cronmatic-blog

[cronmatic-blog]

Moon Dust

Starting after the manga's ending, Crona's perspective of his imprisonment. I wrote this while planning to write a Croma fanfic to compensate for the lack of them that is there. This is inspired by "The Moon Sets at Dawn" by lemony_sneaker on AO3. I might continue this depending on if people are interested. This does need some fleshing out, I know. Plus I just read the manga (more like skimmed it), so if I fudged something up tell me. Btw SPOILERS OF MANGA. Alright you've been warned.

Dissolute and unforgiving, the dark side of the moon burned the goosebumps on his pale skin. The lack of atmosphere made his lungs clutch tightly within him. Only his black blood held him together. The very glue of his existence. And the prison that caged him. The unfeeling wasteland reflected on how he was on the inside. Empty. Nothing had meaning anymore. Not even his emotions. Although, this dissociation was all too familiar. His only way to cope. Some people laugh about their problems, some ventilate it out like an air conditioner. He would laugh, if he had air to breathe. He would vent, if there were sounds to hear.

Memories were the only things he had to feel something. Anything. Lost moments gone with the wind on Earth. No way to touch him ever again. But even those are tainted by the madness of the black blood and Asura's fear. To the point where he doesn't know which memory is real or fake. The kishin enjoyed torturing Crona for a while since he was trapped. But as time went on he grew bored and more creative. His way of getting by was creating his own narrative using Crona's fragile brain. But Crona knew that the false memories were false in the beginning. Asura had gotten better with time too.

The thing is, they truly do not know how long they've been trapped in the blood prison. Years, decades, centuries. Completely ignorant to time, they felt as though it's been an eternity. The false memories didn't help Crona in the time department. Asura making him hallucinate being freed from the prison and finally seeing Maka repeatedly messed with Crona's perspective of his reality. But at least he knew that the cold temperature of the moon helped ground him in his black world.

Crona had accepted that he will be trapped here until the universe freezed over before he imprisoned himself with Asura. It was the sacrifice he had to make and the way he had to pay for his sins. So many innocent people's blood dirtied his hands. He made Maka's and her friends lives harder. He made the world harder. His so called death was to make things easier. Easier for the world. To help fix a problem that he caused. Although, arguably his mother that he killed made this happen. But his self hatred blinded him from that.

However, the person who would disagree to all of this would smack him upside the head with a thick book. Maka wanted him to believe he mattered so badly. That he belonged. That he wasn't a monster and that he had potential to be better.

The darkness used to disorient his mind. Motion sickness from not knowing where is left or right or down or up. But after all this time, he found that directions no longer mattered just like his very existence. His only purpose is to be his undoing. An upside from this was that he no longer had to worry about causing pain in others. Just himself. It made things simple. Better than being a complication to others. A burden.

Maka would've hated him thinking that. She would've hated his defeated attitude. He remembered when she said she would come back for him. She would figure this out. It's been so long, that he only remembered the words. Her voice, although he knew was smooth and lovely, was no longer in his mind. Gone just like he was to her.

"I'll definitely come back for you! So wait for me!"

The thing that got him the most was that he was slowly losing her face from his mind by waiting. By believing. It hurt him knowing that she'll eventually be gone for good. His devastation that he felt when he'd no longer be able to touch her can't compare to his disparity of forgetting his only hope. Scared. He was so scared. So numb to any other feeling, fear was all he knew. He wished he could just scream. But he can't.

All he could do is reflect on who he was. Who he was with. Who he loved. What he did. What she did for him. He was so sick of reflecting. He needed something new. He needed out. He wanted to unleash his black blood and free them both in a selfish attempt to see her again. Create new memories with her again. To replace all the fucked up ones. He wished so badly. Yearned so badly.

All he needed was one wish.

He was sick of waiting on this damned black paper moon.