What Remains of Risotto Nero (A JJBA Fanfic)

Prologue

It would've been much easier to leave well-enough alone, but even that proved to be rather difficult. What drew him back wasn't the fantasticalness of it, nor was it the idea of having some form of closure. No. Even though Ghiaccio believed himself to be a simple person, the reason for his return was a bit more complicated than that. Mostly because, well, he didn't have a reason, not then at least.

To think of a good reason anyways was straining, so he let it go, as much as hated himself for it. Prolonging the inevitable for just a little longer was seemingly for the best. 

Granted, nothing could be prolonged forever, Ghiaccio knew this, yet he still felt a sense of dread once finally breaking through the thicket and into the clearing.

And there it stood, tall yet somewhat frail, isolated and indifferent to time, proud but all the more wrong, eerie to stare at for longer than a minute.

Once, there was a time when he could call it home, but now it emitted a strange sense of unfamiliarity. One could say it resembled a castle, but even that would be inaccurate, and somewhat of an overstatement. It looked as if the wind could knock it over, yet it never did. The entity remained untouched, a picture, captured in a time when things were simpler perhaps.

And that fact almost frightened Ghiaccio to a point where he considered turning back, and rather than cursing himself for being so damn predictable he instead let the emotion run its course. Though, he didn't think it'd hurt as much as it did.

Pro wouldn't want me to run though, would he?

It surprised him when he felt the sudden urge to cry. Merely mentioning his name, whether it be in passing, or in his head, was admittedly a hard pill to swallow, even for Ghiaccio. Yet he resisted, "Crying will get you nowhere," was something he was constantly told as a boy. And although this was the most inappropriate moment to apply that sentiment, Ghiaccio would take what he could get. Besides, hearing Prosciutto's voice scolding him somewhat guided his lips into a ghost of a smile.

Of course, this brief moment of remembrance did little to ease the disquiet still rumbling deep within his stomach. And it only got worse once he took his first strides up to the stoop. There were maybe all of five steps leading to that door, but it felt like thousands. Because Ghiaccio had been climbing all his life, essentially. And in his twenty-three years of living, he had never felt so terrified doing it.

Despite this, Ghiaccio's eyes wore the most determined stare one could give. A true testament to his resolve. There was never anything to be afraid of, he knew that.

Yet, his fingers trembled as they reached for the knob, and when they did eventually grab it, his hand stayed there for about a minute too long.

"Ghiaccio...you have to go back,"

Finally, the door creaked open.

"There's a lot you don't know..."