Black and White
Black and white.
Such plain colors, dull and lifeless, lacking the luster and grace that the more beautiful rainbow of colors seemed to bring out. Color expressed emotion and feeling, whereas black and white were empty.
Empty like he himself was.
There was a feeling in him that even he could not touch upon and place. There was a black hole in him that sucked all feeling in, and Marius himself dared not to go after it. It would do little more good for him then a dog chasing it's tail; he would never get anywhere.
Yes he didn't know what caused this utter hopelessness because he had all but gotten used to it by now.
Marius put the brush in his hand to the blank canvas and closed his eyes, trying to make a picture come, trying to no avail. With a groan of frustration he opened his eyes and looked at the pallet clutched his hand. The pallet had the only two colors that he chose to paint with in these 'dark days.'
Black and white.
They were the only two colors that he felt worthy to use; they represented how bleek everything felt inside. Lacking life, and lacking the will to eben reach out to the word in search of happiness. He had already lost so much, why trust to hope again?
He had been standing there in contemplation for hours, but no image would come, he couldn't seem to put those bottled up emotions out on canvas, they wouldn't release themselves to him. It was a futile and exhausting effort, and his resolve was close to cracking. Like words on the tip of ones tongue that never came, that was how his body and mind raged. Something lay beneath, wanting to be expressed, but unable to surface.
Maybe they're staying inside where they belong, he reasoned even though deep down in him he knew that that was not true. They didn't come because he was afraid of them.
And how would it feel when 2000 years of pent up anger and frustration and sadness came out at once? That was what he was afraid of. It would destroy him, surely, and he knew madness awaited if he sought them out. But madness was already descending on him, he couldn't go on like this.
He had already lost so much, how much more damage could the loss of his sanity do? If anything, it could bring with it peace.
It had been years since the last of his fledglings had left him; they had all been with him once, in better, happier times. First Amadeo had left with Sybelle and Benji, then one night Pandora herself had slipped away.
And you let them go, damn you, he cursed himself.
He needed color! He needed to settle his anger and sadness or no color would ever come to him.
Close your eyes, Marius, he willed himself, setting down the brush. He needed silence and concentration. This was going to be a hard endevor, and as taxing mentally as it would be physically. He was going to brave the black hole in him and dig for those forgotten feelings, resurface them and hope to bring some sort of closure.
If he were to truly move forward that is what he needed. Color had to be added once again.
Taking a deep breath, he shut off all senses until he became nothing but a mere thought, light and dreamlike. He was no longer himself, he was in himself.
Go deeper......
Pandora, so beautiful and harmless looking. His first love. She was so precious and tender that he ached inside for her. He reached his hands out and could almost touch the thick layers of her wavy brown hair, bathing him in such softness and luster that the mere idea of grief seemed foreign. But like most moments that was all he was afforded, and the vision slipped through his fingers like water or sand, impossible to grip.
Did she even know that when he looked at her he didn't see the marble goddess, but rather the fearless mortal woman that had spoken such brash bold words to him? He had hurt this one the most and tried to pass the blame off on her.
What else did he really expect her to do after almost half a year of him not moving? She was drowning in something that he could not understand then.
But he understood now and he was so sorry.
Helplessness and anger, fueled by grief and hopelessness. It was all so fresh to him and he could relate to why she was so.....docile now. No longer the out spoken young woman who had contradicted every word that come out of his mouth. She just sat there most of the time with an almost frightened look on her face, trying to hide herself in anything nearest to her.
Had he done this to her?
Oh gods no, he screamed, his mind recoiling with the horror of such a thought....and there was still no color.
Go deeper.....
Amadeo, his angel forever with the brown eyes that seemed to draw him out of his body. A voice that caressed his very senses like the finest silk. Lips like the softest inner petals of a pink rose wet with the dew of an early fall morning.
His greatest guilt came from this one, the young boy that he had so foolishly fallen in love with five hundred years ago. But this young man was as beautiful on the outside as he was on the inside, and he burned with hungry desire for Armand.
Why had he allowed this one to be taken from him so easily? Why did he never gain the courage to take back what was so willingly his? And what had five hundred years of separation done for their love?
Was there even any love anymore?
This one had been made too young, and Marius was sure that some of what he saw in his eyes was hostility, a hostility for giving him a life that was never really understood in the beginning.
Their tones were polite when they spoke to each other now, as if they were little more than associates. How it hurt him to keep that civil tone when all he wanted was to fall to his knees and scream that he loved him still. There was a barrier of ice between them that was infinite, it could never be torn down or broken, and that hurt Marius.
Amadeo, please forgive me,Marius screamed to himself.....still no color.
Go deeper.....
Sybelle and Benji, did he love them? Yes. Did he care for them? Yes. Did he love them as Amadeo did? No.
More simply put, he had never known them as Amadeo had, and had made them purly from his heart and for his love for Amadeo.
He had felt that it was the right thing to do.
Amadeo had committed the same sin that he was guilty of so long ago; of exposing innocent mortals to the powers and pleasures of the dark gifts and blood. They had seen his powers. No mortal should ever see what they were truly capable of. Marius knew that Armand had known better, never having a mortal companion that he had to watch die, and Amadep had no real idea of what mortality and death really meant. Despite his murderous instinct, Amadeo was still innocent and naive in so many ways.
So their destiny had been sealed by Amadeo. It was either make them, or have them go mad from all they had seen and eventually die. Marius was not stupid, he knew that because Amadeo had no experience in mortal death that he would make them, and that would be a terrible mistake.
Children always grew to loathe their makers, some more then others. After the loss of Daniel and himself, Marius wasn't sure if Amadeo could handle losing another one he loved. He was so fragile that Marius worried about him. He could not handle someone else leaving Amadeo, and he knew Amadeo couldn't either.
So what did he do?
He made them for Armand. They would grow to hate him, not Armand.
It was the only gift that he could think to give, and it had backfired on him.
He doubled over and held his stomach, almost on his knees with the pain and weight of these thoughts.
He couldn't go any deeper, and there was still no color. Staring at the pallet he had dropped, the colors, the black and white, seemed to taunt him, mock him.
In a rage, he reached over and grabbed a pot of paint, throwing it to the ground and watching the color splatter and pool. He grabbed another and did it again, then another, then another until every color was spread out like a beautiful raindow. He felt weightless and grateful, feeling free as he saw the color. He was released, he had color!
He had color.
The separate colors and pools were spreading and mixing, gravity pulling them together.
What he saw forming in the middle of the color spot on his white floor brought him to his knees in grief. He moaned to keep from screaming , his knees sinking into the paint.
On all fours he swirled his hands around in the messy paint, mixing them quicker so that they formed one color.
He felt dizzy and weak all at once, slamming his eyes shut to steady himself.
When mixed together they made black.
Black.
His trembling watering eyes saw the huge black hole in his blinding white floor.
Black and white.
He wasn't free, and he would never be. Even when hope did descend, it was never lasting. That much had been proven to him now.
His colors and his rainbow had mixed together and made black, the very shadow of his grief.
Oh gods, he prayed to beings that he never believed in, help me..... I can't go any deeper and I'm lost.
Putting his paint drenched black hands to his face, he cried; cried for himself and for everything that he had ever been and done, but most of all he cried for everyone that he had ever loved, and for everyone that he had ever hurt. God forgive his heart and soul. He would never see color again.
Part of Baptism-of-Blood
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