information—both the content and the context—from the said person who actually sat in front of her, right in her face. His voice… was too far-fetched of what Leon has. Vanya also noticed the lack of regal sense in the teen’s behavior. Both of them are the characteristics which symbolize Leon in her mind.

The two facts hit her hard and fast. Her mind generated the conclusion she needed: this teen was before him, clothed in Finder’s uniform, and was not Leon von Königswalde. This teen never possessed the regality of an aristocrat, or the sense of refinement. This teen grew as a commoner—much like her—and happened to have the same personification as Leon.

This teen is Abiel Nathanieth. If he’s not the perfect replica of her lover, Vanya had no idea how he could be as similar as Leon was in many ways, except for the regality and the expressive attitude.

“I was…” She stopped at her sentence, noticed that she was not in the field of greens anymore. The both of them are in the common room for those from African Branch of Black Order Headquarters. The architectural sense of Byzantine was still strong in the building, as though the Supervisor himself loved the design all too dearly. Then again, in the common room, such design was not pointed out accordingly. If one would see, it was like a regular common room with a long chair, a fireplace, several tables, a bookshelf, and a cabinet—your regular common room.

Vanya Muller was actually lying down on the long chair.

“…I was… sleeping?” It was the best that her lip could say at the time; her mind might have grasped the idea that the person before her was not her lost lover, but it still was still in state of shock—due to her vision or sorts, Vanya herself consider it as a vision—and could only generate simple statements.

The said male was actually nodded in agreement to the statement. He had not ceased his smile, however, but the smile did twist into something she could quite catch. After all, she was still thinking about the only person who could make face to her like that. She’d notice it anywhere, whenever someone looked at her like that. Said person was actually worried, perhaps upon the situation she’s in. Abiel did mention that she had been shrieking.

And then it hit her; her meeting with him, how she played her violin, and the lush green field which become their stage of reunion were all just fragments of dreams. She could not really smile after all that, could she?

Her eyes recognized the changes of Abiel’s face contorting from general worries to you-should-see-a-doctor worries. She has not received such face for so long that she forgot when the last was. Her father was too proud to have a healthy girl such as her, dedicated to her violin and her family—in some cases, this would never happen due to patriarchal ways of lives lead in the German system. Do not even start with Ravel Kohler, because said person was too busy to even care about her well-being; the General of Black Order Central Branch was too busy to even contact the relatives of his wife, not even her father. Leon von Königswalde was still the first person who thinks that even Vanya is still a girl—strong she may, her heart is still a girl’s.

The first thing she did was tugging a smile, at least to provide her partner a comfort—or perhaps a reassurance—that the girl before him is fine; breathing quite heavily, but still fine and alive. “I’m fine, A—Nathanieth.”

There’s something which stopped her from pronouncing the name. Her eyes could see how Abiel reacted at his family name. There was not any hurt, but traces of… void still remained. Whether it was her imagination or just simple trick of the eyes, Vanya would never know, because Abiel’s face was already away from her, pulling back. She saw him withdrew to the nearest table—antique ornamental Jepara type of furniture—with a set of tea. Fragrance arose, tickling her sense of smell; Vanya quickly realized which type of tea did the man make.

Earl Grey.

“Nathan—” the word was quickly cut through due to her sealed lips. Blue eyes quickly focused on the man who is making her a cup of tea. Some gazing and simple analysis told her that day had broken and met its end; slivers of red filled the endless skies, signing the contract of twilight. Vanya sighed; how long had she been sleeping, the whole day? She had no clear memories regarding on how did she manage to fall asleep in the common room. She did, however, remember some sort of earl grey fragrance—a mild scent of Leon’s favorite tea.

Perhaps she went asleep while making a cup? Absurd.

“Say, Abiel—” her lips twisted a smile—which was supposed to be a frown—to cover up the family name which she had used before. “Do you like Earl Grey? Or did you pick that tea just out of probability?”

The gestural movement of making tea before her stopped, completely, before the blond head turned towards her. The blankness of his expression—which perhaps still figment of her own imagination—still remained, though still traces, and haunted the her little thoughts; what does this man think? Why does he choose Earl Grey to mix? And why did she have lots of question regarding his choice of tea? The answer was clear and Vanya did not want to acknowledge the truth, because recognizing the act means killing a person in her mind.

Acknowledging the answer may, perhaps, bring back her beloved one in a form of different man—the man which is not Abiel Nathanieth.

She saw a faint smile, purged with some sort of gaze. For the first time since forever, Vanya knew Abiel Nathanieth was not gazing at her. Perhaps, it was her shadow that was taking his utmost attention… or the air which was surrounding her. But for the simplest second which she was picking her attention to him, Abiel Nathanieth did not stare towards her. Then, the blue eyes soften, focused upon her like she was Vanya Muller—like always, the girl who had been his partner since the first time the two of them trained.

“It’s your favorite, Vanya. You told me that, didn’t you?”

Vanya was expecting something to break deep inside of her, but found none. In fact, she felt quite odd—mostly glad—that the man before him was actually telling her the truth—or rather, elaborate how did he know such information. She did tell him how she likes the Earl Grey (and Chamomiles) during one of their travels across the land. Foolish, she thought; how could a simple sense of premonition or prediction blinded her from seeing the truth, that the man before her was simply not Leon?

Perhaps because womanly instinct prevailed much better than that of logic? Partially true, but not for then.

Vanya slowly rose up, leaning upon the long seat and sighed. Never had she ever felt fatigue to overcome her, just because of a nightmare. Scratch that; perhaps it was more than just a nightmare, because the dream was too real to be decided as an ordinary nightmare. Blue eyes were still fixated upon the Abiel Nathanieth, whose head had already focused again on his task of making tea. Fragrance of Earl Grey filled the room, with each passing seconds. The back of this man turned; his hand was actually holding a single cup of tea.

What interested her, yet again, was neither the tea nor the smile which usually be the first thing she noticed. Those usually gleaming blue eyes were practically gazing at her, hoping something out-of-ordinary from Vanya, expecting a good response which he desired. This time, Vanya was very sure that Abiel Nathanieth had looked past her—perhaps the long chair which she was leaning upon, or the Byzantium design which had been abandoned for centuries outside the building. Her intuition that Abiel Nathanieth did not see her.

So then, what, or who, did he see?

“Your tea, Vanya. Drink before it gets cold.” There was a grin trapped between those lips, and a pleading silence which followed after. The cup was still whiter, ceramics from Kohler, compared to her own old one; the fact sent her a sense of dignity: this is Kohler’s, and Vanya refused to drink from the old man. But why, oh why, should she reject a plea from her partner to drink the tea? Perhaps not a plea, but still close to a request. Or was it a sense of responsibilities? Vanya did not care. Thus, her hand reached out to the cup of tea which was prepared for her and drank it carefully.

Her blue eyes never actually met Abiel’s after the occasion; Abiel then was busy tidying up the things which he used to make Vanya’s tea. Again, her eyes only met his back, dyed by the reddish color of the sky—as if he was bathed in blood.


Vanya’s hand quickly slipped, making the tea fell gracefully from the grip of her hand. Abiel Nathanieth, in blood, had never been her best interest—or was it Leon von Königswalde whom she had seen just then? The white ceramic hit the carpet, soaking it in the process. The figure which resembled the man she loved turned towards her, eyes widened in fear and worry. Without a single step to waste, said man was actually right in front of him. Vanya could practically notice the worries in his eyes and several wrinkles on his forehead—something which was hardly noticeable anytime.

“You sure you’re fine, Vanya?”

Again, those blue eyes searched and met hers. But Vanya, for several seconds, noticed again the pattern which she had known for the last five minutes of her lives. Abiel Nathanieth was looking past her, with her noticing.

Just then, something inside of her cracked.

She could only smile before letting the hurt of her heart slipped away from the mask which she must wear in front of this very man. A smile in which she hoped it is foolish enough for Abiel to know that she’s perfectly fine, even after letting her teacup fell, just because of wild fantasy and imagination.

“I’m fine, Abiel.” The smile never faltered as she descended from the long chair, tidying up the mess which she had created. Abiel was going to help her, but the girl gave him a sign to not help her—sometimes, a single wave is all one need to make everything clear between conversations. Vanya was using it, to best of its extent. She needed not Abiel to clean her mess, not now and not ever. Dedicated to her own work, and partially headstrong towards her own problem—two things which she inherited from her dearest father—were perhaps her greatest trait which she never tried to acknowledge. Not that it mattered in front of Abiel, no?

Gentle hands swiftly picked up the glass and put it on the table, next to another cup. Was that supposed to be Abiel’s? That’s the best guess she could get from how the fragrance of tea still fresh from its picking—the tea was made in three minutes time, blended to perfection. And Vanya? She paid it no mind—what’s hurting her is capable of diverting her attention towards one of her favorite things. Slowly, she rose up from the floor, backing Abiel.

Her chest hurt like hell.

“I’m… I’m going to return to my room, alright? Thanks for your concern…” The raven-haired girl did not turn her head towards Abiel, and the man was too oblivious to understand what just happened in span of two minutes time. Was it because of his obliviousness that Vanya might not notice how he saw her? It was, after all, Vanya’s perception of Abiel. Words have power, especially when the power was Vanya’s alone, towards the man who resembled her late Leon.

“Ah, okay… Have a nice rest, Vanya—”

The door of common room went shut before Vanya could hear the rest of Abiel’s words. Feet were actually ready to deliver her to her own room, but her back stayed, leaning upon the heavy wooden door. Blue eyes were shut before her eyelids as her lips become the feast of her teeth. Hands clenched—if her surroundings were to be molded into the field of her desire, then a desert storm would pretty much picture her current emotional condition. A perfectly raw emotion of, blended with heat of distress and waves sadness.

Abiel was not looking at her.

She realized that he was not focusing on her, perhaps for several seconds in the meeting of their eyes. What he saw was completely not her; it was the same gaze when a person dedicated his or her life on the line, solely for his or her beloved. It’s a missing gaze, and it was never meant for her.

She was torn.

Those blue eyes which gaze to her resembled the kind of gaze which Leon had always given to her. The charms beyond that crystal clear orbs had been the reason why Vanya was attracted to Leon von Königswalde. Those blue eyes enchanted her to the bottom her heart, made her fall into the wicked spell of love. Yet, similar blue eyes gazed to her, the same way her love did. Yet, what he looked at is not her; it was somebody else, or was it something else? The thought never crossed her mind, and something beneath her screamed.

Had she always seen him the way he looked at her, as if Leon had actually taken refugee in the physically grown boy three years younger than her late lover?

Vanya could only taste guilt in the tip of her tongue as she rose from her feet, walking down the reddish corridor to enter her own room. Her back never turned, even after Abiel opened the door to find whether Vanya had walked to her room or no. Too bad for him, because Vanya had already turned—and blue eyes did not meet for the last time that day.

Ghosts are not supposed to walk…
…in the fields of the living.

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