White Fire by E. Liddell --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author's Note: As usual, Shoujo Kakumei Utena and associated characters do not belong to me, yadda yadda yadda. Direct any feedback to eliddell at dark hyphen kingdom dot de. This story takes place towards the end of (or possibly right after) the episode containing Ruka's duel. Major angst warning. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- You would be disgusted if you could see me now, beloved. Not that that doesn't seem to be your normal opinion of me. But you'd be even more disgusted than usual right now. My hands are shaking. Can you believe it? I used to pride myself on my strength, on my grace, on my skill with a foil, and now I have no more control of my body than a three-year-old child would. *A genetic, sex-linked, progressive disorder that can manifest itself at any time after puberty.* That's what they told me. *There's no cure, Mr. Tsuchiya. We're sorry.* *No cure.* They told me that my life was over. I was only fifteen years old. I was in love. I needed a miracle. He offered it to me. Such a simple chain of events, isn't it? I need a miracle, and now I'll never have it, because I waited too long. I knew, even before I challenged her, that I would lose. Whatever it was that made me a great fencer . . . I've lost it to the disease. Now I'm merely very, very good, and very, very good will never be good enough to win against the power of Dios. *Touga*, End of the World's favorite, couldn't win against her without psyching her out, and if I'm honest, I have to admit that he's better in an out-and-out swordfight than I ever was. Kendo is a fraction less stylized than fencing, and that gives him an edge. On my own turf I could still beat him, but not in the arena. And the arena is all that matters. My ring is trying to slip off my finger. I've lost weight even in the few days since I returned here. Well, the doctors did warn me that the final stages of the disease would proceed very fast, especially if I left the hospital and took myself off the regimen of total rest, of death-in-life, that they had prescribed. I don't know how I managed to stay on my feet long enough today to tell Shiori off. That little bitch . . . How can you love her? She's poison! How can you love her and not me? By the time I got back here, I could feel my blood icing over and my bones turning to rubber. I was staggering when I got to the top of the stairs. I had to support myself against the wall just to get to my room. A single, thank the gods, since I'm an upperclassman. If I had a roommate . . . The leather of the case is slick under my fingers. It's difficult to get the false bottom up with my hands shaking so. Oh, Juri, it hurts so much . . . A year ago, I would have told you that it wasn't possible for anyone to endure this kind of pain without going mad. Perhaps I *am* mad. I wish I were. It would be easier. Perhaps then I wouldn't feel your pain as well as my own. At last, at last . . . They gleam so brightly against the blankets, the dark bottle and the silver needle. I hope I remembered to lock the door. I don't really have a prescription for this stuff, and they'd throw me out of school if they knew I had it--no, let's be honest, this is a controlled substance, and they'd call the police-- but the doctors were willing to look the other way when I stole it. After all, it doesn't matter if I addict myself, does it? I'm dying. I have no future to cut short. If there are another four doses left, I'm going to be awfully surprised. Four more days. That's all I have left to save you, from End of the World, from Shiori, from yourself. After that, when the last dose wears off completely, I'm not going to be able to function. I'm barely able to function now, riding the last ragged edge of the one I took yesterday. And I have to measure this dose exactly. If I take too much, I'll lose what little precious time I have left. There are needle tracks up and down my arm now. I have to be so careful to keep anyone from finding out. Especially you. If you ever saw . . . well. You already despise me enough, don't you think? I wonder if it'll give me a rush this time. It hardly ever does anymore. Too much of it has to go to fight the pain. Still, it would be nice if, for a change, the white fire came and blotted out my memory of the expression on your face when you saw me with Shiori. How can you love her? Why can't you love me? If you were to win the Rose Bride, and I were to collapse at your feet and beg, would you give me my miracle? I doubt it. You never had much respect for beggars. But if there's even a tiny chance, I have to take it. I can't win anymore, but maybe you can. Tomorrow, we'll see. I'm sorry, my love. I'm going to have to be cruel to you. But I'm running out of time, and I don't see any way out except the ruthless one. I think I can still beat you, at least. You've still got that fine edge that I've lost, but I've got a trick or two that you haven't learned, and with the drug running through my veins, if I use them quickly enough . . . All I ever wanted was to live, and to love, and for you to love me back. Was that too much to ask? What will you do with your miracle, beloved? --------------------------------------------------------------------------- E. Liddell eliddell@puc.net http://ejlddll.virtualave.net --------------------------------------------------------- "One tacky fairytale artefact per expedition is about my limit." --------------------------------------------------------- UtenaCode(1.0) U:6- F:To+++Mk+:pOA D:CC X:*:a39++ M:f"Internal Clock, Municipal Orrery"