Cantarella – Tortured Memories
‘Cantarella’ by You Higuri
“Tortured Memories” by Ryuuzaki Kusakurin
DISCLAIMER: Cantarella belongs to You Higuri.
Warnings: Flashback, VERY mild implied yaoi
Characters: Cesare Borgia, Chiaro / Michelotto, Della Volpe
Theme Songs: Take A Little Hand [Gabriela Robin], Torukia [Gabriela Robin], Cursum Perficio [Enya]
Pairings: Cesare x Chiaro if you squint
Will not be posted anywhere else; please don’t steal my work.
This story is dedicated to my recently-departed grandmother: Rest in peace – I know you’re in a better place now.
*Tovaras – beloved one, loved one [if I can remember my Latin and/or Italian correctly, that is. It’s really bad when you start mixing up entire languages.]
He watched… and remembered. The light reflecting off of the small, uneven surface of the pool of water bounced everywhere in the decrepit room but his face, it seemed.
It didn’t matter that he was a cardinal – and officer of God Himself – or that he had been born into nobility. At the moment, he was only a man, depressed over the loss of someone that had perhaps never even existed. Or had he? The demons in his mind wouldn’t let him remember the man’s face or even where he had come from, but he somehow knew him.
Cesare only had the barest hint of his name, even – the two scraps of a cloth mask that had once held the power of life or death over victims marked for assassination. For the man he knew he was thinking of had to be the legendary assassin of Sant’ Angelo. The legendary Michelotto. He knew nothing of the man other than what he thought he could recall – a warm smile here and there, bright blue eyes that reflected the world, silky locks of golden hair that spilled in waves. But most of all, the only thing that he held on to with his life was the memory of his light. The man had seemed to repulse the demons somehow, or at least in his dreams, anyway.
If only it was real… Or was it? I don’t know any more…
Before he realised it, he had let out a sigh consisting largely of pent-up frustration at his inability to control his mind. As the transformation into what the demons inside of him progressed farther and father, it was the only thing he could still control completely. He wasn’t completely sure that he did, though, seeing how well the lost souls inhabiting his body had blocked the memories of this mysterious man. Even Volpe refused to tell him anything, somehow seeming to resent the shadow of the man that haunted his lord still, after five years… It was beyond frustrating, beyond irking, and the truth of the matter was that somewhere along the line, he had simply ceased to care about anything else. This hazy stream of thoughts and memoirs had drawn his attention closely, and even as the demons poured his poisonous blood over the flames of his burning curiosity, Cesare wondered and waited for the man to come back. Surely he would, for if he had meant this much to Cesare, surely the reverse was true as well? It was a strange kind of loyalty that he held for the blonde-haired assassin, one that surpassed even the bounds of his own understanding, and yet it stood and remained.
The Italian word for the contrast between light and dark seemed appropriate, so he used it for the situation. He was the demon, if nothing else, and this angel sent to him in the guise of a smiling killer was his guiding light.
Hopefully he would come back someday, and when he did, Cesare would still have enough of those pleasant memories left to greet the man warmly, as he no doubt deserved.
Come back soon, Tovaras, his mind whispered while his heart still cried out for a rest from these thoughts.
And in the end, that was all they truly were – tortured memories of a life-weary soul.