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Lucifel's Ideal World v.Mom
—The world is ugly, he once declared.
Chaos is inevitable in this world. Pure good can’t be achieved, and pure evil breaks down. And these two extremes are always incompatible with each other. There is still some evil in a good world. That is how the world is, and it is what continues to create ugly things. Evil sneers at good, and good rages over evil. But, in a world where good and evil oppose each other, there is a group that is far more numerous that always appears.
That is ‘grey’. Neither good nor evil. A group that drifts through life haphazardly and merely exists. They don’t believe in goodness and are simply proud that they aren’t evil. Even though they affirm evil acts, they deny evil intentions. They happily say that ‘I am not evil, I am a good person’ and pardon all forms of cruelty.
They kill people while sneering. They kill people out of contempt. They kill people as part of a game. They use the excuse that they can’t restrain their desires—That’s how humans are. That’s how the world is.
Yes—this world is extremely ugly. Neither dyed by good nor fallen into evil. Unable to decide on a color, the wills of people continue to waver. As long as such evil intentions and such foul-smelling corpses aren’t destroyed.
The world will surely continue to rot eternally.
While wrapped within a curse-like fog in darkness frozen to its core.
He thus concluded.
Powers are off.
Corruptions are off.
Carry-on Weapons are not available.
Other carry-on items are available.
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...For a little while, he should rest. But he could not forgive himself the act of resting forever.
[ Then she rises again; brushes her two fingers in a stroke against her wrist to leave a streak of blood, and proceeds to the vast sphere-shaped shrine.
—Because it is a shrine, isn't it? ]
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In the cave-like opening, several depictions of one woman can be seen, all fused together to produce a bright light that somehow does not seem to hurt your eyes at all.
At the very center of the opening sits Lucifel, dark-haired and fair-skinned just as when he was younger; his eyes are closed, breathing seeming even and steady. You can see that he, too, has begun fuse with this organic stone, his legs and feet already no longer distinguishable from the rest of the rock. ]
『Heaven's Grass』: 1/2
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1/3
It feels warm, with a steady and slow vibration under your feet that seems to synchronize with your own heart. ]
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Naturally, he wakes up, eyes cracking open— ]
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[ !?!?? WHEN DID YOU GET HERE ]
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[ She clasps her hands to his shoulders, searching his face worriedly. ]
The shrine is consuming you!
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[ standing himself up, the rock breaking away to reveal his legs intact; at the same time he's reaching up to hold her hands with his own, pressing his palms to the backs of her hands ]
—it's simply. . . Direct contact is required for using it. But I'm alright, Mother.
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Ah.
I'm glad, then—and sorry to have acted so rashly. I have never seen a place such as this.
Is it alright for me to ask what rite you're performing?
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[ and, it isn't like it's not trying to absorb you, as ineffectively as it pulls. ]
This rite. . . To call it such would be, mm. . .
To put it simply, I am tending to the flowers—but I didn't know today would be a visiting day. Work can wait; it's far more pleasant to speak at home, I'm sure.
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...You are the one changing the flowers, then.
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. . . I'm sure it must have been a long way to come here—you didn't stop by the house, first?
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[ a pause ]
...Though, before we go, I feel I ought to say that it felt a bit sorrowful, watching the spider lilies disappear. "Practice" or not.
1/2
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But, it's better that way, surely.
[ stepping forward now, out of the Grail, and taking one of her hands in his so he can lead her out of it as well ]
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anyway, she lets him lead her, taking a moment to appreciate the simple pleasure of Hold Hands With Son. ]
I can't say I agree just yet, but it's important to you, so of course I want to know more about it.
—And I still hope to keep this one. [ indicating the one she's preserved in her braid ]
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[ there's a pause ]
Still, is that fine? . . . It's better to wipe your hands of that.
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Not better, no. If I were to "wipe my hands of it," that would mean allowing myself to forget whatever sorrows this flower holds. That would be giving myself permission to not take responsibility.
[ she tilts up her wrist, to show him the streak of blood she has preserved there as well.
then: a beat, deliberate ]
Besides. Even if you dislike it, it is yours, and I love it for that.
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. . . It was not your responsibility to carry.
[ he casts his gaze down to the flowers—the white flowers no longer advance, blood heavy in the soil, seeming thicker now. ]
. . .
It is not a matter of like or dislike. ... If that flower were to be treasured, then that would be good.
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[ she brushes a thumb lightly over his fingers, encouraging the tension there to relax. ]
And I know a little too much about the weight of the burdens you put on yourself to easily ignore this, even if you say I ought to. I believe in your cause, and I take responsibility for my own beliefs.
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. . . I know. . . that is your noble spirit, Mother. I know.
[ his free hand tightens into a fist, but after a moment both hands loosen ]
You said you came looking for me. How is Ani-ue doing. . . ?
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...He is himself, still carrying his sorrow and burdens in as much silence as the rest of us will allow him to get away with.
It is a long journey, I think, but we are with him for it.
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