~ A V X Reader set in an Alternate Universe wherein Nero supposedly defeats Urizen that 15th of May.
~ V goes on a search for power to keep his mortal flesh from crumbling - a result from his failure to merge with Urizen. With the Yamato at his disp...
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"Des yeux qui font baisser les miens, un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche, voila le portrait sans retouche, de l'homme auquel j'appartiens,..."
She's just sitting there, at the back of the dark establishment near the bar, paying close attention to the singer on the small stage as she sang. She was holding what looked like a single stem of a purple hyacinth, and there was that melancholic expression on her face once more.
"Quand il me prend dans ses bras, qu'il me parle tout bas, Je vois la vie en rose. Il me dit des mots d'amour, des mots de tous les jours, et ça me fait quelque chose. Il est entré dans mon coeur, une part de bonheur, dont je connais la cause. C'est lui pour moi. Moi pour lui dans la vie. Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie."
He was just sitting right next to her but, of course, he couldn't do anything to comfort her. As much as he wanted to get close to her, to touch her smooth skin, to caress her cheeks, to brush that wayward (H/C) lock off her forehead, to touch those dainty hands and hold them close to his heart,...
... to lean close to her ear and whisper to her how much he loved her and how much he missed her,...
He reached out a hand towards her, his fingers grazing the tears on her cheeks that he couldn't brush. He gently rubbed the back of his hand against her face and felt nothing.
"My love,..." He whispered, his voice low and hoarse. She didn't hear him.
"Et dès que je l'aperçois, alors je sens en moi, mon coeur qui bat."
Her head bowed down low, her eyes closed shut. Her tears fell uncontrollably down her lap, her shoulders trembling violently with her suppressed sobbing. She wiped those tears again and again with the sleeves of her pale pink fur hoodie which was recently given by Sister Christina and averted her gaze from the passing patrons to avoid being seen as such. She looked up once more, inhaled sharply through her nose, covered her mouth with her right hand, and leaned her right elbow against the counter top of the sleek, mahogany bar.
She was trying so hard to stifle her sobs, to control the tears,...
... to shout at the top of her lungs how miserable she felt.
From the shadows, a bartender, who was idly wiping a glass with a white napkin, approached her. She sat up straight and managed to make herself decent before him despite her red and swollen eyes.
"Re - bonjour! Je peux vous aider? Ou vous admirez juste la belle vue?" He told her. And seeing that she's one of his foreign patrons who can't understand english, he spoke once more. "Hello again dear, can I help you with anything? Or do you want a glass of vodka for your weary heart?"
