"I saw truth, and the truth, was too beautiful to comprehend.
I was happy because of the beauty, but sad because knowing I'd depart from it. Happy knowing I'd one day see it again, and sad because I knew one day my life would end."
Independent Jeanne d'Arc of Type-Moon, Role-playing Blog
"Eh? I hast not meant to keep thou waiting. Tally on then, let us venture, I shan’t keep a saint patiently waiting~"
"Very well. Though be it how this was j’your idea, I’ll let j’you pick where we go."
It had been, quite sometime, since that voice filled her ears. “Aha, aye, that is has Jeanne. That is has.”
The Saint’s lips curved into a simple smile as she heard the other speak in turn. It was nice to finally see a familiar face once again. “I’m glad. It’s nice to see an old friend after so long— How is it you fair?”
Gilles had been too ecstatic to see her face that he forgot to look for her reactions, his eyes where in tears as he heard her voice, beautiful on so many levels, music to his ears as he then noticed his clawed fingers, looking past the clawed fingers he saw how he was and remembered the picture on the mirror, she saw him different. She must be wondering what happened to him as he bowed to her and nodded his head, his head low not from the shame of what he did but from the fact he was realizing it. She was here indeed, but she was till unattainable
“You… must’ve read what happened after they …”
The voice was filled with malice when he continued to speak:
“they burned you down on the stake, I tried to stop them but many held me down saying that it was for the best, that the witch had to die, you… you sacrificed everything for them and they …. They repaid you with the brutality of the barbarians. Excuse me, Jeanne… my heart still weeps for the betrayal you got but… they got what was coming for them”
A tinge of the madness was reaching his eyes as he relived in his memories those days, the day he met that wretched teacher that wretched book. To get her back he would descend to the depth of hell and back. He was not proud of doing it, the children did not deserve to die, but if time returned again he would have done the same thing again over and over again, they called her a demon so he gave them a true demon. Trembling a bit, did she hate him? Did she judge him on his behavior? Of course she would, she was a saint after all and he was nothing but a demon, no matter what atonement he would come across he was always haunted by the past. Changing the subject he would look back toward her with a smile:
“Voulez-vous manger quelque chose? vous serez beaucoup plus affamé du voyage? ou voulez-vous que je vous emmène en tournée, où sont mes manières, je dois habiller mieux pour cette occasion, Jeanne a finalement revenir et je ressemble à un propriétaire de culte.”
[Used Google translate so here is what he is saying: Would you like to eat something? you much be famished from the trip? or would you like me to take you out on a tour, where are my manners, I need to dress up better for this occasion, Jeanne has finally come back and I look like a cult owner.]
A bad joke he had to admit but if she asked him anything regarding the past he would look to the side and down as he spoke in a soft tone, there was some regret in his voice but not toward the people that were terrorized, it was more toward the children that were paying the price for the grownup’s brutality.
“They wanted a demon and I gave them a demon, a demon that would keep them awake, heh… no amount of blood or killing or sacrifices could bring you back, nothing I could do could ever bring you back then I heard from other mages that you, that you became a soldier of heaven under Michael, and I snapped even more, what did they want from you, could they not let you rest in peace, so I became a bigger demon just to, I just wanted to set you free so you may rest in peace or come back to me, and I… I have no right to stand before you Jeanne, you are an angel and I am a demon”
The voice wavered in the end, the realization setting in as he began to chuckle, he wanted her, he loved her, but he could do nothing to atone for any of the sins he has done, He was sure he was forgiven somehow because there Jeanne was before him, but this was nothing more than another cruel punishment for him for he could never say that the things he’s done where forgivable, what he did was unforgivable, what he thought off was unforgivable but at the same time, he just, he just wanted to take care of her and protect her and wrap his arms around her.
“If you wish to punish me, I accept it Jeanne. I got to see you in the end, and that is all I asked for”
Violet irises still remained on Gilles, yet their gaze did not turn fierce. Jeanne still remained composed, as her gentle heart would always kept her to be. Her Knight, her companion had changed over the years, but it did force her into thinking far more harsh judgement. He looked his part, becoming the terror France inflicted on themselves since she had passed. Was it her fault, that he became this? No. It was those that accused her of witchcraft. They signed their own damnation. The fact, saddened Jeanne, but it was their own fault—stepping onto this road.
She blinked, hearing his first sentence. Gilles already knew, that Jeanne had discovered his past. What he did, after she was set aflame for her proclaimed crimes. Jeanne said nothing, only to keep her eyes on him now. He continued, speaking about how he developed his monstrous tendencies. It was an awful, blood stained past, yet her heart would only weep for the children, and the broken hearted man. Jeanne, did not understand why, her death gave such an impact on him.
"Gilles," She called, for just a moment. "Gilles, I never regretted my past, for I never gave up on myself." Jeanne explained to him, she held no resent for those that betrayed her. Forgive, but she did not forget. Their actions left them with the monster that was once a loyal man. It ended, in a mess that they were not prepared for.
Jeanne read his body language, the anger still fresh within him. However, she was here, his saint, here before his very figure. A smile. She smiled, even in his darkened presence. Though, even with his anger and destruction of the past, Jeanne kept her mouth shut.
The native language of her homeland, filled her ears. She chuckled, hearing his concern, over hunger, over something else. In his madness, Jeanne saw that there was still a glimmer of her Gilles within his heart. That was enough, to bring another smile upon her lips. She dismissed his joke of being a cultist, and took his hand into her own—their size different uncanny.
"Let us enjoy ourselves over dinner, to speak like we once did, during the ages we lived." She said, in a calm tone, enough to soothe those that were riled with anger.
"Je n’ai pas le droit, pour vous juger, Gilles."
A voice he had not heard in a long while uttered his name, or was it his loneliness finally getting to him, the man had been on his way to get some ingredients to cook for himself. After all, the holiday season was coming and he was blessed to actually see Father Christmas coming every now and then to chit chat with him for a little while before heading over to continue his trip.
Gilles would move toward a boutique chuckling to himself before he saw a couple embracing together, the female twirling around the man as she kissed him over the lips obviously excited over something. To Gilles, he saw in his mind Jeanne doing that to a much younger him, but he merely gave off a soft smile and continued on his way, a cold heart cringing in the thought.
“Seems like you’re spending the night alone again”
The bellowing voice of Odin came from behind the man who twirled around and looked up to the mighty Viking. Well mighty Norse, Gilles had to remind himself as he gave a rare smile to the large man:
“Should you not be on your way delivering those gifts to the children?”
Odin chuckled to the man and patted him on the head as though Gilles was a child as he smirked to the man and spoke in his jolly voice:
“Oh mind me not I just was looking for one Jeanne D’Arc to….”
Gilles’ ears perked at the name his face looking up to the man as Odin did an oops I spoke to much and winked to the man, telling him a jolly holiday the god left the place as Gilles eyes lit up in such a strange look in them. Did, did Odin just tell him that Jeanne is … alive? Gilles face looked all around the place as he was searching for his loved one, Odin never lied so he knew for a certainty she had to be around somewhere, without even thinking his feet began to move, short steps became longer one a leisure walking was now moving toward a trot and a running as he began to look left and right, Jeanne… Jeanne…. His mind only thought of her name as he looked around, she was here, she was…. She was … a reflection on a mirror shop stopped the man in his place as he looked at himself.
Despair came into the eyes that was looking back to him. Did she… did she read about him? Did she know about the atrocities of the world that came after her death? Surely she hated him, for who would not, he was her advisor and descended to madness, showed France what a demon truly meant and earned himself a place in hell.
He watched himself as he looked to the ground, he had envisioned their reunion to be spectacular, but she was an angel and he was a demon, wrapping one arm around himself he would take off the robe, showing the simple clothes he had on him and the marks on his arms. He looked to the ground as he then looked up again.
The name came to his mouth as he took deep breath, tears began to sting his eyes as he held onto his chest, Jeanne, his Jeanne… shaking his head and wiping off his tears he would smile that infamous smile of his. She was here, surely she will understand. And it was alright, the past could not be changed but he had repented ever since, the book still was in his hands, and it was a reminder but it was also a keepsake. Taking a deep breath he began to look around, and if and when he does find her, Gilles face would light up as he looked at her, beautiful. She was as beautiful as she had been when she died.
He would question to make sure it was not an illusion, his eyes on the face that he had memorized for so many times. He could not stop the tears again from coming down, running toward her with the intention of hugging her and embracing her. He could not stop himself from trying to do that, and if she allowed him he would keep holding her in his arms as he continued to cry:
“Jeanne! Jeanne! Jeanne! Oh how I longed for this day, how I longed for this, Jeanne….Jeanne! You’re back Jeanne! Oh I have waited for this day for centuries! Jeanne….”
Even if she did not allow him to touch her he would respect that but the sentence would remain the same way, he had missed her, he had been indeed waiting for her, and had remained loyal to her memory all these centuries. Looking toward her he would then bow his head as a knight would to his commander:
“Welcome back, Jeanne”
Her route was to follow Gilles, well, the man she assumed was an old friend. Jeanne, knew of his heinous acts but her desire to know his side of the story was left undiminished. She carried herself through the town, the cold to sting her cheeks to a rosy hue. The young martyr did mind the cold within itself. Jeanne’s campaigning through France during the winter season provided the resistance building she needed. Carrying along the sidewalk, the young woman continued her attempt to find the man at the graveyard. How he looked so much different from the man she once knew.
Just from the decor around town, it was obvious the Holidays were approaching. Jeanne never celebrated the season, at least, not yet. It was something nice to see, for people were spreading their own cheer. She smiled, seeing that the world still had its own warmth. A man, dressed in a red suit with a red hate and white hair—a beard to match. He seemed to be out and about, talking to the younger children of the city. Santa Claus. That’s what they called him—a representation, an ideal of Saint Nicolas himself. She knew that truth was stretched, but it did fill the joy in the child’s eyes.
The Ruler, a Counter Guardian, Jeanne witnessed the horrors of the world and she’s used her might to assault those that threatened humanity.. Good or innocent. Was it her own demons? No. She simply held the desire to protect the world, humanity. A few skeletons wounded up in her closet.
A faint whisper, but Jeanne was certain that she heard it.
Her name was called, though it would only be moments before Jeanne was to see the figure come her way. The stature notable about the man, it was the one she had previously encountered. Without his robe, when he drew closer, she would see the differences. Did Gilles transform this much? To delve into the furthest pits of hell.
"Monsieur?" She would speak, the native tongue to slip. Her origin was obvious as the violet eyes that came to look upon her companion of old. "Gilles de Rais, is it you, I’ve come to look upon?" Jeanne said to herself, the emotions she bore different that she had anticipated.
They met, once more, different circumstances. The Martyr of Fire and the Heretic France caused stood on the same sidewalk, face to face as if they’ve known each other the entire time. Though, they did. And that was the truth. However, the two were different than what they used to be.
He would rant her name, stating how he was so happy to be within her presence once more. That she had returned. Jeanne was before him. A happy ending in his eyes. Gilles did not seem to be the madman he came to be after her demise. The man continued to welcome her, again and again—ecstatic to be within her presence.
It would only bring a smile to her lips. To embrace him, she debated on doing so, “I’m home.” Jeanne would whisper in return. “I’m, here, again.” She extended her hand, like she used to, towards the man she looked up to, several hundred years ago. “Gilles de Rais.”
But can you truly understand life, without death?
Think about it.
The act of living is a labor.
Right now your body is working, without relent, to sustain your life.
The evidence is in breath.
Life is imperfect because it’s something we work at. It’s prone to human error because it is an act. Death is imminent because it’s perfect. Death always happens efficiently. No matter how hard we work at living, we die. The act itself is flawless. I guess it’s best understood from a dying person’s perspective To say in the least, the closer we are to death, the closer we are to our spirit. That’s the miracle of the dying process.
Nothing seems… Solid, I guess. It’s all very fluid.
Colors are more vibrant, sounds are more acute.
The idea of death…
The reality of it…
Because it’s human nature to live.
To oppose death.
But the actuality behind death itself…
This is going to sound weird, but, it’s beautiful.
When I was at the gate of death, I knew no darkness. The lights did not go out. There was nothing /but/ light. And that light, brought this euphoric feeling.
Right. This much is understood by you and I. I suppose what I’m trying to say is… Dying is the key. It’s the key to magic I have so long wished for. Those who look in the face of god, never return because they die. But the act of dying consciously is the closest we can be to god in the waking world.
I guess what I’m trying to say is… Death needs to be accepted. When death becomes an actuality, a feeling that we remind ourselves of… Life blossoms. When we reject death, we reject life. When we forget we will die, we think ourselves immortal. You and I both know if one of us was shot in the head, we would die, yes. But how many times a day do you think about how no matter how hard you try, you will eventually meet your end?
I’ve grown to accept that one day, there will be a world without me. That I will perish. That there’s no avoiding it. I could die of disease, old age… Hell, a car could hit me. That’d be the end. And once I did I realized… How much I love life. How the people I resented that day, I would not resent should I meet my end.
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