The Moon Gets Its Light from the Sun (D.Gray-Man)

The Moon Gets Its Light from the Sun

Prologue: Dearest Mana -

Traditionally soulless irises now filled with glimmers produced by the setting sun were a sight to be held at the Campbell household, as it was as rare a sight of a curious salamander-ostrich yanking its head finally from the ground the irises' owner's feet didn't quite touch. Silver grey eyes were stuck upon the livid sky only ever interchangeable with rouge and the owner of the pair closed his eyes almost shut, numbing his mind and strainlessly thought. But not of those,

What?

Why?

Where?

Whom?

How?,

questions...

After all the time he spent exhausting himself mentally fighting his own self, he felt dread to know that those feelings and thoughts of doubt were still prevalent in his mind and to no avail with any amount of countered hope could they ever go away. He felt like a failure of a brother. All because he kept asking:

What is happening?

Why didn't he come to him sooner?

Where is he right now?

Whom is he with?

How did he become this way?

He pondered why he never told himself that his brother was fine, dismissing any other thoughts. He felt weak for allowing himself to worry, for not allowing his brother of faith. He wanted to vanish from existence every day with each burning question that raced through his mind, the same way his brother did in a cruel image his mind conjured whenever he couldn't find it in himself to silence his foolish, sadistic mind. Yet as his helplessness was stubbornly rare but traumatic nonetheless with the aforementioned image, he found himself doing exactly the opposite every day from the moment he grew sick of those same questions. Fighting heavily to overcome his mental treason.

Until now. He finally found it in him to extinguish his purgatory. He was at peace. If only for a minute as the next fleeting thought...

Sick... just like Mana...

Brought him back to that familiar state.

"Dammit," he grunted, resentful of the fact that he allowed himself to think.

To feel.

He grabbed onto Cornelia's branch that he perched himself on, hunching over but still somewhat afraid to lose balance from his own weight.

He couldn't allow himself to cry too.

A welcomed breeze washed over his face, him straightening his narrow, youthful back as he stared forward towards the horizon. "What is the wind saying?" It spoke a thousand words at once.

As if an almighty power had carried her petite form over to him with the wind, he found himself surprised to find his mother beneath the branch then gazing and smiling up at him, almost mischievously.

She touched her narrow, tiny fingered hand to the tree, "it looked like you were talking to it."

"What are you talking about?" He inquired.