Title: A moon, a memory lost and a Well
Fandom: Sailor Moon
Who have wandered here, under these velvet halls? With robes woven by silk and textiles made of stars, and learned expressions, used as diplomacy; as weapons. Between walls covered with mirrors, as if ghosts lived there, of floral painted walls and tapestries of long forgotten stories?
Who have wandered here, whose dreams have they dreamed?
Who were these persons that looked like them, what were they like? Nephrite wishes he remembers, but it is hard; like fishes in water; impossible to catch by human hands. He imagines the future as easier if he could remember; happier if he does not.
It is strangely thrilling to stand there, comforting almost. As if the place is a memory in itself. The stars reach him over the broken stones; enveloping him. In their shine he can almost be illuminous.
He wishes he remember the balls, the smell of the ladies perfume and their laughter, the sparring with Endymion, the midnight hunts for the white stag, the feeling of being waked by the sunshine seeping through the curtains; not knowing what an alarm clock is; loving his horse, his prince and his shitennou and that being enough, meeting her and thinking that she is so different, so exhilarating, so bright and honest; so fateful.
It's all stories to him.
All of them enough to make him want to cry; to love them all even though he doesn't know them. Just the bond, tight around his heart, more binding than any promise he has ever made; he imagines the oath they took as a very strong one.
He doesn't ask for the hurtful memories; he knows them far too well.
And so he wanders here, in a forgotten landscape, under an unseen moon. Through marble halls long fallen; a wilderness in rooms once grand. He sees stories there. Imagine where he kisses her for the first time, not knowing if it is a place he has ever walked before.
Wondering if Endymion could be so arrogant back then; if he could ever be so lonely. He wishes very intently, right then, that Endymion was there, so that he could tell him a story of that time; soothing him.
The stars will not tell.
He knows nothing about anything; he knows he loved two persons above all, a fighter, honest and a prince.
In a way, that is everything there ever is to know.
And there, in the middle of everything, he finds a well. It is broken, and the tree besides it has grown over it, making it hard to see. Nonetheless.
It is a glimpse, more a feeling than a picture. It is hard to describe and it's soon gone, only remembered.
But it is his entire world.
There he will stay, nights forward, until sunrise and the world is golden. Under a tree, by a well. Slowly it will all come back to him, bit by bit until he has got the whole painting.
He is the dreamer of stars; visions he knows how to hold.