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trancylovecraft · 6 months

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(KNY) YANDERE PLATONIC! KOKUSHIBO x SISTER READER: You, Shibou. I, Kokoro (CHAPTER THIRTEEN)

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN: "You will not be more than a rat in the gutter"

Child abuse can come in many forms including Physical, Emotional, Psychological and Sexual. It happens to more than one in ten people according to local statistics.

The morning rays shone through the window, The disgusting mould building up on the glass making dots in the spotlight.

The room the light had hit was clustered and tossed over, All furniture either broken or tipped over onto the ground. Shattered vases and hives of insects were plentiful in nature, Thriving in the filth of the abandoned house.

It was horrid, Looking like no-one had dared to step foot into the derelict surroundings of the rotted structure. Walls near falling apart and doors barely clicking place into their doorframes.

Larvae gathered around on the decaying wood floor, All from the corpse laying atop it.

It had been there for days, Maggots already crawling in and out of the pores in her skin. She was old, Dying of old age. But that was perfect for the gathering flies and vermin starting to make their young out of the nutritious flesh of her decaying face.

Her figure was as gout as an English king, Her spindly grey hair was scattered across the floor and already falling out of her scalp. It was disgusting, The smell was like spoiled eggs and sulphur from the mould.

But it didn't bother the girl peaking out from the nook in the door that was slightly open, Her little face was shrouded in shadow with the only thing visible being the vivid colour of her eyes staring out at the corpse.

She could of only been about seven or eight, But she looked at the corpse like it was her everyday life, Like she was just observing people passing by on the streets.

Her overgrown hair was matted and tangled into that of a thorn bush, Dirt was displayed on her face and her eyes were wide and vigilant like a bird of prey. It wasn't fit on her and her skeletal complexion, A girl that looked so young.

Her brows lowered as she looked at the corpse, It wasn't of disgust or horror as it should've been but instead it was akin to annoyance or perhaps irritation. It was a mature face, One she should've never been able to make at her age.

The thin bony hands that lain on the other side of the door started to quiver. Even though there was a faint warmth in the air, Her body was still chilled to the bones from the ravenous hunger that laid inside her stomach.

She pushed her fingers forward, The door starting to close. [F/N] took one last look at the infestation gathering on the corpse before huffing.

The door shut softly with a click, Leaving nothing but dead silence to fill the room.

☆♡☆

[F/N] sat upon her futon, Head drooped down to look at her knees.

Her futon was small compared to [F/N]'s already tiny body. The sheets looked like they hadn't been measured to her size in years as it could barely fit over her tiny little feet and provide much needed warmth in the high altitude of the mountain.

The cold air from the atmosphere outside left a lasting chill within the air. The snow-capped peaks above were not too far from where her grand house sat within the rocky terrain, Nestled at the head of the village facing below.

It was lively to say the least. Men with heavy pickaxes slung over their shoulders were waltzing about streets, Most likely on their way to work. Women with baskets of shining ore headed in the other direction from the way, Ready to haul them to the exporting wagons.

Kids ran around the adults, Grinning as they chased each other throughout the plentiful streets and tall buildings lining them. They were having fun, [F/N] could tell from the loud muffled laughs coming from below.

The sunlight village, The place where the sun never went down and where the entire village was eternally basked within the grace of Amaterasu. The only place where scarlet iron ore was cultivated for the demon slayer corps.

For a small village it was a hotspot for both the mining and swordsmithing industry, Never having a quiet moment. It was also a place constructed by the Ubuyashiki family for the sole purpose of collecting and exporting the scarlet ore for the swordsmith village.

The grand house bigger than all the others sat atop a hill overlooking the rest of the village and the entire drop of the mountain miles below them. It was beautiful, Always clean and pristine as it was an example for the rest.

It was gorgeous, At least from the outside view that is.

Screaming erupted from somewhere deep within the house, [F/N] flinched at the high-pitched hollering coming from further within the rooms of the house. It was a constant back and forth of a man and a woman yelling at each other.

"YOU'RE DEFECTIVE! I SHOULD'VE PICKED A DIFFERENT FUCKING WIFE THAT COULD MAKE ME A RIGHTFUL HEIR!"

"I'M DEFECTIVE?! HAVE YOU EVER STOPPED TO THINK THAT MAYBE IT'S YOU THAT'S GOT SOMETHING WRONG WITH HIM?!. IT FUCKING FIGURES, YOU CAN NEVER GET IT UP!"

"YOU WHORE!"

Then the woman's screaming would turn into yells of pain and anger, The sound of a hand connecting with the skin of the face being the cause. Though despite the intensity and the structure-shaking yells that they made, It wasn't the sound of the adults that made [F/N] flinch.

Instead, It was the baby's.

It was horrifying, The shrill crying of a recently born child was mixing in with the roaring of the adults. It made [F/N] ball up and press her knees against her chest, Shutting her eyes and whispering to herself.

She sniffled, A futile attempt to wipe the oncoming tears off her face was made to no avail. [F/N] rocked back and forth, Whispering little confirmations to try and convince herself that it would be okay.

Though she was only a toddler, She was fully aware of what's happening.

Another one of her siblings failed the test, They hadn't been born with the proper hands. An annual occurrence with no deviation from it's result, Again and again she would hear the cries of a child from the other room and the adults screaming would kick up again.

Her family lineage had been blessed by the gods, That's what the villagers said anyways. Sometimes they even claimed that they were the descendants of gods far above them, Gifting them their power.

The Hands of Kagutsuchi, That's what they were called. Named after the kami of fire and the patron of blacksmiths. It was a bloodborne power that gave the blessing of being able to identify any material by the touch of a hand.

It could tell the density of the finest of threats, The way it was woven or the exact touch of the person it belonged to. It could even tell if a glass of sake was poisoned just from a simple graze of the liquid.

It was especially useful here due to the nature of scarlet iron ore, The mining village's sole export. Despite the assumption of the colour in the name, It was impossible to tell what was the scarlet ore or just regular iron.

It would usually take a few hours, Only being able to tell once it was cut into. However with The Hands of Kagutsuchi it would be able to be identified within a second, Saving countless resources and hours of work.

Though there was an is-

"DEFECTIVE.. ANOTHER DEFECTIVE BASTARD- CAN'T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT?!"

Sudden thumps of storming footsteps started to make their way down the halls of the house, Though what terrified [F/N] is that the cries of her baby sibling followed with it. Screaming wildly in distress. [F/N]'s breath hitched within her throat, Eyes going wide.

It was happening again, He was going to take another one-!

[F/N] wasted no time in stumbling to her feet and rushing over to the window on the far side of the room. Hopping up onto the soles of her feet, She was barely able to peer over and look out at the valley in front of her.

[F/N]'s eyes landed on the river, Almost second-nature to her by now.

It was the running water sourced from the top of the snow-caps, It was long and winding as it flowed throughout the entire village. It provided hydration and irrigation to the fields of crops growing on the outskirts.

It also had a private part flowing on the hill their house sat on, Separated from the rest of the village a good bit away. It was only a few metre's away, Giving [F/N] a place to run around in if she was lucky.

However [F/N] wasn't bothered by that as she heard the sound of a door being roughly slammed open.

It made her yelp, But her eyes never wavered as she watched the bulking figure of the man storm out into the field facing her house. Her eyes widened, Her vision focusing on what he held high above his head.

It was her baby sibling hung up by the raging grip of the man, They were screaming and wailing with their little face scrunched up in pain. They had only just been born, Still covered in the blood of their mother and freshly cut from the placenta.

Their little fingers were balled up, Their mouth open to let out their high-pitched wails of discomfort as they were hung upside down. They weren't even given the gift of clothing to warm their growing body.

The man marched onwards however, Ignoring the screams of the child as he stormed over to the place where [F/N] feared the most. Her mouth going dry at the sight.

The river.

He had reached the edge by now, [F/N] tried harder and harder to extend the soles of her feet to try and get a better look at what was happening. What was going to happen to her little sibling.

The man stood, Hanging his child like they were meat on a hook. Dangling over the river their cries only grew louder and louder, [F/N]'s breath only picked up once more as she looked on helplessly.

The river water ran cold, The rushing waves speeding down the slope of the mountain in waves. Rocks below it bashed into the water, Hard edges making the water sway and swim in different directions.

The man raised his child higher and higher, The screaming of the child becoming unbearable to [F/N] as her eyes landed on the object gripped tightly in his other hand.

She had been so focused, So attentive to the fate of the little boy that she had failed to notice what he was holding. But as he raised it higher and higher, Dangled his child further and further over the side of the river-

[F/N] knew what it was.

The cold blade of the knife was pressed against the little neck of her baby sibling, The sharp end barely grazing their throat. It was barely developed, Their chubby little cheeks covering what little neck they had.

The blade drew forward, Momentum starting to build.

[F/N] cried out from behind the wall, Hands slamming against the glass to try and stop this. Anything, To try and stop what was going to happen. Tears of her own starting to build up and burst down her face.

SILSH!

The shrill cries of the baby stopped.

[F/N]'s eyes widened.

Unable to pry her eyes off the sudden splash of red dripping down from across the field.

☆♡☆

The cold summer morning's air brushed over the high mountain, A cool breeze tickling at the skin and soaking into the bone.

The sun was still on the horizon, By normal time it would be the very break of dawn but for the sunlight village it stayed eternally light within the closed off confines of it's walls. The ferns flourished with the constant nourishment along with all the other wildlife accustomed to the bright atmosphere.

[F/N] slowly opened the wooden door, Careful to dim the noise of the creak it let out. As soon as she stepped out into the wide open plain of their estate she was hit with the cold spring breeze.

It made her shiver as her little legs hopped down the accompanying steps, Careful not to trip over on her own feet.

The timber-built bucket she had held under her arm was throwing off her balance by a bit, Making her stumble slightly in her step as she trotted over to the accompanying river. It was rushing as usual, Spurts of water foam bursting up and falling back into the stream.

[F/N] waddled onto the edge of the river, Peering over she looked once. Then back towards the house, Left to right before lowering down onto her knees and starting to scoop up the river water.

While the water was chilling it wasn't anything a small fire couldn't heat up, [F/N] learning the tricks of it from running her own baths for years. The few servants employed within her family weren't up at this time, Leaving [F/N] to her own devices.

However she preferred it that way, Not having to worry about interactions with the mean adults living in her house. Nor did she have to deal with the stuffy air flowing about in there, The crisp breeze of the outdoors being a highlight of her eternal day.

She had always felt more mature than the other kids in the village, Always like she was retaking a lesson she had done before. She didn't know why, But sometimes she could swear like she was an adult in a kids body.

Besides, With the upcoming birth of the next child it's been more and more hectic. The woman's pregnancy hitting nine months, The baby due to be born any day now and making both the man and the servants more stressed.

The yelling had gotten louder too, With the man promising and threatening the woman with something [F/N] couldn't make out.

The woman.

The woman was a sorrowful spindly figure, One with bony hands and a slim waist. She was beautiful but in a similar way that you would call a dark tragedy beautiful. Her fuzzy face always facing away from [F/N], Never letting her get a good look at her.

She never talked either, Not in person. Always such a silent and unreactive person whenever [F/N] had been around her, [F/N] only knowing her shrill voice from the screaming.

The man.

The man was a dark hulking figure, His limbs too big on his wide body and he heaved his arms like paperweights. He had horns, Tall winding talons and angry luminescent eyes that seemed to follow in a room.

But his appearance wasn't what sprung to mind when [F/N] thought of him, No. Instead it was his footsteps.

How heavy and thundering they were, How her ears had trained to pick them up from the furthest corner of her house. The way the floorboards decreased under his boot as well as the way she would wait on baited breath, Begging silently for them to pass by on her room.

He wasn't someone that [F/N] liked all that much, Despite the little contact she had with him. He had killed several of her siblings, Even [F/N]'s young mind recognising so.

The only reason she had survived is because she had falsely passed the test when she was born, The test to prove whether she had the divine power of the hands or not.

The test was done as soon as the baby born had fell into a soundless sleep, When it had stilled and calmed down. That was when the feather was brought out, A primary golden feather with a shine that rivalled the sun.

It was a feather said to have been left behind from the bird of the gods, Hou-Ou. One given to her families ancestors long ago. It had been combed several times, Preened and prepped until the touch was ironically featherlight and unfeeling.

The feather would be grazed across the child's hands, For only a second. If the baby awoke and started crying then that would mean that they had been born with the hands, The only thing being able to feel the pristine brush of the plume.

However, If they failed..

[F/N] shook off the jolting chill running down her back as the wooden bucket in her hands finally filled up with enough water to fill her shallow bath. She didn't want to remember the last loss a year ago, No matter how much it filled her head every night.

It appeared in the corners of her eyes, The splash of red. As soon as she snapped her head around to catch a glimpse, It would be gone. It also appeared in her dreams, The visions of the blade wringing the neck of another child. She had issues sleeping because of it, Keeping her eyes wide open in the middle of the night.

The worst part is it had happened every year, The keyword being had as the number of children being slaughtered had risen. The man, Deciding that the woman was not good enough had turned to others within the village for what he called a proper heir.

However, None were good enough. None were born with the hands that would finally appease the mans hunger for blessed blood. The splash of red appearing every three or four months by now. She remembered the woman's voice, What few words were ever spoken directly to [F/N] herself.

"Some are just made wrong, Don't cry over someone you haven't met."

[F/N] pulled up the bucket of water, Droplets running down the side of the bark and dropping onto the lush grass of the mountain. It sloshed around inside as she tried hauling it in her tiny hands.

[F/N] didn't know why she was still alive, A trick of fate perhaps. When the feather was brushed over her hands as a baby she had woken up and started crying, Making it seem as if she was born with the hands.

However when she had grown up it had become obviously apparent that she hadn't been born with such hands, Just waking up at the right time to avoid her demise. And by then the man couldn't kill her, Already having paraded her around the village.

Her father had tossed her aside after that, Just like leftovers. Thrown her into a cage to call her own and the servants were to raise her however distant they liked. He never talked or acknowledged her other than commands, But [F/N] could tell he thought of her like a rat in the gutter.

A disgrace and a failure of a child he was stuck with until he could find a proper husband to throw her away to. A child born without the conditions met to gain his love, The touch just out of her grasp.

But as her hands were graced with the tiny chill of cold droplets running down her fingers, The splintering wood pricking at her little hands. [F/N] was reminded very well that she wasn't of divine blood or of blessed heritage.

She lugged the bucket of limber wood by her side, Careful not to spill anymore of the river water down the sides of the bark. Her feet tapped against the overgrown grass, Wandering towards the main door.

Why she was the one to survive, Why she was the one destined to outlive all the children who didn't even get their chance. Her siblings, The ones that had been tossed away and the one's of whose blood flowed within the river.

They were her siblings, They were her blood and her only family. Each one of them had been given a name, Not by the man or the woman, But by her. Mariko, Amane, Eito and Tarou. The first four off the top of her head.

They hadn't even survived a day outside the womb yet [F/N] made sure to name every single one, Mark every little name into the corner wall of her room. They hadn't lived through breath but instead through their names, That's the least she thought she could do for them.

She loved them, Every single one of them.

Their little hands and their tiny feet, Their chubby little cheeks and their adorable mimicry of human speech. She adored it, Never getting to see what was of her sibling before they were slaughtered like all the others.

She couldn't bare it, Though she was only six she knew how wrong it was. How much pain she felt every time another was killed.

[F/N] tried to smile however. It wasn't all that bad, At least that's what she told herself. Today marked the day of the solstice festival, The one thrown in favour of The Sun Goddess Amaterasu for their eternal brightness.

It had always been fun for the few times she had remembered it, She was only six after all. [F/N] always had fun running about and handed out free food samples, Often partaking in some of the games and watching Shinto-based plays, They were her favourite.

So as she lugged along the bucket back to her house, She tried to keep a big smile on her face in thought of all the fun she was going to have today. What goldfish she was going to try and catch, What plays she would go see.

It was exciting, Fun and ex-

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH-!"

A muffled scream echoed out from within the house, One that made [F/N] yelp and surprise and drop the bucket towards the ground.

It clattered on the foot of the steps, Water flying out and splashing against the andesite stairway as she stumbled forward yelping. She fell to her knees and tipped up the bucket, Exclaiming once she saw the emptiness.

But the screaming didn't stop, It kept up on a higher notch. Wailing louder and louder as [F/N] snapped her head up towards the shrieks, Recognising the high-pitch of them very well.

It was the woman, The pain of her yelling was felt in [F/N]'s bone marrow. It was a string of unintelligible curses and proclamations of agony, For no doubt waking up the entirety of the previously slumbering house as she heard frantic shuffling come from inside.

The screams.

[F/N] knew it well.

Her water had broken.

Her tongue had dropped to her throat, Suddenly feeling limp in her mouth. Sweat started to rise up on the palms of her hands and trickle down her forehead as her lungs started going in and out at a much quicker pace.

Another would be killed.

Another.

And Another.

That was enough for [F/N] to push herself up from the stone steps and yank the door open with what strength her young body had, Abandoning the bucket and running into the labyrinth of her house to seek cover in her room.

Already knowing of the storm that would be approaching as she heard the thundering voice of her father kick up.

☆♡☆

The whines of the woman echoed throughout the house, The soundwaves bouncing off the walls.

It had been a few hours now and [F/N] had barricaded herself within her room. She had to, The man would've kept her inside for preparation of the next child. The hopes of this one finally having the hands he so craved.

He had come around once, Peeking inside her room and barking at her to stay put before leaving once more. All the servants had ran to the woman's side too, Leaving her completely alone.

To keep her mind occupied out of the oncoming demise of another child, She had sat atop a desk next to the windowsill, Longingly staring out into the festival just gracing the borders of her house so closely.

The colourful streamers were shot into the air, Laughing and yells of pleasure were there to cover up the sounds of muffled agony coming from deep within the house. All the lights, What few of them were were lit up in celebration of the goddess.

[F/N] imagined herself running around with the other kids, Envisioned herself catching goldfish with a bag of sweet treats in her other hand as she did. The way her face would light up in favour of the sun deity above.

But instead she was caged within the walls of her house, Forced to listen to the wails of the woman and the yelling of the man. The servants storming footsteps chattering past her door every so often to grab something new for the woman.

The one day when she was going to have an escape, If only for a few hours. Taken away from her.

It was a distraction from her everyday life, Every time she ran through the streets and bit into a piece of mochi she felt as if she was like everyone else. Like she was never trapped in the first place.

But it's not like she could ever get out.

[F/N] closed her eyes, Arms around her chest cuddling herself closer as the screams reached a peak. It was compelling, A siren's shriek that made her want to throwaway all her orders to stay in the room and run to see the face of her sibling.

She never got to see them, She just wanted to see one.

Only one, The glimpses she got of the previous just wasn't enough. She never got to hold their hand or even commit their face to memory. That's all she wanted, All she's ever wanted for herself.

She didn't even have control over her body when she hopped down from the desk, Her bare feet hitting the floor and starting to patter against the floorboards as she quickly made her way to the door of her room.

The door clicking open, She peered out to check if the coast was clear.

Left then right, Before snaking out the crack in the doorway and running towards the room.

☆♡☆

The child had been born.

Hours after labour had started, The woman had finally given birth to a young boy. A child smaller than usual, One that had taken forever to calm down and lulled into a deep sleep. But the servants had managed, Swaddling him in an earth-coloured cloth.

The room that they were in was the main bedroom of the house. It was dark, The blinds shut over to prevent any of the worshipped sun flooding into the room. Candles were lit in it's place, Surrounding the woman who lain strewn on the bed.

Her spindly, Starving figure was exhausted. Long limbs stretched out across the entire surface of the bed with the child placed firmly on her hollow chest as a part of the so-called imprinting.

A wet cloth was placed upon her forehead. What bloody mess of fluids she had made while giving birth were quickly cleaned up, A blanket thrown over the lower half of her body for little warmth.

[F/N] could see through the peek of the door she looked through that the servants had left, Assumedly to give privacy for the ceremony. She had tried peeking over the top side of the bed, Her height a hinderance as she tried to get a good look at her new sibling.

She finally caught a glimpse of them, A faint smile appearing on her face as she saw his young face. The way they slept without noise in their sleep. Their little nose and their big eyes shut down to sleep.

They were adorable.

However it wasn't just the woman in the room. The man had remained too, His back facing the blinded windows with a box gripped tightly in his hands.

[F/N] watched as he turned, Unlatching the box and flipping open the lid. Rummaging around, It didn't take him long to fish out the idolized plume from inside. The candlelight reflecting of the glistening surface of the feather.

He held it up high, [F/N]'s eyes lighting up at the view of it as he presented it up. It was beautiful, The box it was contained in kept it in very good condition. Looking freshly plucked from the crest of Hou-Ou.

Beautiful, The first time she had ever seen it so close.

This was the test, The one that would decide if this would be the child that would end her siblings deaths. [F/N]'s eyes landed on the sleeping face of her new younger brother, His closed eyes and the way he was tightly wrapped within the cloth.

The baby still swaddled lay against the woman's chest, Resting within a post-born sleep. It didn't take long for the man to lower the flower towards the boy, The fluff of the feather dancing in the wind as it lowered ever so slightly.

Would he pass? Would they be the one to finally end all of this, So her and the adults could finally live happily without anymore death? Only the feather would tell, Only the graze of the lightest touch would be the one to determine that fate.

It fell down even further, The baby babbling something incoherent in it's sleep. [F/N] felt as if her little heart had stopped beating entirely, Her body frozen in anticipation of the outcome.

"Please.. Please.. You can do this..!" [F/N] breathed out, It was so quiet and carried no weight in the indoor wind. But it held such pleading tone, A silent prayer to whatever god would listen to her. This would be the one, This would be the one! She could have a sibling and a family, She would have it. Her!

The feather was only inches away from their hands, Mere millimetres apart as every second ticked by with an audible tock. All until the sunrise plume completed its descent, The very tips of the feather grazing the baby's hand.

Time froze along with [F/N]'s body.

The feather stood still, Brushed up against the tips of his fingers.

The baby did nothing, Made no sound nor stir.

The man's eyes lit up. His mouth opening to bare his fangs and the talon dangling the feather was yanked away from the baby's hands, His luminescent angry eyes lit up. A glow burning brighter and brighter.

[F/N]'s eyes expanded, Her mouth going dry.

cry.. Cry- Please cry or anything-! H-He'll kill you! Do something-! SOMETHING, ANYTHING!

The yelling started up once more, Animalistic cries beginning to kick up once more as it shook the room with the sheer magnitude. So loud that the woman jolted up from her position on the bed, Predatory eyes shaking up in surprise.

"ANOTHER ONE! ANOTHER FUCKING FAILURE- "

The woman who was freshly awoken got up onto a sitting position as if doing this a hundred times before, The baby nudged down to the side and abandoned. Her blurry face seeming to get more static as she started to scream right back at him.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE DO YOU THINK I'M TRYING TO DO TH-"

[F/N] stumbled back, Her feet barely landing their mark as she covered her mouth.

The screams turning into nothing but white noise as the darkness of the hallway started to envelop her more and more, Each step she took back was one more closer to her inevitable cries.

By now, The baby had woken up and had started wailing. Shrill cries mixing in with the wrath of the adults, Confused and helpless with no prior experience to this world. It was screaming, It was screaming so goddamn loud.

[F/N] whined, The hot spill already dripping down her face. Turning her back to the door she turned and ran, Her instincts kicking in. That need to escape pumping through her blood as she sprinted back towards her room.

Feet thumping against the floorboards as she ran through the door to her room, Instantly falling to the floor.

Another one.. Another one would be taken.

Again and again.

Hands bathed in the blood of the monster who took them all from her.

☆♡☆

"B-But- Can't you keep this one? J-Just this one? You don't even need to care for him, I-I'll do it!"

[F/N]'s shrill voice called out, Her discordant voice cried as she watched the man's hulking body stop just beside her doorway.

He had come in, Not even a few minutes ago to command her to stay inside for the next week or so. Bursting into her doorway to find [F/N] huddled under the sheets of her futon, Proceeding to ignore that and hiss at her to obey his orders.

The festival outside still roared with life, People dancing and laughing as they played along the riverbank. [F/N] was thankful that they were, It was the only thing preventing the death of her little sibling.

Due to the copious amounts of people surrounding the riverbank, It was made impossible to kill and dispose of the baby and it's corpse as if he did then the village people would see the blood running in the water and get alarmed.

[F/N] had heard the yell come from him a few minutes after she had ducked into the safety of her room. He would be killed tomorrow when the festival clears, When the people have dispersed and the water made private once more.

It gave [F/N] time as she stood below the figure of the man, Her little body was an ant compared to the mountain of his pitch-black body. His talons and horns reflecting the light of the window parallel.

[F/N] had somehow found the confidence to stand up to him, Though under his height she didn't stand that tall. But she had to try, There was an opportunity to save him, To save her little brother.

She tried to look big, Similar to a cat would as she raised her shaky shoulders and bared her baby teeth. Tears brimming in her eyes with horror as the horrifying man turned around to look at her, Wrathful irises staring death into her.

His needled teeth bore, Maw opening wide.

"No, For fucks sake just stay in your goddamn room and pipe down like a good little girl. Stop arguing back and stay quiet, Don't talk back to me." He rumbled, Voice like thunder in the distant as it struck [F/N] through the heart.

His neck cracked and his limbs settled within there sockets as he moved, Lunging forward as if to pounce. [F/N] flinched, But he pulled himself back at the last second to turn back around towards the door. His claws encircling the knob as he started to yank it open.

[F/N] regained her footing, Heart drumming in her chest as she opened her mouth.

"I-I'll tell the village what you're doing! They'll save him!" She exclaimed as her palms grew clammy at her words.

The man stopped in his tracks.

He turned around, His face revealing the angry glow of his eyes that pierced into her. What little [F/N] could make out of his face seemed to get angrier, His muscles pushing back to reveal a burning rage upon him.

[F/N]'s tears started to spill now, Raising over the brink and piling over the edge.

She backed up, What balance she had seemed to vanish as she watched the man turn around fully now. Baring his shoulders and pushing out his chest as he took a step towards her.

"W-Wait.. No- I'm sorry-!" [F/N] cried out but she was cut short by the icy cold grip of a clawed hand on her cheek.

The man had lowered onto a single knee now, The floorboards decreasing under the weight of his body and almost breaking them in half. What angry expression he had before seemed to have changed now.

It almost looked friendly, Almost as if there was a heart buried within the empty void of his body. But it also looked as if he wanted something, Like he was sucking up to someone just to get something out of them.

[F/N] froze as the grip on her cheek tightened.

"Sweetheart.. You know this is just a family tradition, Right? It's not wrong to get rid of some deficient children." His bestial voice seemed to have been tamed, If only a little bit as he over-emphasised his words. Talking down to her as his facial muscles turned upwards.

Her mouth was dry. [F/N] didn't know what to do, This was the first time he had ever lain a hand on her in such a way. Though it wasn't warm or comforting, It was cold like the hand of a rotting corpse. It made her want to cry and run away.

"N-No..?" She coughed out, Lip trembling as she tried not to invoke his anger any further. Confused as to why he was acting so nice all of a sudden, So friendly as if he was her friend with well meaning intentions.

But [F/N] knew better as he smiled further, Exposing the pointed bone lodging out his gums.

"Well it is. This is completely natural." The man answered. His faux smile stayed strong, Though [F/N] could almost see it falter as he saw the continued confused look on her face. "You know what? How about I tell you a story.."

It wasn't something [F/N] was meant to answer as his hand moved down to her shoulder, Almost as if he was trying to hold her in place as he talked.

"So.. Once upon a time there was a.. A farmer and his livestock. The farmer was the best in all of the land, He especially had these prized sheep. Beautiful fleeces, Their meat was the most delicious and everyone in his village loved the farmer for making it." He started.

[F/N] blinked, Nodding slightly as he spoke. She was still puzzled, Still lost within the mist of her mind as she tried to follow along with what he was saying. Wait, What was he saying? [F/N] didn't know just yet as he continued.

"One day one of the prized sheep gave birth to her lambs, The farmer had been waiting months for them to arrive… But when they did, They came out wrong." The man said, His voice lowering an octave as he got closer to her.

"Wrong.. Wrong how?" [F/N] said slowly. The story he was telling about the lambs and their so-told unfortunate birth still hadn't weighed in on her. Though she was curious, How could something be born wrong.

The man took a second to think.

"..Well their fleeces were dirty and all their limbs were thin and bony. The weren't like the prized sheep that the farmer had raised, And their meat would be dry and tasteless if he decided to make his next batch of sheep with them." The man answered, Looking over [F/N] as she hummed.

The lambs he was describing sounded nothing like the ones she had seen in the village, The ones that were kept in livestock were always floundering about within their pens. They looked healthy and happy.

Though ones that he told of sounded rather sad, [F/N] imagined the little stubs of the usual lamb as the ones he described and how unhappy the lambs would be. She also remembered how the villagers would favour the nicer looking lambs while feeding them, The ones with fluffier coats or the ones that were friendlier.

"The villagers wouldn't like it.." [F/N] mumbled to herself, Deep within the thralls of her mind as she considered his tale. The man's eyes lowered in contentment, Seeing that his point was being told.

"Exactly, [F/N]. The villagers wouldn't like it if the meat turned tasteless, They wouldn't like it if the fleeces became dirty. Now, The farmer didn't know what to do.. These were the only lambs born this season." The man told, Nodding along.

[F/N] blinked, Bringing her hand to her chin in thought.

"..What did he do?" She asked slowly, Her little self looking up towards him. Her eyes still scared and on guard as she stared into the intense shine of his eyes, Though curiosity was laced in within her eyes. The man's hyenic grin widened, Sickeningly so.

"Well it just so happened that the village was being terrorized by a mountain lion for a few months now, And the lion was there to see the lambs. So it told the farmer that if he gave the lion the lambs, It would stop terrorizing the village.." The man started.

"And..?" [F/N] queried.

"And the farmer gave the lion the lambs. It meant that the village would be peaceful and the genes of the prized sheep would be spared, Though he wouldn't be able to provide the village with any meat: It would mean that future lambs would be much better in quality." The man finished. The hand on her shoulder dropping to his side.

[F/N] paused for a moment, Slowly nodding to the story in understanding. The lambs were sacrificed to the lion in order to keep peace in the village as well as the quality of the stock. For the greater good, Was that the moral of the story?

[F/N] didn't quite understand the roles in the story. The lambs she knew, They were the babies: Her siblings. The farmer was the man, The poor man who was tasked with producing quality meat.

But the lion?

"Then.. Whose the lion?" [F/N] asked as she looked up at him, Tilting her head and blinking in confusion. The man just looked at her through the void of his face, Contemplating over his words before speaking.

"The lion is The God Kagutsuchi, [F/N]." The man answered. "He's our ancestor, He's the man who gave this clan the hands in the first place. He wouldn't want it to go to waste, Would he?"

"..No.. He wouldn't." [F/N] concluded as she watched the man get up from his position. Pushing himself up with a hand and getting up onto his feet, Back to his entire height now as he smiled at her.

"Good. You understand now. This is all for the greater good, [F/N]. Telling the villagers would be wrong, You wouldn't want to upset your ancestor." He said as he turned around towards the door.

His claws wrapped around the knob on the door, His claws encircling the silver in-between his palms as he started to open it.

Though, He looked back. His smile completely gone from his face and replaced with that familiar anger painted across his visage.

"Now stay inside the house, Don't dare try to leave."

That was all he said before the door yanked open, The cold air of the outside hallway blowing against her face before it was gone. The door slammed shut and the man gone from within her room.

[F/N] just stood there, Feet fixed in place for several minutes. She just thought over his words as they reeled within her mind and went back over and over again, It was strange.

He said it was for the greater good, That was what he was trying to convey in his story. But something in her gut argued with that sentiment will all their might, Something that just felt so wrong.

Maybe it was the question mixed in with the thoughts in her mind. If the lambs were the siblings that were sacrificed to the lion, Then why was she the one that the lion turned over?

☆♡☆

Feet pitter pattered against the wooden floorboards, The lumber hard against the soles of her toes as she moved along the hallway.

An occasional servant passed her as she wandered down the passage, Barely paying her any mind in favour of getting to their next tasks. Some with plates of food and others with cleaning equipment overflowing in their arms.

[F/N] didn't pay attention to them either as they passed by, Too enveloped within her own thoughts to care about who they were or where they were going. Her shoulders dropped to their low, Her head fallen with them.

Though the story told to her eased her nerves if not a little bit, The build-up of years of seeing her siblings die was not easily broken down. It was still hard to forget the splatter of red across the grass, The blood mixing in with the river water.

The way the body was just wrapped in cloth and tossed away into the river, How their curled fingers went limp and the body turning cold within the freezing chill of the mountains stream.

It was horrifying.

But the man said it was for the greater good, Did he not? The Hands were of the utmost sacred abilities, A rite of passage into the clan. The lambs that were born needed the hands and the lion that had beginned them needed them to be passed on.

She wouldn't want to disrespect the gods, She wouldn't want to go against them in the slightest so why was she still feeling this way? [F/N] still didn't know, Her young mind still not made to handle this stress.

She stopped in her tracks, A sudden light entering her vision.

It broke her out of her wandering trance, The warming light dancing off the floorboards came from the crack in the door beside her. Only noticing it now, She peered over towards the tall frame.

She saw it, And recognised it instantly.

It was that woman's room, The same one she had peered into earlier. Where she witnessed the birth of her sibling and the subsequent fight that had broken out over his birth, Just like the others again and again.

She stared through the crack in the doorway, The small glimpse of the inside showed nothing but a slice of the bed. Curiosity killed the cat, But that notion didn't move [F/N] as she moved a little closer to the doorway.

Could he still be there?

Maybe. Maybe he could still be laying within the chambers, From what sliver she saw of the inside she could tell that the woman wasn't present within. She had never cared for who she had made, Never held them consciously for any reason.

She could've left him within her chambers, Left him out and waited for him to be slaughtered in the coming morning. Not that there was any tell of daybreak, But what if..

[F/N] looked left then right, Making sure nobody was watching her as she pushed open the door to the chambers. It opened with an audible creak, Making [F/N] jolt as she once again checked to make sure nobody was watching her.

Once she made sure of it, She quickly stepped a guilty foot inside and close the door behind her to cover her actions. Leaving her inside the walls of the room.

The blinds were still shut together, Blocking out the natural light of the outside world and leaving the burning embers of the half-melted candles to do the job instead. The shadows long and thick due to the result.

It also made it humid as [F/N] scanned her eyes over the room. Everything was basically the same. The side table, The half-done bed, The nightstands and the closet off to the side. It was all the same as normal.

Except there was something placed upon the table, [F/N] squinted her eyes to get a better look at it. Once her vision cleared she had realised it was a basket, Woven of thatch and twine laying upon the table.

[F/N] stumbled closer to it, Understanding what it was as she rested her hands on the accompanying chair. Pushing herself up onto it she sat on her knees, Peering over into the contents of the basket. Her pursed lips turned into a soft smile at the sight.

It was her baby brother swaddled in the same earth-coloured cloth. He was awake now, Babbling out incoherent speech from within his makeshift cradle. He looked so precious, [F/N] couldn't help but lean over further.

"Hello, Nii-san..!" [F/N] called out in a hushed whisper, Speaking to the baby with a fondness like no other and saying it with such a burning love in her eyes. The baby in turn giggled at her speech, A giddy smile appearing upon his face.

[F/N] gasped as he responded to her words.

"You're so cutee.. My name is [F/N], You're my brother..!" [F/N] told him lightly as she lifted a hand towards him, Holding out her pinky as she peered at her brother.

The baby laughed again. His chubby little hand reached out towards her hand, Grabbing and clenching his hands before it finally grasped onto her pinky finger. [F/N]'s jaw dropped as she felt his hand wrap around hers.

"Ohmygosh-" She breathed out as she watched him rock around within his cradle, The grasp on her pinky finger never letting down. [F/N] in that moment looked at him and saw the world, The candlelight shining in her eyes.

She smiled, Pondering to herself for a moment.

"I should probably name you, You know! What sounds good to you..?" [F/N] asked him, Leaning over the side just a little bit more. She understood that he couldn't answer so she brought a hand to her chin in thought.

"How about.. Kaito? No.. Aito? No.. Akai? Denji? Enmei?" She listed off, Going off the few names off the top of her head and striking a line through the ones she had already used. Her lips pursed back up in thought, Her eyebrows furrowing.

[F/N] gasped, Suddenly snapping her fingers.

"How about Shizuko? I don't know if it's a girl or a boy name.. But I think it's really cute!" [F/N] exclaimed, Eyes sparkling as the now named 'Shizuko' babbled out what [F/N] took as confirmation.

He liked it, Shizuko liked it and that made [F/N] happy. Her other hand reached into the basket, Carefully lifting him up and making sure to support the head like the women in the village carried their own children.

She brought him down into her chest, Making sure his head was held up by her shoulder and her hands keeping him steady. Her smile was like the sun in that moment, The sheer joy she felt from holding Shizuko was coursing through her veins.

"You're not even crying.. It's just.. Amazing.." [F/N] trailed off as her hand rubbed over the cloth covering his back. Her smile dimmed ever so slightly, Turning down until it reached a frown.

This was the first time she's ever got to held her siblings, All been killed before she could. She remembered the mans tale of the lion and the lamb, How to sacrifice the few meant the purification of the future's many.

But how could sacrificing such a child be so good, How could killing him just because he wasn't born with the proper hands such a righteous thing to do? It didn't make sense, The story becoming much more grey as she thought about it more and more.

The hand holding his back made sure the cloth was covering him, Though the grasp she had started to harden. Gripping him and holding him closer towards her, Leaning over and almost protecting him with her body.

The light in her eyes fell. He would be killed in the morning, That was to be sure of. The lion would be provoked and the farmer would need to sacrifice another lamb. But the way the man spoke of it wasn't like sacrifice but instead disposal.

[F/N]'s hand moved down to his midsection, The hands holding him tight as she held him up towards the ceiling above. As if presenting him to the whole world which she saw in him, The tears bubbling in her eyes starting to spill over.

"You don't deserve to die.. Do you?" [F/N] whispered to him. Shizuko giggled once more, His little arms flailing about and treating this like a game of upsies. [F/N] smiled forlornly at him, He looked so happy.

[F/N] saw his face and tried to smile back as happily as she could, Trying to wash away the sadness in her smile to put on appearances for him. It just wasn't fair, Kagutsuchi didn't deserve Shizuko's life. He didn't even deserve to ask for it in the first place.

But what could she do? She was nothing, She couldn't stop the god's will. She was nothing but a mortal soul going throughout the motions. She couldn't even get out the house, The servants were there by the door, Most likely put there for precaution due to her outburst earlier.

Nothing, There was no esca-

"Aaah… Ahh.."

Shizuko babbled out once more, Snapping [F/N] out of her thoughts. His babbling was no more different from what she had heard before but she understood it well along with the hand motions he made. She lowered him down to her eye level, Meeting the dark ebony of his eyes.

[F/N] sniffled, Trying to dry her tears to a fruitless result.

"What is it..? Are you hungry?" [F/N] asked.

Shizuko made no verbal response, Instead [F/N] felt the sensation of a tiny palm hitting her cheek.

It was a suprise, Her body jolting at the sudden touch from him. His hand resting on her cheek and grabbing at it, The tears beneath them subsequently blocked from going any further.

Her eyes widened, Jaw dropping only slightly as her shoulders tensed. Her arm raised up towards him, A hand of her own resting over his own and taking it within her warm grasp and cradling it close to her face.

Was he.. Was he trying to dry her tears?

No way, He was too young to even understand that sort of thing. But as he lightly tried to hit at her face over and over again, Specifically towards the warm spillage going down her cheeks. She could only interpret it as such.

"I.. I.. Shizuko.. You don't need to do that.." [F/N] choked out. The action made striking the chords of her heartstrings, Resonating something deep inside her. Something warm and something she thought long lost.

Shizuko only responded in babbles, Repeatedly trying to rub his hands over her cheeks as more tears spilled out of her ducts. She couldn't stop crying anymore, She brought him close, Hugging him tight.

"I-I can't let you die.. I don't want you to die. Y-You.. I don't want another to leave me.. Y-You just can't die." [F/N] choked out as she sniffled hard, Taking her little brother into her arms and cradling him close.

Though as her blurry vision raised she met the doorway of the room. Sniffling once she dried the tears and snot off her face, Trying to steady herself.

"I.. I won't let you die. N-Not another one.." [F/N] mumbled to him, Settling him back down into the woven cot and positioning him to be as comfortable as he could. She picked up the cot into her hands, All before scampering over to the doorway.

A free hand lightly pushed the door open, Her head poking out to make sure no one was there. But hearing the sounds of footsteps approaching rapidly she hid back inside the room, Watching as another servant passed by through the crack before making a break for it.

She moved quickly and as silently as she could. Her ears perking up at any little sound, The settling of the house or the sound of faraway footsteps. Begging them not to come any closer to where she was. Shizuko babbled out, But [F/N] quickly moved a finger over her lips.

"Sssh! We gotta be quiet now.. Shizuko. We need to be quiet.." She hushed to him. Sweat starting to gather on her skin and the grip she had on his woven cot was grasped harder. She gulped, The implications of what she was doing starting to soak in.

As she made her way throughout the labyrinth of her house she found her way back to her room.

Shoving open the door with her shoulder she quickly shut it with a swift kick to the other side. She didn't bother listening to the slam as she ran over to her futon and set Shizuko down ontop of it.

"O-Okay.. Uhm.. You stay there, Shizuko! Give me a minute okay?" [F/N] told him, Leaning over to make sure he was okay before jerking around and stumbling over towards her closet. Opening it, She could feel the sheer weight of what she was about to do.

What was she about to do? [F/N] didn't know. She wasn't thinking nor did she have a plan. All she knew was the thundering of her heart was directing her every movement as she started scavenging through what she had inside the closet.

Messes of old baby clothes she kept in there, Formal clothes she put on for show. Both were left behind in favour of an old leather rucksack being tossed to the floor behind her. Both followed by a few kimonos and other assorted necessities from inside.

[F/N] could feel the sweat pooling in on her skin. How was she going to get out? There was a servant guarding the door and there was no way she would be able to sneak out Shizuko and a rucksack full of incriminating evidence.

Damnit.. She had no time to think as she started stuffing the rucksack full of clothes. At any moment a servant or god forbid the adults walk into that bedroom, Find that he's gone and start a manhunt.

Any moment they could burst through her door, Any moment they could catch her in the act.

If they did.. If they did then she was sure she'd be seeing the rest of her siblings soon.

[F/N] gulped. Shizuko let out a few more babbles from within his cot, Still not understanding the risk of the situation. She shook it off however, While the main door was completely guarded that didn't mean that there was no way out.

The light from the window shown in on her face, The ethereal light dancing on the smooth of her skin giving her an idea. The way the wooden frame of the window was built, It was a blessing it was able to open.

[F/N] pulled up the leather strap of the rucksack, Throwing it over her shoulder before running back over to the side of her futon.

Shizuko looked up at her, Not understanding what she was doing when she picked up the cot into both her arms. [F/N] smiled as best as she could, Trying to keep him calm and quiet as she made her way over to the window.

"Okay.. We're gonna go on a adventure now. Okay, Shizuko..?" [F/N] whispered to him, Pushing the cot up onto the mahogany desk with her following closely behind on the chair. Shizuko let out a few more noises, And [F/N] didn't hesitate to take them as his confirmation.

[F/N] got up onto the desk quickly afterwards. The latch on the door was stiff as her hands went to open it, Hardened in place from years of no use.

"Gh-!" [F/N] exclaimed lightly as her hands pulled at the latch. Her other hand joining the first as she tried with all her might to push it open. It dug into her palms, It didn't matter as she just tried harder and harde-

SLT!

The latch finally pushed forward, Opening so suddenly it made [F/N] yelp out .

She could feel the sudden gush of cold mountain air hit her knees, A breeze pushing into her hair and blowing it back. It felt glowing, It felt like the key to the door she had went mad looking for her entire life.

[F/N] was near distracted by it, She had felt it many times in her life but this one felt more freeing. An opportunity relished and ready for the taking. Though it was broken when she heard the terrified scream from one of the servants.

"THE BABY IS GONE!"

It was one of the adults personal servants, Loyal like a dog.

[F/N]'s body jolted up in fear, The cold breeze turning into a terrifying chill running down her spine like ocean water. Her hands lunged to the cot, The uproar of muffled footsteps starting to fill the house.

"We've got to go-! We've got to go!" [F/N] shrieked, Her arms wrapping around the cot and her legs throwing themselves out of the window with it in her lap. Thank the gods she was on the first floor.

The footsteps started to drum at the structure, [F/N] could feel it in her bones as they rapidly approached her room.

But by then she had already slipped out the window with the cot in her arms. The chill only fueling her newfound courage, The one that was determined to make sure that this child would survive.

The only one that would survive.

As soon as the grass brushed at the sides of her sandals she didn't waste time on the sensation, Already running down the slope of the hill her house was set on. Shizuko babbled.

The wind rushing in the opposite direction, The sun in the other. Neither bothered her any longer, Her mind was one track and she was determined to get to her destination of who knows where.

The yelling picked up from behind her as she ran, Now the sounds of the man mixed in with the servants. But it grew distant the further she went, As the house grew smaller and smaller atop the hill until it was nothing but a speck anymore.

The village was no option for her to travel through. The people there would question why she had a baby and if they did that would only give the adults time to catch up to her, They'd figure out where Shizuko went eventually.

So instead she diverted through the forest beside the village, Running behind the houses with the sweat flying off her face. Her legs picking up in speed, Going so quick like they never had before.

The alleyways she passed shone the street markets and the people laundering about their days, Flashes of happy smiles she would never see again. While she never had any good friends here, There were still people she would miss dearly.

Hopping over the rocks jutting out the river, Barely missing the sloshing sea foam bursting out the rush of the river. She made it to the other side with Shizuko still untouched and in her grasped.

"Come on.. You can do this.." [F/N] mumbled, Not knowing whether it was dedicated to herself or Shizuko. But it didn't matter anymore as she ran down the mountain, The outskirts of the village growing small just like it did her house.

As the tall acres of tree's rushed by her, As the rocks scattered throughout the forest floor were barely dodged. The freedom grew more and more along with the darkening of the clear blue above.

Liberty, That's what she felt. The emancipation of her and her little brother, She had escaped. But she didn't stop to savour that moment, Running quicker and quicker to make sure that the chains were untethered entirely.

She was out, She had escaped The Sunlight Village.

☆♡☆

The moon hung over the speckled ebony of the night.

The grace of the pale blue moonlight shone down onto the streets below, The air much colder now yet it was comforting to the village it was sired under.

The streets were barren, Most of the residents either huddled in the pubs or the drinking taverns. Loud laughter could be heard from inside and it echoed out into the quiet roads harboured outside.

It was much less developed than The Sunlight village. The houses made not out of stone and manufactured wood but instead crafted from unprocessed lumber and thatch. The lanterns lining the streets illuminating that glow, The warm light providing heat in the chilling night.

[F/N] however didn't care about the people bustling inside the buildings, Nor did she care about how quiet the streets outside were. Instead her head was locked to look straight up, Eyes reflecting the serenity of the moon above.

It glowed in her irises, Her eyes widening to capture all of it. The first time she had ever seen the beauty of the moon, What it was described as in the books was nothing compared to seeing it in person.

"Shizuko.. Look at it, Can you really believe it?!" [F/N] squealed with the biggest smile crossing her face. After running for hours and hours throughout the dangerous wild she finally had time to admire it.

Shizuko by now was fast asleep. His big eyes were shut as he was tucked carefully into the earthy cloth, Warming him up in the brisk of the night. It was nothing like the harsh wintry gales on the mountainside.

This was comforting, It was a cold she let sink into her skin no matter how much she shivered.

She had travelled for hours down the mountain, Then some over unfamiliar flatlands. She had felt hungry, Vulnerable and dehydrated. But she had somehow made it hours later to this village, Assumedly miles upon miles away from where she started off from.

In that time her kimono had gotten ragged, Dirt staining the edges and tiny holes were ripped into the fabric. It didn't bother her however, The mere fact that she was free was more than enough to overpower that.

[F/N] smiled as she looked down upon the sleeping face of her little brother, The hands still holding his cot setting him down onto the stone pavement she stood beside. The noise from the tavern she was leaning against not even waking him.

[F/N] kneeled down, Looming over the cot as she looked at him. She smiled softly, Running a hand over his little face. She wasn't sure what she was going to do next, She had gotten out. But what now. [F/N] hummed.

"You must be hungry.. We've been running for hours without stop so.. I guess I should get you something, Huh?" She spoke to him softly. Watching him rock back and forth within his sleep she pulled the cloth over him.

She hoisted the cot back up into her arms before standing back to her full height of only a few feet. Taking in the deep breath of the night's air her eyes sparked, The moonlight dancing within her vivid colours.

[F/N] took off. Now that she was outside of The Sunlight Village, She wasn't quite sure how she was able to get food. Back then she'd get it every so often delivered to her room while the adults ate in the dining room, But now?

She wasn't quite sure how people got food. She knew how it was made from animals and plants, But where to get it was another story entirely. The shops here all smelled of the stuff she'd catch the man drinking on occasion, She had tried it once and it was nasty meaning it was no good for Shizuko.

So as she passed by the welcoming lights of the pubs and taverns, She tried to keep her eyes out for something else.

Maybe a food stand, But for some reason there was none around in the dead of night. There was no one on the streets she could ask help from, So as she examined all the comparatively tall walls she started to get antsy.

The hopeful smile she had on her face started to dim, The way she fiddled with her ruined kimono sleeves didn't help to soothe her nerves. She bit her lip as her eyes went back and forth again and again to try and find some sense of familiarity or shelter.

"Ehm.. I.. I don't think there's much around.." [F/N] mumbled under her breath, Coming to a halt within the streets. The barren wasteland of the urban landscape yielding no hope to her, Though glancing down at Shizuko she smiled once more.

"..It's fine, We'll keep going.." [F/N] said as she started to pick up her footsteps, Pattering against the stone wood she held her head high and decided to k-

"Hey.. Kid."

A low voice called out from beside her.

[F/N] stopped in her tracks from the sudden voice. The only noise before was the chirping of crickets and the faraway chatter of drunken festivities, So hearing something so close was rather surprising to say the least.

[F/N] turned her head to the side, Blinking as she came face to face with an dark alleyway. It was lodged between two tall fences and combined with their shadows and the night it made it nigh impossible to see a few feet into it.

But she heard the voice of an older man from within it, She couldn't deny it.

"Hello..?" [F/N] called out back into the alleyway, Her voice reverberating against the wooden fences as it went. No one answered, Not for a few dragging moments before the voice spoke out again.

But now with an associated body.

"Heyyyy~…" The man drawled as his body emerged from within the shadows.

His body was tall, Taller than the usual person. He seemed lean or rather thin, But [F/N] could see the muscles hiding under his loose yukata. He stood high with no hunch and had a half-empty bottle of sake swinging within his vulture-like hands.

His face too, It was like the mentioned bird's as well. Skin drooping and furrowed into a point with his nose and chapped lips. But his appearance didn't put-off [F/N], Too innocent to sense the vileness coming off of him.

"What'cha looking for there, Girlie..? Ain't you too young to be out this late..~?" The man drawled as he took a swig from the sake bottle, Liquor dribbling down his chin without care. [F/N] blinked as she looked at him.

"I'm just looking for any places I can get some food.. Do you know where I can get it?" [F/N] asked, Putting on the best smile that she could. The man smiled as he stalked a few steps closer to her in the dead night.

"Well I mean maybe~ Your parents about..? Oh.. What'cha got in there..?" He asked, Now looming over her to create a new shadow. [F/N] held Shizuko tighter in her arms yet her happy demeanour dropped.

She took a moment to think however.

"..No, My parents aren't really here right now. And this is my little brother, He's hungry, That's why I'm trying to find food." [F/N] told him. She watched as his crooked smile grew wider to expose his gums.

"..Well, You're in luck then..~" The man said.

"I am?" [F/N] asked, Tilting her head.

"Mhmm.. I got food back at my place~ How'sa bout I bring you and ya' brother back with me..? How'sa bout that?" The man said, Taking a final swig of his bottle before tossing it aside far into the alleyway with an audible clatter.

[F/N] hummed. Her first time talking with someone outside the village, She had been told how different it was down here but in person she could see what they meant. He was an adult, Adult's were meant to be trusted if you excluded the ones in her house.

The one's in the village were always nice to her, Giving her free food during festival times and always fawning over her lineage. Even so they were always cordial, How different could this one be? Plus he was offering food, That was something she couldn't give up.

[F/N] smiled bigger.

"Okay then! As long as you reall-" [F/N] stopped in the middle of her speech, Jaw left open as she froze in place.

The man raised an eyebrow, His drunken grin turning into a tight-lipped grimace.

"What..? What's wrong..?" He asked, But [F/N] couldn't hear him as she was invested within her own thoughts.

Mid-way through her sentence, Through her acceptance of his offer. She had suddenly been hit with a disgusting sense striking through her heart like a spear, A sudden jolt of concentrated fear radiating within her heart.

It wasn't like anything she had felt before, Nothing at all. But where could it be coming from? What did it mean. It smelt like rotten eggs and the pungent smell of liquor doused on top of it.

[F/N] looked back up at him, Her question answered by the look on his face.

It was coming from him.

"I.. N-Nevermind, I think I'll just continue searching on my own now.." [F/N] said as she backed away. What safety she had felt before gone in an instant, Replaced with an overwhelming terror pumping through her blood stream.

She had went to turn, But the cold hand that lunged out onto her shoulder stopped her motion.

"No, No.. You better come with me if you're hungry~ Come on.. I'll take good care of you.." The man said but the overly-friendly charade had started to break down more and more. The tug of his hand more insistent.

[F/N] started to tremble, The hold on Shizuko's cot becoming that of steel as she tried to shake off his hand.

"Please.. I don't wanna go with you.. Let me go.." [F/N] whispered out with a pleading look on her face. Something was wrong, Something was really wrong and it was confirmed how she was yanked back by his hand.

His grin now gone with the night's wind. Angry eyes reflecting his true intentions as [F/N] yelped out in terror.

"No, No.. Come on now.. You're comin' with me.." He hissed out lowly as he started to drag her out of the alleyway by the wrist, Near sweeping her off her feet and dropping Shizuko as he lugged her along with him.

"N-No! Get off me, Get off!" [F/N] screamed but there was no one to hear. The streets still empty and barren, No soul around but the stars to hear her cries of helplessness. Shizuko woke up too, Sensing the situation he started to cry.

"Shut up-!" The man snapped at her as Shizuko's cries grew louder.

"Let go- L-Let go!" [F/N] cried out.

"Shut it, You little bitch!" The man spat.

[F/N] didn't know what she was doing. But one moment she was being pulled out the alleyway by the wrist, The next her foot connected with the start of his bare knee. Slamming her soles into them as hard as her little body could.

The man screamed in agony as his leg near toppled on itself.

"You bitch- You little whore- YOU GET BACK HERE YOU-!" [F/N] didn't wait any longer to hear what words he would call her next.

Instead grasping onto the cot harder and turning towards the alleyway, Eyes brimming with tears as she sprinted into the darkness. She ran. Feet thundering against the textured stone of the alleyway.

Shizuko crying and firmly within her grasp as she passed by piles of trash and unpolished wood laying around. The scenery was filthy and infested with grime, But she had no time to smell the roses as she heard the man start to run behind her.

He was yelling.

Yelling obscenities she just couldn't make out nor could understand. She ran and ran, Her little legs trying their best to make distance but it was no matter anymore. Turning a corner her feet skittered to a halt.

A wall.

There was a wall.

There was no exit, There was just the end of the alleyway. A single wooden fence with dirt and rubbish piling up against it, Rats and mice scavenging the leftovers. There was no detour or route she could run for.

No.. This can't be-! This can't be it- No- No- NO!

[F/N] felt her heart drop.

Her body started to shake even harder as she took a step back, Looking at the sight with disbelief. The fences were too high to climb for someone of her height, Too tall to scale and her The feet behind her came to halt, Only a metre away.

[F/N] wanted her bed right then and there.

"Alright.. Fucking slut-!" He wheezed out as she turned around in horror to face the monster so close to her and her little brother. He took a few more steps closer, Further and further towards her as she backed up into the alleyway.

"I- I'm sorry-! Please let me go, Pleas- I won't tell no one! J-Just let us go okay, We won't tell-" [F/N] felt her back slam against the wall, Her body collapsing down into a ball. Shizuko's cot in the centre, His cries echoing out in the alleyway.

The man sneered. His body almost doubling in size as he approached closer and closer. A mixture of saliva and booze trailing down his chin, A horrid stench made very clear now. [F/N]'s heart thumped harder and harder, Her hands growing sweaty.

"Fucking ungrateful little shit.. I offer you food and a place to stay- And this is how you act? Not very respecting of your elders, Eh? Ya' mommy and daddy never teach you that?" He rumbled. A tone just dripping with mockery and he grew closer and closer.

What could she do? What would she do? There was nothing, No exit or place to run was made available. Was this really what the world was like?

The green grass fields that were illustrated in the books, Dandelions and bustling cities full of friendly people to talk with. Would she ever get to see that now? Were they real in the first place?

She would never know, Not now. Not by the way she sensed him. Her shaky hand brushed up against cold glass, Dragging her eyes away from him for only a moment.

"Fucking bitch.. You know what..? Pass the little boy you got in there, Teach you a little lesson.. Eh?" His hands lunged out, Time slowing with it as he reached down towards the woven cot.

Towards Shizuko.

In that moment, Looking back. [F/N] wasn't sure what came over her in that single second, She didn't know what divine force drove her actions as her hand wrapped around the sake bottle he had tossed earlier.

She lunged it upwards, Forgetting Shizuko for only a moment as her body turned within the air.

But it was over soon. The hands that were ready to grab her little brother were soon a pallete of red, Fallen to the floor.

His body twitched, Garbled speech dying on his tounge.

The broken bottle was stuck dead within his throat, Shards broken off and splintering into the skin of his shoulders. It was over in an instant, [F/N] somehow striking a vital point within him.

He had fallen to the floor, Covering her with his blood.

What.. What happened?

She sat there wide eyed. Her body didn't move a single inch, Petrified about what had happened. Shizuko tucked in beside her.

The man was easily ten times bigger than him, His muscles toned for a drunkard could've easily overpowered her.

But somehow she was able to overpower him, Somehow knew where to puncture and made a perfect move to lodge it in. Like a blood-borne ability it came off naturally, Like she had done it ten times before.

But she sat there for what felt like hours. Her mouth open and her grey kimono drowned in the intoxicated blood of the man she had slain by her hands.

As her eyes drifted down the corpse only a few feet away, She raised a hand.

The blood dripping down her fingertips, The iron stench flooding the alleyway.

It brought her back to all those times before, How the man dragged all of her siblings to the river and that splash of red would burst from their little necks. How it would fall into the river, Iron flowing in the water.

Did.. Did she do that?

"Woah.. Looks like someone already got him.."

Another voice called out from down the alleyway.

[F/N]'s body tensed up, The primal glint in her eyes stiffening as she pulled Shizuko closer to her. Her eyes wild and ready for the next one, Locking in on a trio of men walking down the alleyway and stopping at the sight.

One of the men looked to the side, Spotting her crouched form deeper within the passage. Tapping his comrades on the shoulder he pointed towards her, Which only made her back further into the shadows.

"Hey- Hey kid, You good there?" One of the men called out. A gruff voice like a smoker, One that seemed scarred as he looked at the young girl hiding within the darkness.

[F/N] didn't respond, Only looked at them with vigilant eyes.

Another man took the opportunity to speak.

"Hey.. Did you do this?" The other man spoke, Daring to take a few steps closer as he pointed at the bloody cadaver. The man's body muscular and marked, Tattoo's running all throughout his body.

[F/N] blinked. Scanning over him before nodding.

The man took a few steps back towards the group, Tapping them on the shoulder and whispering a few things that [F/N] just couldn't make out. They seemed to be in some sort of debate.

She tried to take a few cautious steps forward, Trying to get a better listen to what they were saying. Only understanding a few phrases like "She took him down" "Suzuki? Seriously? That little girl?"

But by the time she could make out the rest they were already done. Turning back to her.

"How about you come with us? You must be starving right? You live out on these streets, Kid? Need some money?" The first man offered as he stepped closer to her. Instinctively she pulled Shizuko closer.

As the man crouched down, [F/N] felt that same sense perk up again. His feel.. No, His soul maybe. His soul was disgusting and torn, It was horrid and it felt like nails on a chalkboard to her.

But it didn't feel dangerous.

Not like the dead man, This one had no intention of harming her or her brother. Not physically at least. It should've deterred her by all means but the promise of money.. That was what she could tell.

So she picked Shizuko up, Hoisting him over her bloody shoulder making sure to support his head as she stumbled over to him. Still petrified and muddled from what had happened but it didn't stop her as she walked over to him.

The man lain a hand on her back and her forward towards the group, Signalling them with some kind of hand gesture. They turned and started to walk out of the alleyway, Marching towards the moonlight shining on the outside.

She followed them, Too confused to understand what was happening as she cradled Shizuko close. Her only sense of comfort as she made her way forward with the man behind her leading the way.

The blood stayed stained on her kimono, Dripping down her head and in her hair. The lifeblood of the man she had slaughtered drenched her, But not just her body now.

That one single scene from the river, The sword against the throat of her siblings. The way she had felt for every single one of them.

The way she could no longer see the face of the man behind the blade, But instead her very own.

Next Chapter

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lady-october · 22 days

Text

Pairing : Oli Sykes x Female Assistant Genre : Romance, Smut (18+ Only) Previous Chapters : 1-13 on Archive of Our Own

Story Content : 18+, Smut, Drama, Choking, Power dynamics, Romance, Dom/Sub, Sadism/Masochism, Mentions of addiction & self harm, Degradation, Praise kink, Exhibitionism, Breath play, Dirty talk.

Summary :

“Don’t you see what a dangerous game you’re playing? Why did you have to look so fucking delicious tonight, I couldn’t stop undressing you in my mind, thinking of all the twisted things I want to do to you.” She had only worked on the touring team for three weeks, but her mind had been hijacked by dirty thoughts of a man she barely even talked to. Sure, he was very attractive, but were there other reasons she was so uncontrollably drawn to him? This is a filthy story of pain, self discovery, and love.

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Chapter 14: A square doesn't fit the circle

Chapter title is lyrics from "Avalanche"

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The morning came too soon.

I swear Liam’s obnoxious alarm went off right as deep sleep had claimed me. But I wasn’t the only disappointed one. Groans could be heard all around me, as well as someone yelling “Turn that fucking thing off,” from somewhere down the aisle.

A long series of awkward interactions followed as we all tried to get ready at the same time in the small, entirely too intimate space. Being the only woman on the tour – and now apparently the object of interest for everyone except the openly gay and taken man – I tried to slip away before either accidentally flashing anyone, or potentially seeing entirely too much of everyone else while getting dressed.

From there on everything was just as chaotic as I’d expected. Me and Liam scrambled to get caffeine and something edible into the band members before we got going again, and since we’d made good time yesterday we only had about an hour left before arriving at the arena.

It was such a short amount of time, but it might as well have been an eternity after everything that transpired yesterday. The bus was too cramped, too claustrophobic when I was stuck with a man I have feelings for – who I’d cried on last night, another man I apparently had a date with tonight, and two more men that appeared to be itching to get me alone in some capacity.

The fact that I was a sweats-wearing, freshly-woken mess, with no current access to a shower, didn’t seem to deter them either. I’d seen myself in the small mirror of the bus toilet, and I was not looking my best with this little sleep. Yet when I glanced in Oli’s direction all I could see was a beautiful, flawlessly dishevelled man, positively dripping of as much sex appeal as ever.

How does he do that?

I shook my head. It was a mystery how someone could be that effortlessly hot at any given moment, and there was no use trying to decipher it.

My glance only lasted a split second, but he must have caught me looking since his text followed immediately.

“Oli: You’re stunning like that. Be careful, you’re gonna drive everyone else mad too.”

“Alice: Please, I look like a rat died in my hair.”

“Oli: Your hair’s perfect, makes you look freshly fucked. But I was mostly referring to skipping the bra.”

Heat crept up my neck as I looked down. In the awkward morning rush, I appear to have completely forgotten to put one on, causing my nipples to be extremely obvious in the thin, flimsy fabric of my shirt. It didn’t help that my breasts continuously bounced with the movement of the bus.

I shot out of my seat to head upstairs and correct my very unfortunately timed wardrobe error, but Mat instantly spoke up, stopping me from leaving.

“Didn’t wanna bother you, but if you’re up can you get me some more of those crisps, love?”

“It’s never a bother.” I said trying to come across as nice as possible, despite it absolutely being a bother right now, knowing it’s literally my job description to do whatever these men ask of me.

I’ve never felt as watched in my life as I reached into the top cabinet to retrieve the snack he’d requested, but Liam had shoved the packets back into the cabinet too haphazardly this morning, causing a number of them to fall onto the floor as I attempted to just dislodge one of the crisp packs. Instantly both Mat and Oli rushed to my aid, collecting them off of the floor, with Lee having stood up as well, but sat back down once he noticed how swiftly the others had reached me.

This was ridiculous, and had me wonder if it would be easier if Oli filled everyone in about us already.

“Thank you guys.” I said sheepishly while they were stuffing the snacks back into the cabinet, having sandwiched me between them, trapping me entirely too close to them. The tension between the two men was tangible, and more guilt was added to the already large guilt collection in my chest.

“Anytime, love.” Oli said, with Mat having spoken over him in the same beat, “No problem at all.”

They were only struggling to get the cabinet sorted for a short moment, but time seemed to slow down as they continuously brushed up against me, making me want to squeeze between them to escape. But knowing my plan would require me to press my body against both men fully, I recoiled from the idea and stayed put.

Once they were done Oli casually sat back down in his seat, appearing unbothered by the event. But Mat lingered in front of me, holding his hand out, questioning eyes meeting mine.

My gaze darted between his eyes and open palm anxiously, confusion rushing over me.

“Can I have my crisps, love?”

“Oh, yes– yes, of course.”

As soon as the awkward moment was over I rushed upstairs to essentially cover myself up, cause while I was enjoying revealing more of my body in general recently, this was not the time. Thankfully the rest of the trip lacked all focus on me, instead the lads had spent most of the time in an unusually docile state, either napping or zoning out, most likely to rest up before arriving at the arena considering how hectic the day would be.

To my surprise, while everything was a flurry of moving parts and constant stress, I was done with my tasks quicker than usual as the agency had called in an abundance of helping hands for this concert, which made sense with the time frame of today’s preparations, leaving me ample time to enjoy the arena showers and get ready for the gig and the small gathering thereafter.

Deciding on an outfit was infinitely harder than other nights. I’d put aside an unusually daring number; it was a short, black silk dress that plunged deeply between my tits, which would force me to go braless for the second time today.

But I’d selected this dress for Oli’s eyes, before tonight had turned into a sort-of, kind-of date with Mat.

I slipped the dress on, and it was as vulgar as I remembered – especially considering how I wasn’t allowed to wear any underwear – so I decided to cover up with an oversized, weathered sweater. Instantly switching my look from bombshell, to a completely casual, everyday look. The woman looking back at me in the mirror caused sadness to wash over me. It felt like a complete betrayal against my personal progress to cover up in oversized clothes again, but I knew tonight called for drastic measures. Yet the sight of myself pulled me right back to how I felt before coming on this tour. Suddenly I felt so small, so dull.

I shook myself internally, not wanting this feeling to take a hold of me. So in order to retain some of my personality progress, I paired my look with a deep, velvety, purple lipstick, so dark it looked almost black, turning my look a tad bit more grunge than casual.

I stepped out of the dressing room just in time to catch a glimpse of the band members heading towards the stage area before disappearing around a corner. The opening bands were all done, and it was almost time for the headliner of the night.

I met up with Liam backstage. The poor man looked dreadful after all the driving and working the past couple of days.

“Alright I’m all done here Alice, I’m heading back to the bus so you’re alone for the show tonight I’m afraid. The crew have things under control and I’d love to get a solid 12 hours of sleep, I’m fucking knackered.”

“No problem at all, please get some well deserved rest.”

He pulled me in for a massive bear hug, and spoke quietly next to my ear so his voice wouldn’t travel, “Good luck with the lads tonight. I heard Mat talking about you with Lee earlier. He seems quite smitten.”

My heart sank. When he pulled away his expression was full of pity.

“Thanks. I need all the luck I can get.”

I positioned myself in a dark corner next to the stage as usual, trying to not be in anyone's way. For each of their live performances I witnessed during the tour, it was becoming harder and harder to not feel emotional from the lyrics, with some lines starting to take on new meanings the closer I got to the main lyricist of the band. Obviously so much of it carried a lot of personal weight to him, causing my heart to ache as he so passionately performed on stage. He sang about trust issues, about loneliness, about hopelessness, and love. And halfway through the song ‘Doomed’ I had to hold back my tears, relating entirely too much to the song’s depiction of being an utterly broken, unsalvageable mess.

Once the show was over I decided to pitch in helping the crew with packing up the equipment and general cleanup. I knew the bands were already hanging out in one of the larger dressing rooms backstage, but I simply wasn’t ready to face them yet. Sadly, with the amount of help that was hired, it only took about an hour to prepare everything for the stage to be disassembled in the morning, leaving nothing left for me to do but join the others as the arena was suddenly eerily empty. Knowing that it would be too obvious that I was ignoring them if I didn’t stop procrastinating, I took a deep breath and stepped into the dressing room.

It wasn’t as crowded as I’d expected it to be, only about 20 people total in the windowless room filled with cheap seating, light up mirrors, and plenty of equipment trunks. It also smelled of cigarette smoke, and metal music was blaring out of some speakers in the corner.

As soon as I shut the door behind me I locked eyes with Mat across the room, causing him to instantly wave me over.

Crap.

Opposite him, sitting backwards on a fold up chair was an absolutely stunning woman, appearing so confident and sexy that I suddenly felt even smaller.

“Alice, love. Meet Courtney, she’s in Spiritbox.”

“Hi, oh, y-yes, of course, you w-were great out there.” I could feel my stutter worsening before I even opened my mouth – something I’d struggled with my whole life, and always triggered by new social situations.

Mat gestured for me to sit down next to him as I spoke; he had in fact saved a seat for me like he’d promised.

“Thank you so much, Alice. Are you Mat’s girlfriend then?”

Mat laughed a bit awkwardly, “Maybe if I play my cards right.”

Both of them laughed, and I couldn’t help it, I felt myself starting to blush.

Courtney raked her eyes over me quickly, “So what do you do Alice?”

“I work f-for the touring team.”

I could see the judgement glaze over Courtney’s eyes as soon as I said it – as if I wasn’t important enough to continue talking to. I’ve seen that look on so many people the past month I knew exactly what it meant. It was mostly managers who wore the offending expression, but occasionally some opening band members did as well.

As the conversation continued – mostly between Courtney and Mat as I was feeling particularly shy tonight – I attempted to locate Oli in the crowd. I was about to conclude that he wasn’t here when I spotted him in the mirror on the wall across from me; I hadn’t seen him because he was sitting directly behind me, just a couple of feet away, facing the opposite direction. A sense of comfort hit me at the sight of his long, brown, fluffy hair in the mirror, completely tousled from the concert. He was still in the night's stage clothes, which consisted of a bright red matching set, with trousers that were tight in all the right places, and a loose, crop cut jacket that showed off a lot of his ink work when he moved.

I took note of the fact that he hadn’t said a single word since I sat down, made obvious by the fact that I would have heard him clear as day from this distance.

After a beat Courtney excused herself, leaving just me and Mat sitting together.

“So, Alice. Tell me a little about yourself, what’s your passion in life?”

I hated this question, as I was currently completely void of passions besides being choked by one of his best friends.

“I don’t really have a lot going on at the m-moment I’m afraid.” Usually being alone with Mat got rid of my stutter due to his calming nature, but knowing Oli was listening in had me on edge. I also felt like a complete loser, not just from my pathetic answer to his question, but who was I kidding, I really didn’t fit into this world where everyone was oozing with confidence, dedication, and fame.

He gave me a thoughtful look, “That’s alright, it’s nice to not have a lot going on all the time.”

I appreciated his attempt at making me feel less awkward, but I was starting to become nauseous from how out of place I felt in this room.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” I said in a barely audible voice, looking down at my hands in my lap.

He spoke up before I had a chance to leave, “Hey– I’m sorry if I’ve pushed you too much, and I was only joking with the whole girlfriend thing... Although I have to say, you’re pretty fantastic, Alice. But I promise you, there’s no pressure here.”

I dared to meet his eyes again, they were swimming with sympathy.

He took a breath and smiled, “What if we start with something a bit easier? I was born in Maltby – small town outside Sheffield. How about you?”

Mat was sweet and caring, and deserved someone who could reciprocate all his efforts. Even though I knew that wasn’t me, we ended up making smalltalk for a while. I learned about his family, his pets, and where he liked to travel in the world and why. We talked about favourite tv shows, and movies, and before I knew it the conversation flowed effortlessly, and while there were no sparks flying, it was like catching up with an old friend.

That’s when I noticed Oli stand up and take long strides towards the exit.

“I’m so sorry, I just remembered, I need to make a quick phone call.” Was all I could think of to say before I essentially ran after him.

But Oli was fast, and when I left the dressing room he was already disappearing into the stage entrance at the very end of the corridor.

“Oli, wait!” I yelled after him, knowing the loud music from the dressing room would drown out my shout.

But he didn’t stop.

I ran down the corridor, through the black backstage curtains, swerving around packed up equipment and props until I got to the steps leading to the stage itself.

That’s when I saw him.

... Subscribe to the story on Ao3 for future updates

Chapter notes: I'd just like to quickly apologise to all the fellow Spiritbox fans. I'm sure Courtney is lovely, I just needed someone to be a bit judgemental for the story.

#oli sykes #oli sykes smut #oli sykes fic #oli sykes fan fiction #bring me the horizon #smut #You got a taste now #The next chapter is already done and will probably be posted tomorrow #oli sykes x reader

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sansxfuckyou · 4 months

Text

all of a sudden

Summary: Casey Jones is good at adapting, but he didn't expect to be adapting to mutating

Warnings: body modification, small panic attack, angst in general, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: inspired by the possum Casey Jones AU made by @probably-not-a-rutabaga except with some rasey vibes that can be ignored if thats not your style. anyways, hope ya'll enjoy and if you do consider dropping a reblog or checking the ao3 port

It's covered in fur and has claws instead of nails, it's hissing as the mutagen worms through it's body and then it's dropping.

It isn't Casey Jones anymore, something much more creature. Chest heaving up and down and furred body immobile, hockey gear still strapped to it's form. Raphael just stares, in shock, in awe, partially paralyzed by the fear and the worry.

His partner in everything just mutated, into a rat, or something very rat like. And Raphael didn't take the hit, he should've, he probably would've went mad or turned to a primordial ooze of some sort if he did but it would be better than Casey having this fate. He slams the final Kraang against a wall before hoisting up Casey's body, it's light, lanky, mammalian.

Donnie can fix him.

-/-/-/-

"What happened?!" Was Donatello's first response to seeing Casey, "Who the fuck is this and where's Casey?"

"That is Casey," Raphael supplied.

Donatello nearly faints.

"Fix him," Fingers trace over the expanse of almost matted fur where the jacket does't cover anymore. He feels this deepseated guilt as he looks at Casey, he could've stopped this, he could've taken the hit. He should've been the one to get hit with that mutagen blast, not Casey.

"I don't think I can, I'll try but I think it's hopeless," Donatello claimed rather boldly, "I can probably stabilize him enough to keep his humanity-"

"Then do that, just don't lose him," Raphael practically begged, "Please."

-/-/-/-

There's the sound of someone shrieking followed by a shatter that draws Raphael from his state of almost there but not quite. He's quick to glance over to Donatello's lab to find a rat rushing out and freaking out. Terror is apparent on it's face as it glances around frantically in search of something to look at it's reflection.

"Casey,"

It whips it's head around to look at Raphael and it's absolutely Casey Jones, just in a different body. Taller, thinner, furrier, but it's still Casey, panic and fear, but all Casey. The turtle slowly walks over, as if he'll spook the possum if he goes too fast and he probably will.

"Raph," It speaks softly, quietly, voice cracking. Then it's leaned against it's partners plastron, holding on tight and crying. It's so confused, so lost, so wrong, "What happened to me?"

Raphael doesn't answer right away, just holds onto Casey and doesn't let go. A snout is nuzzled against his neck and they were the same height once, not anymore. He rubs circles onto the possums back, "Mutagen."

"Oh god," is all Casey can supply in response to the new knowledge, body shaking even more, "I'm not human, I'm not-"

"Yes, you are. You're Casey Jones, I promise," Raphael answered with before Casey could spiral, "You're still my partner, still our best friend, still Casey Jones."

There's a weak nod even though Casey doesn't believe a word coming out of Raphael's mouth, "Okay."

-/-/-/-

Casey Jones is an opossum, almost a rat but not quite, and he has an eternal vendetta against the Kraang. He lives in a sewer because of them, he's an animal because of them, he lost his sister because of them. Everything out there is gone because of them and he could do nothing but sulk in the sewers over his new body.

And now he's out in a farmhouse, naught but an animal and he swears he's losing his grasp on humanity a little bit more everyday. But he digs his claws in and tries not to let go because he's got the turtles, a group of four that were never human in the first place but have treated him so much better than any human ever has. If they learned humanity from a rat then he can hold onto what he already knows for his sake and their sake alike.

Hockey stick against sai every single day. Baseball bat against bo staff every single day. Fists against nunchaku every single day. He holds onto that humanity by working out the animal in violence whenever he can. He burned the scare crow mutant to a crisp when no one was looking, he grabbed his lighter and lit it up before anyone could say a thing. Before it could hurt anyone else.

He eats meat and steals scraps off of every one's plate because he's still getting used to the needing to eat every couple hours thing in smaller portions. He sleeps in the morning and wakes at noon, training every hour he's active because what else is there to do aside from chat and play shitty board games.

"Hey, Case," Raphael begins as he watches his partner eviscerate a raw slab of meat on a once white porcelain plate.

The possum snaps up and his pupils are slit, he has blood smattered on his snout and stuck in his fur, dripping from his whiskers. He just stares and chews before swallowing, "Yeah?"

"Do you want some water?" Raphael gently nudges over a glass and Casey is quick to grab it with bloodied paws, he drinks it eagerly.

"Thanks, still getting used to this," He gestures vaguely to himself, "And the meat cravings, and the sleep schedule."

"I know, just try to ease up on the craze, I think you scare Mikey sometimes," Raphael said.

Casey shrugged, "Oops, that's why we eat in the kitchen instead of out there with everyone else."

Raphael just rolled his eyes and took another bite of his pizza, "We'll go out and train after this, work out some of your energy."

"Fucking wicked," Casey answered with.

-/-/-/-

This is the closest Casey Jones will ever get to feeling like himself ever again.

Tip of the sai to his throat and all he does is smile because this is home.

Hockey stick to the back of his partners knees and all he does is smile because this is home.

Cruel words spat and all he does is smile because this is home.

Raphael pierces the tip of his sai into Casey's arm just to draw blood, just to feel pain, to understand what keeps him human.

And Casey Jones has one thing to say in response to the violence.

"Thank you,"

#tmnt 2012 #opossum casey #tmnt 2012 fanfic #raphael tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt fanfiction #writing #fanfic #fanfiction

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fluff-writing · 2 years

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More Time-Travel AU Things

The Three show up eventually, and once again Inarius starts an elaborate game of cat-and-mouse with Lucion. Might tie this into the concept of Immortal? Like, there’s good nephalem who try and keep the status quo, and evil nephalem who try mess things up so that Hell can come in and take over.

Baal regularly shows up to cause problems, and gets his butt kicked back to Hell by Inarius and/or Bul’Kathos. (Altho if it’s Inarius kicking is prolly not the only thing happening to butts there is chemistry and tentacles happening on the slopes of Mt.Arreat)

Eventually Tyrael discovers Sanctuary, and just gets abducted by his brother and nephew and forced to like the mortals. Who needs the eternal conflict when there are cherries to eat, sunsets to watch, and grandkids to hold. Also Inarius will kick his knees out if he doesn’t play nice. Even in this AU, Linarian and Tyrael don’t get along great. But boy, do they argue. Inarius has convinced himself they’re bonding. Bul’Kathos is convinced one of them will not survive the next argument.

The Angiris Council don’t get a chance to vote on the fate of Sanctuary, because it is not theirs to decide.

Linarian still flirts like mad with Imperius. Bul’Kathos also flirts with him. Actually, most of the Nephalem are super into the whole Pissed Off Warrior shtick he’s got going on. Dude’s popular, and has no idea what to do about it. (Inarius tries to tell him what to do about it. He ends up hiding in his private chambers for a while after that. Itherael is taking notes, and sharing them with Malthael.)

For Cantankerous Reasons ™, Malthael is just Ye Regular Ol’ Wisdom in this timeline. No spooping allowed. Unfortunately this means he and Linarian won’t have as big a relationship as Mat and Rat have, but it does mean that there’s no big RoS nonsense, and he’s free to read All The Books without being pestered by souls of the dead.

#Time-Travel AU #Linarian #Tyrael #implied Inarius/Baal #because #yeah #Time Fixit AU

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ambrial-blog · 2 years

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After the confrontation with the sisters, Blitz is turned into a black cat Like Thackery Binx. Fizzorolli, betrayed Blitz. going to a voodoo priest he learnt the dark arts of voodoo/hoodoo magic. He uses these new abilities to lure Blitzo’s sister into the woods so the Sanderson sister’s could drain her lifeforce. . Fizzorolli, is the one who gives Winifred Sanderson her book of spells and curses bound in the flesh of a deadman. It would be he, who would keep the immortal black cat for himself as payment of helping the Sanderson sisters. Blitzo, the bombastic imp like child, turned into a black furball- detested the jester. Often hiding from the charismatic warlock. who had a hand in turning him into the form a little black cat. A curse: to live with his guilt for eternity Three Thousand years pass, like a blink of an eye. both immortal sinners are pinned against each other-. Blitz does his best to remain vigilant keeping an eye on Winnie’s book and guarding the black flame candle.

*Suddenly with a new arrival of a new family: The Savitar’s: a royal prestigious family of Ares Goetic demons. moved into the Sleep Hollows of Salem Massachusetts. Prince Stolas of the Ares Goeita was caught up in a vicious divorce with his cold hearted, bitch of a wife. Stella. Together they a brought their beloved daughter Octavia into this world, unfortunately their marriage fell apart soon after. Stolas had went to hellhound adoption agency. Adopting Loona. Octavia had talked the hellhound into breaking into the Sanderson sister’s cottage house. on one dark, cold and rainy night. ”Are you sure about this Via” Loona asks. stepping through the threshold of the house. “it looks lived in” says Loona. batting a cobweb from her face. ”It been calling to me again, I can’t explain it” Octavia answers. “there is something here wanting to be found-” ”Please Loona, it won’t take long” ”You’ve heard the stories A Warlock is said to be living here, he could be down in the basement right now- working on an experiment. ”You’ve been watching those late night horror movies again.

As Octavia searches for anything that she could steal and sell on the black market for a small profit. A pair of amber eyes watches her from the shadows. ”Gross!, Via get away from that thing!” Loona barks eyeing a small malnourished kitten. with a green ribbon tied around his neck. and a small chain link leash attached to the wall. His eyes were golden amber and their was a small heart-Shaped tattoo. The right side of his face was matted with blood and it appeared he had his paw stuck in a bear trap. The Warlock’s most valued treasure. Fizz would often torture him, using him in spells and hexes. the feline wouldn’t die. Once Fizz bashed his head in to collect some blood. Blitz would be fine the next morning. Fizzorolli would leave saucers of milk, three fat rats and if he was feeling generous he would leave a small line of catnip. But the milk would sour, the putrid stench of rotting corpses of those plague infested rodents would go untouched. But the line of catnip would be smudged.

Via noticed, that the kitten’s head was bandaged over one eye. Blitz feels betrayed by Fizz. his disdain growing each day. the ribbon shone: emerald in the dim lighting. Resembling a choker with a small skull attached to it. Octavia wrinkled his nose at the sour smell of spoiled cream. Via rubs the side of his face noticing the bloodstained bandages. ”There, there little one your safe now” ”Loona! she whispers “come here, come look what I found” ”Kind of weak ain’t he Via” Loona answers. “He look like he’ll kill over anytime are you sure you won’t to take him home, shouldn’t we put him out of his misery?” ”Loona! Octavia scolded. narrowing her eyes hand me that match I’ll show you, I’ll take care of him, just like I take care of you or do you want to go live with my mother?” ”Fine, but he’s your responsibility and if you mom finds him don’t come crying to me” Loona hands her a match and Octavia lights the black flame candle. Illuminating the room. the book began to blink the sleep from his eyes as Blitzo mewled in disapproval as Octavia worked hastily believing the owner of the house would return in a haste. . She frees Blitz: from the bear trap ripping the chain out from the wall. and gently places him in her bag. ”He’s going to bleed everywhere” Loona warns her. But the owlet ignores her and dashes for the door. as the ground began to rumble. Flashes of Red, green and Indigo temporarily blind the girls. Loona grabs Octavia’s wrist and hauls ass dragging the princess behind her, she didn’t stop until she was sure they weren’t being followed*

#Hocus Pocus/Hellvua Boss #fanfiction #rough draft #WIP

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dare-g · 5 months

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"Somewhere there was a park dark with firs and linden-trees and an old house that I loved. It mat- tered little that it was far away, that it could not warm me in my flesh, nor shelter me, reduced here to the role of dream. It was enough that it existed to fill my night with its presence. I was no longer this body flung up on a strand; I ori- ented myself; I was the child of this house, filled with the memory of its odors, with the cool breath of its vestibules, with the voices that had animated it, even to the very frogs in the pools that came here to be with me. I needed these thousand landmarks to identify myself, to dis- cover of what absences the savor of this desert was composed, to find a meaning in this silence made of a thousand silences, where the ver frogs were silent.

No, I was no longer lodged between sand and stars. I was no longer receiving from this scene its chill message. And I had found out at last the origin of the feeling of eternity that came over me in this wilderness. I had been wrong to be- lieve it was part of sky and sand. I saw again the great stately cupboards of our house. Their doors opened to display piles of linen as white as snow. They opened on frozen stores of snow. The old housekeeper trotted like a rat from one eupboard to the next, forever counting, folding, unfolding, re-counting the white linen; exclaiming, "Oh, good Heavens, how terrible!" at each sign of wear which threatened the eternity of the house: running instantly to burn out her eyes under a lamp so that the woof of these altar cloths should be repaired, these three-master's sails be mended, in the service of something greater than herself -a god, a ship."

Wind, Sand and Stars

#wind sand and stars #antoine de saint exupéry #talks

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gazetotheabyss · 6 months

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Blister in the Sun

I sit in the fettered darkness of my cold and isolated home. Ray of sunshine would be a welcoming warm light to begin the morning to any other being. But not to I. No, not for some years have I been able to enjoy the gentle beams of such illustrious grace. Cursed to never feel their cascading waves wash over me any longer, and only am I left to indulge in the misery of darkness.

The corner of my room is my new safehaven even in my own home. Huddled in blackness, lingering like some mound of abominable flesh wrapped in the trappings of a human shape. My hair long and stringy, hangs down the full length of my squatted form, my face gaunt and sunken from being secluded from all communication with other living beings. My limbs long, gangly, sickly thin in their bony shape. I am ruined. Of the reason I had never been sure, but I am the first of my family to show such miserable signs of existence. A long line of prideful rulers, festering in their gluttony, drowning themselves in wine, fucking until hearts content. I am a disgusting rotted thing on the outside, but it is nothing to the faces hidden beneath those of my siblings and parents. At least my form keeps me honest.

Perhaps that is why they do not enjoy looking upon my twisted shape. My gangly rotten limbs, and distended stomach remind them of the creatures they hide within. Disgusting. Nails long and covered in dirt and blood from the rats and vermin I choose to live off of caress through my matted black hair. Once when I was younger it was blond and beautiful, as I was. I do not blink when bloodshot eyes remain transfixed on a stray beam of late piercing through the makeshift shutters I have fashioned of my bookshelves. A primal fear of it lurks within me, much in the same fashion the average man so fears darkness. Long slender finger, the knots of my bony knuckles show so clearly through my thin near translucent grey skin. Solemnly I reach for the light. Perhaps the hope that this had all been a figment in my mind, a distortion of my own self-image, but as the end of my crooked nail and sickly finger touch the breath of a glimpse of gilded light cursing my room my flesh boils and bubbles. Blistering at the mere touch of light and I recoil once again.

Arms hug tight, my lanky knees, and I weep. Weep for the life long since lost. The royal I could have been as first born. But instead, I lock myself away from the light, from the family who so vainly cannot stand the sight of me. It is no uncommon thing, to be so cursed in my own head I weep myself to sleep. When I dream, I dream of basking in sunny fields again, letting the warmth soak my skin and feel me with the life I can no longer return to.

When I wake, lingering in the corner of my blackened room stands the demon of my regret. A blackened formless shape staring forward with nary a feature upon its blurred shape. I do not fear it. I loathe it, and how so it has cursed me. Mocking me from the comfort of my own sanctuary. This demon of Hell, spawn of—or perhaps even—the devil himself. Mocking me, Prince Frederick. The immortal king I should have been. The immortal stain I am instead. It was not until the eve of my brother’s sixty fifth birthday that they had begun to once more paid me mind. For so long I had been the thing of ridicule, the brother and son who had tried to defy the very countenance of God. To seek an end to death was blasphemy, and that I had done so boiled them inside as rays of solar rays did my sickly grey flesh.

But when my dearest younger brother Roderick turned sixty-five the reality of mortality had struck them, an arrow flung forth at blinding speeds by the bow of time eternal. And so, I languished in the way it bled and dripped at their minds. For fifty years I had been a stain, locking myself away to my room, seemingly they only ever checked on me or held celebration of my birth to reward themselves for not killing me, or to check to see if their eldest sibling had yet passed from this world. Father departed from this Earth for the kingdom of God after the sixty fifth celebration.

And so the stain was rightful heir, but none wanted to cede to me what was rightfully mine. Unless… they said that a monster as I was, I could not ruler the kingdom and gaze upon my people with the soulless milky eyes of the night. Much as it pains to say, perhaps they were right, and though they spoke to me through sealed wooden door I could practically smell the unholy greed that lingered in their souls. Like poison in the wine that was their divine ichor. Bringing to me the condition, they said they would cede my birthright to me if I shared my secret to life eternal.

Stupidly I tried in errant panic to warn them of the suffering I still yet endured, fleeting care for my siblings and their children that would soon evaporate in totality. They did not care. Of me they had made their demands, and locked away had I been for so long my thoughts were only fixated on being once more able to frolic freely amid the world outside. Skeletal gaunt rectus that had become of my lips would turn to best its ability a smile at the mere thought. But to subject anyone else to my hubris…

When they retired for the night I had hoped it meant they would take no for an answer. But every night I was badgers, and every morning I was awoke to pounding on my door. Demanding it of me. I was selfish! They called with blistered tongue, a monster they shouted. Content to watch his family and kingdom rot.

I wept! I pleaded for them to leave me be! I had been content to be the forgotten joke on their flawless rule. Though relent, they did not. Their fear of realities encroaching entropy was far too powerful, after all they had long been monsters. I was merely the one who looked the part. When one particularly bright morning in a bout of fear I woke to the sound of wood splintering as my chamber door was rent from its hinges to scatter shards of oak across my room. I did all I could to shrink away from the oncoming solar assault as my brother’s, sister’s, mother, and all my nephews and nieces stormed in after.

They would kill me. Drag me to the light, rip me limb from limb, whatever it took. They wanted to live forever. It is true as ever it had been, that the moral is that mankind is more the monster than any beastly creature of the night that may linger in your nightmares.

With much hesitance, I relented.

My mother demanded to be first, I sank my crooked rotten teeth into her throat. And all those in the room were horrified by the sight. I drank with all the greed and selfishness they had accused me of, ripping from her every drop until her flesh was placid grey and gaunt as mine. But she did not fall limp, she did not see the life drain as her veins did. Quite the opposite, for the first time in years, she said, she felt truly alive. And to me… had returned years of abandoned youth. I had refused to do this, to give in to this animalistic urge, and now they had forced my hand. When all was done all forty of those in the room had their turns. By the days end, they had stood at my shoulders, pridefully as though they had said more than fleeting sentences in the past decades. A family with their immortal king, they proclaimed. And now they were no longer so flustered with vanity to not stand at my side. For I had my youth about me, all of us physically in the prime of our lives.

But the pits of my being had sank so deeply. Though I no longer felt weak and shriveled, my soul felt hollow and empty. I had given them the secret they desired, and unconsciously in doing so the secret to maintaining its exuberance.

They wasted no time in accommodating themselves. When it had merely been me they insisted that they could do no such thing. That it would be far too costly and ruin the delight of their lives to seal the castle to the sun. But now with great happiness they sealed every window with thick stone by night, and by day they hired laborers to do so while they locked themselves away to the shade.

It was merely the first step they’d taken towards truly becoming loathsome creatures who deteriorated in my mind to nothing more than animals. Yet for a time, they did not desire to imbibe upon the life of other beings. And content was I to finally play the role of loved brother and king that I did not question it. I, in my grand ignorance, thought all proceeded well in the coming year. My role as benevolent ruler had gone over well, and my family continued to thrive in their hedonistic selfish ways, like pigs content to suckle their nutrients and lay stagnant in the mud.

A year to the day, they found themselves hungry. Voraciously starving beyond any other feeling they had ever been consumed with. It was all the misery I had tried to warn them of. No matter how much bread our meat they stuffed down sickly maw they found that nothing sated that horrible avarice of their guts. Gluttony, their most lovely of sins, had become useless. They pleaded with me, for they knew how to fix it, to allow them to feed as I had from them. And that I too must have felt the pangs of this ravaging starvation. And, indeed I had. But in my mind causing such suffering to any others…

They promised to not feed. And in my ignorance I believed them. In place of some grand bloodletting of our people they called for a celebration instead. The return of the long lost brother, the ascent to king. I am not without flaw, I am born of vanity, and the thought to be celebrated after fifty years of isolation had become so enamoring I could not resist.

Elite from all corners of our kingdom flocked to the castle the night of the celebration. Filling every hall of our home with life and luster that had been vacant from it this year at my insistence. For us, with senses so honed and sharpened it was like sitting in a concert hall. Listening with great interest as a million drums pounded out of rhythm in unison. Horror overcame me as realization settled in, quickly washing to reality when my eldest niece tore, with sharpened talons, into the throat of our distant cousin Amily. She drank from her throat as though the life she’d just snuffed was but another goblet filled with the finest wine.

In an instant of greed and starvation my family had never known or suffered for in any single moment while they lay on their backs filling their bellies, the legacy of my time as royalty had been set in blood and stone. I had blinked and the entire extended nobility of our kingdom had been run through by the entirety of the unholy union I’d made of my family. I hated that, even I stood there in abject horror, watching as my own body ate itself once more from my choice to not feed—that my belly called to me. Practically it demanded of me to I dulge as my brethren did. I waded through ankle deep puddles of gore, piles of rendered meat and bone that could only scantily have been recognized as human. While my family still ran rabid, chasing down any and all still living vessels for ichor they could track down. I did not know these people. I had not spoken to them but through a thick wooden door for decades and they beguiled me with the idea of the bond of brotherhood. They had pulled the sheep’s wool over my gaze to blind me to the truth that long ago I had accepted as fact of my royal family.

Monsters.

Always had they been carnivorous hedonites with little regard their fellow man, but never before had I ever the belief that it would ever come to this. I could still hear screams of terror and suffering from the other side of the castle. But in moments, they had been all but silenced. Replaced by the musical cacophony of my family’s sickening cackles as they danced among the blood of things they had so readily decried as their lesser.

For weeks… for weeks they beg of me to eat. To feed as they had done, to return the life to my eyes that had once been there. In such short time without having blasphemed of my soul further, I had reached my twisted broken shape that had been restored upon gifting the royal court the removal of their masks. Soon, I could hear them whisper. Conspiring plots to take the throne from my hands and create a rule of blood. Treason. The least of their crimes, but what is telling is that they called me weak. They had never thought much of me. Not even before I’d ripped the soul from my body.

But weak I am not. I let them feed, fill their fat bellies one last time. An abhorrent sight to behold, gilded cups filled to overflow with the blood of infants. Rows of teeth soaked with subjects who’d served them so loyally. Gleefully squeezing and drinking straight from the bleeding hearts that once had swelled only with love for their royals.

It must have soured their appetites, to see me smile while my features were so gaunt and rotten. The looks I’d received in those few fettered seconds while I raised aloft my goblet in celebration. It was the occasion of the gala of blood was it not? The supposed true purpose of this sickly feast of gore and blood?

It was in that moment a hush fell over the whole of the banquet hall. No more clanking of glasses, scrambling of cutlery against metal plates. All eyes were on their king, waiting with baited breath for all I had to say to honor these people who understand disgusted me so much that I refused to imbibe as they did.

Glass raised, skeletal smile bright and wide.

“I hope you all burn in Hell.”

On the signal of my free hand, I motioned to those who remained loyal to me, seeing my denial of the animalistic ways of my family. Curtains swept on the wind and to the ground, exposing the banquet hall to the outdoor light that I had been denied for so long. It swelled over us in blistering light, I could hear the sound of our flesh sizzling and cooking. Ungodly howls of pain and misery fill the halls again as the light had. But instead of disgust I feel nothing but content as I burn. A smile remains plastered across my features as blistering becomes a holy cleansing flame.

I was a monster; I am a monster.

I sold my soul for the promise of forever, and so I paid the price thrice fold, tormenting life for decades. All that suffering for my choices… it had almost made all of that miserable existence worthwhile to watch the truer monsters burn.

I was content to be the destroyer of this sin I wrought. I am a monster. But I am a monster content to watch his family and kingdom rot.

#creepypasta #horror story #creative writing #horror #horror fiction #short story

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writingaustin · 1 year

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The Golden Eyes of Nessis

A short story I wrote for a contest about a year ago (it didn't win). Content warning for some bullshit, and violence/gore. Set in a world after the end, highly inspired by the likes of Mork Borg.

I figured this would make for a decent first post.

The Start

One must accept only a few truths to know the lands of Astoria in their current state.

First, the sun has fallen and shall never rise again. The people do not know why and the Gods they plead for answers have remained silent. But from the lowliest trapped in the prisons to starve, to the nobles in the highest spires watching over a dark land, they each know this as undeniable fact.

Second, there is a chill bite to the air and it shall only grow colder. But to start a fire is to invite the foul beasts stalking the Eternal Night. Thus, the people of this land weigh their options each time they stop to rest. Shall I take the risk and trust in my might to fend off danger? Or shall I let the cold claim me in my final slumber?

The final of these truths pertains to a certain pair of individuals: the knight Isopel rests at a campfire far to the north of Astoria’s capital, nestling within the hills leading to the northern mountains. Her objective is to find the giants in their icy homes and claim their fire, a mythical thing capable of burning for years without hunger for coal or wood, then to return it to her homeland.

Beside her rests her bastard sword, a sorry affair of steel blunted with frequent use. Still, it remains a more than effective bludgeon if the bits of matted hair and flesh clinging to it are any indication. She has thought to clean it but it seems a waste of time for how soon she fears it will gather filth again.

Beyond that is a man tending to the flames. He looks as if he tried very hard to become a rat, and largely succeeded. Several wisps of hair jut out from his upper lip, which is almost enough to distract one from the two bead-like eyes peering out from sunken sockets. Perhaps it is the blaze of the flame, or the height of his companion in comparison, that makes it hard to focus on him. He is a short man and of sallow complexion the orangish flames aren’t entirely responsible for.

Alvé, or so he calls himself. A miserable former smuggler – the demand for smuggling had plummeted recently, else he would still be doing that by his own admission – but miserable is a step above dead and he was as trustworthy as any other Isopel had traveled with. Admittedly that trust may be built on a mutual desire to not die and the acknowledgement they both had the skills to shorten each other’s lifespan considerably if they were to turn against one another…

That only made it sturdier in Isopel’s opinion. Loyalty born of faith hadn’t served her well while they fled the capital nor when she’d arrived some days before to supplicate before her master, the queen, on behalf of Astoria’s starving citizens. Better then to believe in mutual destruction, and the power of a decent meal, as their tale continues.

“Foods ready,” Alvé said, pushing back greasy black locks from his eyes. His voice was small and raspy, barely heard over the crackling fire.

Decent was a bit of a stretch. But the roasted tubers and roots were edible, even nutritious, and neither of them had grown so desperate as to consider the alternatives.

“Thanks,” Isopel grumbled, mostly meaning it. The rat-like man offered a subtle nod in return. Well, maybe she imagined it, but it was a pleasant thought so she decided to believe.

The two lapsed into silence as they ate though the food wasn’t so good as to stall speech, nor so plentiful. Instead theirs was a wary quiet. Ears perked and hands twitching toward weapons. While Isopel’s own was on display some inches away, Alvé had squirreled away half a dozen knives on his person. Where he kept them, she couldn’t say. They were never far from reach, though, should there be an adequate reason to go for them.

The soft pattering of footsteps creeping closer under darkness was more than adequate. Alvé set down his half-eaten meal and tapped his knee – Isopel responded in kind, signaling she heard it as well. Neither made to stand yet, but Isopel tossed what little remained of her food back into the fire and grabbed the hilt of her blade.

The sound persisted from behind her – approaching from the south, the direction they had come. Pursuers? A possibility, but they had been running north for days now. Those foul cannibal knights wouldn’t dare risk heading this far away from the city and their stable food source, would they?

No, Isopel decided. They wouldn’t, which meant this was likely more of what they’d already been dealing with. Bandits, if they were lucky. Cultists if they weren’t, and if the night truly wanted them dead, then it wouldn’t be human at all.

Not a shantyman at least, their songs could be heard from a mile away. It wasn’t likely to be the night-cursed beasts either. They preferred stealth and they might not even hear one if it truly wanted to feast. This sounded clumsier, like it had feet instead of padded paws that continued to propel it closer to their campfire.

Human remained the likeliest bet. It was also reassuring.

“We’re getting closer to the foot of the mountains,” Isopel said and tapped her fingers across the hilt. Alvé nodded. They would let whatever it was draw closer.

“Aye, couple days at this pace.” Alvé slid a knife free from his belt and tucked it up against his palm. “Think the giants will be as friendly as we hope?”

“Probably not.”

“Think they’ll want to kill us?”

“Eat our bones too, once they suck the marrow out.” The steps were close now but just out of sword reach.

“It’s going to be cold up there,” Alvé continued. Isopel could see the tension in his arm as he prepared to throw.

“It will, but that’s why we’re going.” It was going to be just as cold everywhere else soon enough. But giant’s fire was said to burn as hot as a forge on a midsummer’s day and all you needed to keep it burning was the very air you breathed. Whatever that meant. But with that, they might actually stand a chance of surviving for a while. “Besides, won’t know for sure until we arrive. Maybe they’ll greet us with a mug of ale bigger than we are. And offer to forge us new weapons like in the tales.”

Giants lived much longer than most everything else, and that was supposed to make them wiser as far as fairy tales and bedtime stories could be believed. Neither of them expected it to be true, but each had their small hopes they tried to keep alive. And, if nothing else, at least the bit about their fire must be true. It was warm and would burn for years without fail. Isopel couldn’t believe in anything less.

Even if she could agree their mission was suicidal.

Their unexpected guest took another step forward, and Isopel was upon them before their foot even hit ground. She stood with not a roar but a whisper of steel cleaving air, and as dull as the rest of the blade had become, the tip was still razor-sharp. It carved an upward arc until it stopped directly above Isopel’s head, pointing at the bloated moon gleaming overhead.

What a gruesome sight she must be. Gore-slick blade held high by a woman so tall her pa had told her she had the blood of giant’s herself when she was a young squire. Her armor caked in mud and worse, the knight’s plate she wore across her chest dented, the padding and chain underneath badly torn. Two narrowed gray eyes glaring down at the young girl who’d fallen on her ass in front of her.

She stared up at the blade and the hungry moon it pointed to, her eyes wide and a thin line of blood trickling down her cheek from where the sword caught her. But she didn’t try to roll out of the way or hold up her hands to stay the killing blow. She waited, frozen, for a death that didn’t come.

“Hells, she’s naught but a kid,” Alvé said. At some point he had reached Isopel’s side, where he now stood with knife raised high. You know, just in case the bastard sword wielded by a supposed giant’s kin couldn’t finish the job.

He wasn’t wrong. She was young, probably no more than eighteen, a skinny thing garbed in dark-blue robes. Not that the girl’s youth would stay the blade she might stick between their ribs, but Isopel did begin to feel rather awkward holding her weapon above her head.

“Are you foe?” Isopel finally asked. She couldn’t think of anything better as she lowered the weapon to a half-rest.

The girl shook her head.

“Why did you approach us?” The girl spared a glance to the fire. It would be exceptional timing if her stomach happened to growl at that moment, but instead the hunger in her eyes had to suffice in stating her case.

“Hah! Well, easy then. Though you might’ve done a better job of it if you hadn’t tried to skulk up on us.” Sneaking closer to check first had been the smart decision even if it hadn’t paid off here. “Come, then.” Isopel lowered her blade fully and reached out a hand. Hesitantly, the girl accepted it with a smaller one.

Her hands were like ice and her skin pale not just from fear. But aside from that, the worst of note was the cut along her cheek.

“She might not be so harmless,” Alvé said. He’d lowered his knife too despite the warning.

“Or she might be a half-starved and freezing girl escaping from something worse. Take a moment to warm yourself, then we can speak.” She hadn’t meant the retort to be as harsh as it left her, but the point was taken. Alvé shook his head as he returned to the fire, and while he kept a wary eye on this stranger, he did manage to scrounge up some more food from his pack.

When he handed it over, he leaned back like he feared the girl might try to bite him. She might, Isopel reflected. Stranger things had already happened to them in their flight from the capital, and stranger yet undoubtedly awaited them on their path ahead. They still couldn’t be certain this girl meant them no harm. But there was no safer place for her to be than in arm’s reach. Her neck, so thin and fragile, easy enough to snap should the need arise.

Instead of reaching over and throttling her, the two watched as she wolfed down whatever food they put in her reach. Isopel made the mistake of letting her have a go at her waterskin and she emptied it before the knight raised complaint. It wasn’t all a loss at least. While she filled her belly they had ample opportunity to look her over.

Though it took a moment to recognize them through the filth, the robes she wore marked her as a scholar. Bits of the cloth’s true color, a lighter azure blue, peeked through. It was familiar attire to any city-dweller, often accompanied by a small swallow pin worn at the collar. In general terms it meant the wearer of such garb wasn’t to be accosted or harassed – if you were the type of person who made their money in back alleys with a sap.

Azure blue with a swallow pin meant a person carrying a satchel full of books and a staff. Wizards, mages, bastard arcanists – those scholars of Astoria’s university. The very same university that went up in flames days prior to their own escape. Their spells could only dissuade the fevered mob for so long before they were dragged into the streets and, when they failed to bring the sun back despite being so kindly persuaded, they were torn apart. It didn’t matter if they had nothing to do with it. From the ring of terror in their voices, Isopel was inclined to think they hadn’t.

But there was a survivor. The pin was nowhere to be seen but that wasn’t surprising. The girl must’ve torn it off and tossed it aside already.

Isopel rested a hand atop the sword in her lap. Young or not, a mage could fry your insides as easily as Alvé could stab a person.

“What circle are you?” She asked. The girl turned only her head to regard the knight sitting beside her.

“…Eighth.” Her voice came out in a squeak from disuse. Eighth, though. Isopel’s hand strayed again from her blade.

“Little more than an apprentice.” The ninth circle was a freshly indoctrinated student while the first was what could be called an archmage. So, they didn’t need to be worried about having their insides fried if she spoke the truth.

Alvé realized what they meant a moment later and began looking nausea.

“I-“ The girl started but had to pause to hack up a yellowish glob of phlegm into the fire. Apparently there had been a few drops left in the waterskin, but she soon found them to help clear her throat. “I mean you no harm. I’m…” She waved to the south.

“Fleeing?” Isopel asked. The girl hesitated before nodding. “But then why did you approach us?”

“I had no choice. The…” She made a small circle with her thumb and index finger, then held it against her forehead. It looked almost like a third eye. The Enlightened, if you wanted to go by what they called themselves. Cultists would also work. Or, if you preferred Alvé’s terminology, then shit-bastards.

“I fled the city and ran into them…” She shuddered. “I lost them some time ago in the hills, but I had no food, or water, or way to keep warm…then, then I noticed your fire. They don’t use fire.” No, cannibals and brigands did. But she had been quiet enough your average member of either group wouldn’t have heard her sneaking around.

“So…you took a risk to find a warm meal.”

“I…”

“It’s alright. Foolish, but I can’t see a better alternative,” Isopel said. She lifted a hand to pat the girl’s back, but thinking better of it at the last second, she instead reached for the spent waterskin. “Enough of that. You know some magic, then?”

“I…know a little.” The obvious question lingered in the mage’s eyes – where are you going with this?

But Alvé realized it a step sooner.

“Hells no,” he hissed. He jabbed a finger over the fire at the mage girl. “Magic folk aren’t to be trusted. They did this.”

“You don’t know that.” Isopel set aside her sword and stood to face the man. She towered above him and the flames, over six feet of quietly angry knight. It was easy enough for her to lapse into old patterns, and to feel the pride she always did when she used her strength and size to protect those weaker than her – like this half-starved mage.

She kept the girl in the corner of her eye, however.

“Who else could make the sun disappear?” He did have a point. It’s not like she could slay the sun with her sword or he could hit it with a dagger. Nothing less than magic would do and powerful magic at that.

“An apprentice of the eighth circle wasn’t the one to do it. You saw what they did to those wizards, almost every one of them, and the queen watched on as they did it. You want to be the one to do that here? To her?” Alvé blanched at that and Isopel knew the fight had left him. They both had seen the fate of most magic folk in Astoria and been powerless to stop it, to even try.

But viewing it more practically, they simply did not have the four horses required to re-enact what they saw. So really it was a moot point.

“Let’s talk it out before we think on killing anybody.”

“Alright, alright,” Alvé grumbled as he settled back beside the fire. Isopel turned her attention back to the girl and sat down beside her.

She seemed to be floundering at the quick back-and-forth between the two. But she’d been fed, and the offer of safety with the two obviously capable adventurers was hard to pass up, so she waited for the knight to speak.

“Let’s start with something easy. What’s your name? I’m Isopel. That’s Alvé-“

“Don’t go telling a wizard our names! They’ll use it to flay you with a thought and make your skin dance-“

“-he talks a big game, but he’s really a sweetheart. Best chef this far north, too.” It was almost a compliment, until Alvé realized he was likely the only chef to be found this far north. He’d show them, any meals he cooked from this point on would be burnt. More burnt, actually, if that was possible.

“I’m Taram. I, don’t know how to flay you with magic.” And it wouldn’t be more efficient than just using a knife like a normal psychopath. She decided to keep that to herself. “I’m really more of a historian than a mage…”

“Trying to get our guard down,” Alvé responded.

“No, it’s true! I have proof, here-“ Taram fumbled through her robes until she produced a small swallow pin. She had hidden it, then, but not tossed it aside. That earned more of Isopel’s trust than her insistence this was somehow proof.

“You see? This is the pin granted to scholars of history.”

“It looks like all the others I’ve seen,” Isopel said.

“No, no, those are a darker blue, and the wings are different-“ The knight raised a hand to stop her.

“I can’t make heads or tails of it, but it’s fine. We believe you.”

“Speak for your…” Alvé trailed off after receiving a stern look.

“But that makes the next question obvious. Why did you flee north?” It was hard to believe any other city was faring better, but if you went west or south you could try to find one that had things figured out. Or maybe try your luck aboard a ship heading east, but there was nothing north of Astoria except vast stretches of rocky terrain leading up to the mountains.

“That’s…” A question she hadn’t prepared an answer for, Isopel noted. It was clear to the knight that Taram was weighing how much she should say.

Trust was hardly an issue now – if they wanted to kill her, they could, so she had nothing more to lose on that end. It was also true that she had her own reasons for heading this way instead of west with the other handful of scholars and mages that managed to slip through the cracks.

The thread was so tenuous, however. Taram didn’t know if it would be out here or if it even existed anywhere. But two battle-hardened warriors…they wouldn’t be bad to have nearby.

“I-“

The founding ruler of Astoria was a sorceress-queen.

It wasn’t a particularly novel tale as far as such things go. Nearly every kingdom Isopel had heard of could speak to something similar, just with a few names or terms switched around. Change sorceress for sorcerer or mage, queen for king or warlord or whatever. Always some grand person who carved a slice of land out for themselves and their descendants. They were often blessed by the gods or had stumbled into an enchanted weapon, or their aunt happened to be a fey creature.

As natives of Astoria, the two adventurers more or less knew this already. It was another point in Taram’s favor as she explained the story, however, that despite how excitedly she spoke, Isopel and Alvé began to nod off.

Until she mentioned the Golden Eyes.

“Sounds like a load of horseshit,” Alvé said.

“Like giant’s fire?” Taram retorted, causing Alvé to bluster for a few seconds before going quiet. They had explained to the mage what their own goal was, and now he deeply regretted it.

“I hate you for it but you got me there.” Why yes, it didn’t sound so silly when that was the point for comparison.

Moving on, Taram explained Nessis had crafted - or perhaps found – an artifact of considerable power, capable of showing one the way to their heart’s desire. These were the Golden Eyes of Nessis, two small orbs of pure gold that, once activated, could show them the path to what they wanted most.

What Taram wanted most was to find an escape from this Eternal Night.

“And you know where they are?” Isopel asked.

“I have an idea, yes. The Eyes were buried with their master.”

“That’s easy enough. Nobody’s going to care if we bust into some old tomb, even if it does hold a queen,” said Alvé with a nod, but Isopel’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Nobody knows where she was buried. It was a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

“I have an idea.” Taram caught the knight’s gaze and kept it a moment before looking into the fire. “It’s not much…snippets from a poem, but…”

“A poem? You want us to risk our lives based on a poem?” Alvé wasn’t nearly as much a fan of poetry as he was of rudely pointing at the young mage.

“’Born of mountains great, burning with the land’s rage…’ something about a gift from the gods comes next. I think,” Isopel said with a wry grin.

“And what in the hells is that supposed to be?”

“A poem. About the giant’s fire.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“If you’ve got a better idea than following the hopes that songs, poems, and old books can provide, then let’s do that instead.” When no better idea came forth, she glanced back to the mage. “Let’s have at it, where do you think the tomb is?”

“I suspect it’s atop the Breaker Cliffs from what I’ve deciphered. The queen of old rests where the land rallies against the sea, and those men of salt meet their end.”

“That’s not close to where we’re headed,” Isopel mused to herself. They wouldn’t need to backtrack, but it would be a couple days detour east to reach the shoreline.

“But if it’s true, if we can find it, then you wouldn’t need to head into the mountains! Besides, it’s closer and less dangerous and-“ Taram cut off as the knight raised a hand.

“Easy now, I didn’t say no. Give me a moment to think.” She turned to her companion. “Give us a moment to think.”

“’Preciate being included.”

“It’s not the worst idea, assuming its real.”

“But would an escape be possible? The Eyes, magical fire, they’re both outlandish but…”

“It is possible. The archmages of the first circle…when the sun fell, they vanished before any of us realized what was happening. We think they fled to somewhere else, opened a portal and stepped right out.” Bitterness leaked into Taram’s voice at the mention of the archmages. “The rest of us didn’t have the ability to follow them, but with an item like this guiding us?”

“So it’s possible,” Alvé said.

“But there are worse places we could end up. Make sure to think real hard about a place better than this,” Isopel added.

“Then, you mean you’ll…?”

“I want to dismiss it as magical nonsense,” he sniffed.

“So we’re decided.” Isopel reached a hand out. The young mage stared a moment, unsure, before shaking it.

“We’ll rest for now and strike east once we’re fresh. It’s a couple days trek to the ocean, but there’s not likely to be many people over there. So, even if it doesn’t pan out, it’ll be a decent way to make sure nobody’s following us.” Isopel knew it was a weak justification. They hadn’t seen any pursuers from the city since they sprinted through the gates, but it worked in assuaging her own mind.

“The tomb should be a simple matter if we can find it. Alvé here’s a deft hand at taking care of traps.”

“I didn’t mention traps,” Taram noted. “That wasn’t in the poem. Golden Eyes, Golden Queen, restful slumber. No traps.”

“It’s a royal tomb. Best to assume the worst and act accordingly.” Given how the mage went a little pale, Isopel thought it best not to mention what else she feared they might find. If they found it, of course.

If.

Truthfully, this was what motivated her to follow along with Taram’s quest over their own. It was the word she feared the most as they drew closer to the mountains. If it existed. If they could find it. If the giants might part with it and not bash in their skulls. Chasing someone else’s if was a comforting diversion. Isopel knew it. Any thoughts to shaking away pursuers was a pretense, but fortunately Alvé didn’t mention it.

It couldn’t hurt to spend a little time chasing another’s hope.

Despite almost killing her, Taram stuck closest to Isopel as they traveled. Something about the tall knight reassured her – perhaps in the way she regarded her, in those subtle but protective glances when she thought Taram wasn’t looking. More likely it was because the knight didn’t seem to mind mages while Alvé kept side-eying her like she might turn them into toads.

At least that was better than the constant grumbling. It was that horrible sort of speech that was just under the breath so you couldn’t quite make out what was said, but intentionally loud enough so you could know something was being said. About you probably. Or about how much of a pain this detour was, or how there was hardly anything to scavenge this close to the cliffs.

As much as she could hardly stand it, Isopel seemed to enjoy the man’s complaints. She would laugh and jab back, and the one time Taram decided to make note of it, she shook her head.

“That’s how you can tell he’s enjoying the company. It’s when he goes quiet you need to worry.”

It was hard to believe, but the man stuck close. A fear of the night and what it hid was a consistent and powerful motivator when all else failed.

And aside from that, the trek wasn’t terrible. Nothing really could be compared to those first few nights she spent fleeing from the city and hiding from cultists and their eyeless demon-hounds. Now she actually had food to eat, even if there wasn’t much, and a fire to sit around.

On the third rotation of stopping to rest and traveling again, they neared the cliffs. Above, the moon started to wan, its light filtering down to the fog that wrapped thick around their ankles.

“It’s freezing,” Alvé helpfully noted, digging himself deeper into his cloak. The temperature had dropped off considerably the closer they came to the ocean, and now it bit into their flesh in search of bone.

“Strike up some torches. We’ll need them to search anyway,” Isopel said.

“Don’t need to ask me twice, cold enough to freeze off a giant’s balls.”

“But you’ll still wait long enough to complain a second time,” Taram chimed in. She shrugged under the glare she received.

“Now listen here-“

“Both of you.” Isopel stepped between them. “Torches. We’re all cold.” She gave Taram a look, and while it wasn’t overtly angry, it stung a lot more than the one from Alvé. Now she was the one grumbling.

“Watch your step or you’ll find yourself enjoying a little too much of the night air,” Isopel warned, causing both of her companions to glance down. The lazy fog couldn’t be bothered to crawl past their knees, but they couldn’t see through it to the ground. The flames of the torches didn’t help with that either. Actually, the flame’s reflection caught on the suspended water made matters worse.

“Could tie a rope around our waists. That way if one of us falls, you can haul us up.” Alvé threw out the suggestion, and Taram almost agreed. She did actually agree but saying so out loud might’ve made him think better of his plan.

“And what if I’m the one that needs hauling up?” Isopel cocked an eyebrow. So, she didn’t believe in their strength.

“Fair point. Each for themselves, then.” Neither Alvé nor Taram did either, for that matter. If the tall knight were the one that walked off the cliffs, she would drag them down with her before they knew what was happening.

“That’s settled. Alvé, you’ll take the front.”

“Think I had something in my ear. Repeat?”

“You’re the lightest and the quickest, so you’ll be in front. I’ll be behind you to scruff you just in-case. Or at least grab your pack.” She was already facing Taram by the time the man started to call it a piss-poor plan.

“Stick behind me and step where we step, nowhere else.”

“I think it might be best if I were ahead as well. I can help navigate, and-“

“If both of you go flying, I might only be able to grab one of you, and Alvé will be my priority,” Isopel said, shutting down that argument. They had been traveling together presumably for a while before Taram found them. So it made sense why that would be the case, but it was still unpleasant to hear.

“I’ll do my best to offer what directions I can from behind you.” Taram shrunk behind the knight.

“We can start that now. This poem of yours, does it mention any landmarks? Any indication of where we can start searching?”

“Yes, one. Something called the…’Ocean’s Fang.’ I’m not entirely sure what it is, but I suspect the tomb is built into the cliff overlooking it.” She gave a thoughtful look out over the dark oceans. Somewhere below the waves must be beating against the shore, if they hadn’t frozen, but it was too far down to hear them.

Taram had never been this way before in her life but she’d heard stories of the Breaker Cliffs. Guarded by razor-sharp reefs that hid sirens and ascending directly up a hundred or so feet once you reached land. To fall would mean certain death, if not dashed upon the rocks than sliced apart by the coral to become chum. It was unfortunate that so many of the tales she heard were about how deadly they were, and not this Fang.

“Ah, I think I know of it,” Alvé said, glancing back. “Maybe. There’s a spire that comes out of the water a ways from the cliffs. Taller than most ships. I wouldn’t say it looks like a fang per say, but it’s the only thing around these parts I can think of that fits the bill. It’s nearest to the highest point of these cliffs, somewhere that way.” He pointed north, for as pointless as direction felt under the oppressive black cloak draped across Astoria.

“That must be it, then. But how did you…?” Taram asked him, but Isopel was the one to answer.

“Alvé used to be a…sailor.”

“Smuggler is what she means. We’d run contraband up and down this coast since nobody really guards ‘em, and that was one of our trade-off points. We never called it the Ocean’s Fang though.”

“What did you call it?” Like most questions Taram asked, she did so in the sincere way of a true scholar interested in expanding their knowledge. It was unfortunate that it had never occurred to her the finer intricacies of smuggler naming conventions and how they weren’t meant for polite society.

As Alvé was about to answer honestly, Isopel stepped in again.

“I’d venture a guess it was based on something phallic. The Ocean’s…you can imagine the rest,” she said with a glance to Alvé. He gave an awkward cough, then nodded.

“Yes, we’re not the most imaginative bunch,” he sniffed. “Follow me. I know where we can start.”

Alvé started north with the two in tow. It was too dark to see out east where this Fang should be, but occasionally he would stop and hold out his thumb, squint for a few seconds like somehow that was all he needed to do, then start walking again.

It was slow, painfully so, as each of them would gingerly step out into the fog and set down a foot to test the ground. Only once they were assured it wouldn’t give way would they plod forward again to test the waters – metaphorically, as the whole point of this was to never get near the ocean below.

Even Alvé, their bold leader taking charge, grew impatient with their caution. A sentiment Taram could echo quietly in the confines of her head. Isopel couldn’t be swayed, however. She moved with the patience and speed of a mountain, lumbering forward and putting a hand on the man’s shoulder to slow him when confidence overtook care.

“It’ll take the better part of a year to find the tomb at this rate.”

“At least you’d be alive for it,” she quietly retorted. He would go silent for a few minutes after that, until the whole process started anew. Taram questioned whether that would be preferable. If they couldn’t find it within a few days, much less a year, where would that put them?

These two wouldn’t stick around, and it would be a fair bet that they might be inclined to leave her behind for wasting their time and resources. She might as well jump and join the ranks of the dead swiftly. It would be better than attempting to travel back to the city to discover what agonies yet awaited the living, or freezing in the dark plains, carefully preserved by the cold for the next gaggle of cannibals to find. Could there be a worse fate than becoming their rations?

The brief image of Taram’s colleagues, her mentors and peers, being dragged out into the square flashed in her mind. There was. So, the rocks. Quick and gentler by comparison. You wouldn’t even see them coming thanks to the fog swirling below and creeping up along the cliff face.

“You alright?” Isopel asked, snapping Taram from her reverie. She hadn’t realized she stopped and was now standing and looking down where she suspected the edge must be.

“Yes, sorry. I…lost myself for a moment there. I’m afraid it used to happen all the time in the library.”

“Be careful.” The knight turned away and continued moving without another word, and a moment later Taram followed.

“Used to be a lotta hidey-holes in the caves down there,” Alvé called back from the front of their procession.

“Pardon?”

“Thieves’ dens. Smugglers like myself, the occasional assassin, lots of criminal types used to hide out down there among the rocks. Likely all fled now, or dead.” He gave a thoughtful look out to the horizon.

Realization hit the mage a moment later what the man was trying to do.

“You sound like you miss it,” she replied. It seemed like the right thing to say, and he nodded.

“Sometimes. Things were simpler back then, at least for someone as low in the pecking order as I was. No more worries past the rope I was holding or snuffing the lanterns quickly so a patrol ship didn’t spot us at night. Or hitting somebody with the right end of a sword.”

“That sounds…” Stressful. Terrifying. “Lovely.”

“Hah, no. It was terrible, but I didn’t have to worry about freezing to death most nights. And if you managed to convince the guards it was your first time and you were just trying to feed your ailing ma, they’d usually let you go after a few days in the brig and only minus a finger.” Taram had to lean over and squint to check, but she was fairly certain Alvé still had all his.

“Good thing we never ran into a hard-ass like her,” he gestured back at Isopel. “She’d ask for the whole hand I bet.”

“I’d settle for three fingers,” Isopel grinned as she replied.

“You are a knight, right?” Taram asked. She had noticed the breastplate, it was hard not to. The quality of it was of the kind she’d seen the knights in the city wear, though any emblem it might’ve once displayed was covered in muck.

“I was. There is hardly any meaning to the title when the one who granted it is dead.”

“But-“

“Enough.” Her voice came out sharp, stopping the mage in her tracks. Isopel shook her head, then added in a softer voice:

“That wound has not stopped bleeding yet.”

They continued their walk/climb-up hill in silence.

By the time Alvé came to a stop and motioned for them to sit, Taram had to stop herself from falling flat on the ground. Her legs ached without the rush of adrenaline from days prior to numb them and her hands had begun to shake from a lack of food.

Soon a fire blazed between them, and Alvé got to work alleviating the second of those pains. The first persisted.

“We’re getting close, perhaps another hour before we reach the spot overlooking this Fang. Let’s rest here, then we can continue on our way,” Alvé said as he started pulling rations from his pack. More tubers and roots, of course, and bits of fungus.

The aching did lessen as their goal came into focus.

“If it’s so close, then why don’t we push on? I can still walk,” Taram said as she tried to massage the needles out of her calves. It might be more of a hobble than a walk, but they were so close now it hardly mattered.

Isopel took a seat beside her.

“We’ve a full night’s travel already wearing us down. None of us may feel particularly tired yet-“ That was punctuated with a glance at the young mage. “-but we will when it comes time to fight.”

“Do you think that will be necessary?” Two wide eyes looked up at the knight.

“I don’t know but you don’t plan for the best. You ready for the worst and take what you get.” They didn’t even have half of what Isopel would’ve liked before delving into such a place either. A priest would be ideal, but they also lacked blessed weapons and holy water. A few hours of rest was the least they could ask for.

Still, she noticed the worry in the mage’s eyes. Isopel patted her back.

“It’ll be alright, we’re no strangers to a fight. And this place is old, likely anything dangerous down there has rotted years ago.”

Taram forced a weak smile to her lips and nodded.

Neither of them quite believed that.

Once their few hours of rest was complete, they started their trek back up. What followed was the hardest part of the climb as the fog lingered and hid the sharp rocks reaching out to trip them. And trip they did, or at least Taram.

But despite the half a dozen small and not-so-small cuts she accumulated, she offered no further complaint or question as they focused on climbing. A healthy amount of sweat had gathered on each of their brows despite the cold, and even Isopel had her jaw set with determination as she worked to lift her companions up and over the worst bits.

By the time they stopped an hour later, Taram was thankful for the rest they had taken. She was also ready to stop for another that lasted twice as long.

“Here it is. Best view of the Fang in all of Astoria,” Alvé complemented the grand statement by stretching out his arms and turning in place. Never mind all they could see was the waning moon above, plenty of fog, and a sky as dark as a murderer’s heart. But, he assured them, somewhere out there was the vast ocean and that spire of jagged rock.

It must be beautiful, Taram was assured.

“Give or take a couple miles, anyway. But any farther than this and we’ll need to double back west or end up going over.”

“Well?” Isopel asked. Taram realized after a couple long seconds the knight was looking at her.

“Well indeed.”

“What’re we looking for?”

“I suppose…an entrance. Built into the cliff, likely obscured. Perhaps it is hidden under these rocks.” She kicked one, finding herself mildly disappointed when the entrance to the queen’s ancient tomb didn’t reveal itself underneath.

“There’s nothing but rock here,” Alvé said. He raised his torch and leaned over. “Rock and empty air.”

“We might need to scale down. It could be built into the actual cliff face, perhaps somewhere-“ From the way Alvé’s head snapped back to look at her, Taram knew that suggestion wasn’t going to take her far. But what actually stopped her from speaking weren’t the objections forming on his tongue. It was a sound already taking to the air.

It was faint, but unmistakable as a song.

Lilting, brash, the song broke across the lands to crash against stone and flesh. It was the melody of madness, striking awe and disgust in equal measure with its harsh percussion and wailing strings. And it was only growing in intensity by the second, as did the feverish movements of Isopel and Alvé as they snuffed their torches.

The three were bathed in darkness.

“Shantyman,” Alvé hissed under his breath.

“Plug your ears, get down,” Isopel said. Taram obeyed by instinct, jamming her fingers in as tight as they would go and crouching.

Then, she shut her eyes. It made little difference without the torches if they were open or not, except this way she might not need to look upon a shantyman. She’d never seen one before and that was a distinct preference she found herself holding fast to in this moment.

Where they came from, who could say for sure. Corrupted elves crawling out from the depths of the earth, a mad wizard’s experiments, the bastard children of sirens and their sailor victims…so many options to choose from. In truth, nobody wanted to find out. Instead they took comfort in the knowledge that shantymen shunned the sun’s radiance. So long as you kept away from their dwellings in caves, you’d do just fine.

Then the sun vanished, and that plan went to utter shit.

As for what they were: monsters, in broad, obvious, strokes. They looked human enough, could even be mistaken for one at a distance. Before you noticed the scales dotting their faces or the way the corners of their lips bled from being ripped to open further. Or if they opened those too-wide mouths and let their horrid song slip out from between rows of jagged teeth. There must be a whole infernal orchestra in there for all the noises they could make.

Bits of it leaked through Taram’s fingers. She had heard a lyre being played a few times at the tavern, and it was kind of like that. Except if that lyre player was trying to mimic the sounds of the cats fighting behind that very same tavern and was doing so while an angry drunk whaled on a table with his tankard. Somewhere behind that a woman was shouting at the drunk for wasting his time in the tavern instead of making a fair wage doing decent work-

And therein was the horror of the shantyman’s song, Taram realized as something wet leaked around her fingers and down the sides of her face. They were all sounds she knew well. Sounds of the city she lived in most her life. She wanted to listen to them and embrace that familiarity, she could almost already see herself sitting at that tavern – the Tilted Tankard, as tavern owners are allowed only a handful of words to name their place of business and can rearrange them as they see fit.

She could hear them all from her usual seat by the fire. A lukewarm drink rested before her and the air was thick with the scents of ale, sweat, and poor companionship.

The bard played off to her left, where a makeshift stage composing of a few planks had been set up. He leaned over his lyre and strummed, playing his heart out despite how little the patrons cared about his music. But Taram enjoyed it. It was an odd song the bard played, but one that reminded her of the city in all the right ways. She could listen to it all night.

What ended up saving Taram was the very cliffs that hounded her for hours prior. With her ears still leaking blood, her sight robbed from her, she attempted to stand and move closer to the source of this maddening song. Instead, she took one step over the rocky ground and tripped backward, falling down and-

-right over the Breaker Cliffs and-

-back-first onto a small outcropping that jutted out a little ways down. It was impossible to see through the dark fog, but it felt solid as it drove the air from her lungs in a panting gasp. It was no illusion, only solid rock. For a moment the world became soundless except for the pounding in her head.

The ground roiled underneath her, or so it felt. Taram wanted nothing more than to throw up, but enough sense remained in her fading mind to know that would be a bad idea. She didn’t know if she could roll over without pitching herself off this small mercy of stone and choking on her own vomit seemed a too pitiful end, even by Astoria’s current standards.

She forced it back down and stared up with bleary eyes.

Somewhere above Isopel and Alvé waited. Had they noticed her fall? Would they care to look or would they assume she was dead? Would they even see her?

She could try to raise her voice to reach them, but that would condemn them with certainty. If the shantyman wasn’t already upon them.

Taram waited, quietly, as blood pooled around her.

What little light there was from the moon began to fade away, and she felt hands grab her. Lift her up. They felt cold but gentle.

Rest now.

“Down!” Isopel growled, pushing Alvé into the dirt beside her. He had a few choice words in return for her rough handling, and he was all too eager to say them aloud once it wouldn’t mean their death. Instead-

“The mage fell,” he whispered back. “She’s dead. This was all pointless.”

“We’ll deal with that afterward.”

The singing grew louder. The shantyman approached.

The waiting continued. They remained low against the ground, pressed into awkward shapes against the uneven ground with hands clasped over their ears. Rocks jutted out to poke them in the ribs and other sensitive bits.

In some odd way, it reminded Alvé of his old smuggling days going up and down this coast.

‘Course, back then, they were on a boat. Once they turned off all the lanterns and the helmsman was steering them, he would go lay in his cot and wait it out. It wasn’t comfortable, but even particularly aggressive straw beats solid stone. And while being caught by the navy wasn’t ideal, they weren’t likely to be slain and devoured.

But aside from all that, very similar. If anything, it was downright uncanny how easily he could call to mind those distant days, how close to hand they felt in this moment. The raucous waves slapping against tarred boards, the crewmates hushing each other as if that ship a few hundred meters away might hear them, and Alvé counting his own breaths as he wondered if today were the day they’d be captured.

It was the music of expectant silence.

What Isopel saw was darkness and a lot of it. Somewhere out there was a creature that would drive them mad before devouring them whole, if only it found them. A monster that her blade would prove no use against.

But what Isopel heard was the fiddles they would play in the castle. A steady drumbeat accompanied the strings as people pounded their feet in dance. If she strained, she could hear whispers beyond it, and the familiar sounds of a festival feast in full swing. Harried servants weaving through the crowds that gossiped and plotted and made merry.

Sight wouldn’t deceive her. No kind monarch and their joyous court awaited her out there. No roasts pulled fresh from the ovens by the plump chef who liked to sample his own wares, nor boisterous toasts from her red-faced colleagues emboldened by their recent expeditions. Only monsters and the dead.

Like the mage, laying dashed against the rocks behind her. They wouldn’t be able to give her a proper burial. As rare as those were these nights, Isopel still would’ve liked to offer the girl that much peace. Alvé would’ve complained about it, of course. Mages didn’t deserve rest or peace, even after death. Not for what they might’ve done.

We’ll join her soon enough, Isopel thought. The shantyman was drawing closer, perhaps called to the sea and his hellish mother. There was an old tale about the first shantymen being born of the damned union of the sea and the land. Unfortunately, that appeared to hold a ring of truth.

Now if only those happier stories could work out…

“We’ll need to fight,” she said.

“Don’t know if we can. I’ve no enchanted steel, and our only mage decided to grow wings,” Alvé replied. “Whatever good she would’ve done alive.”

“I could feed you to him.”

“Now I-“

“But I’d go in right after you. No, you’re right. What else could we…” Isopel paused, glancing back to the edge of the cliff.

Scaling down was an option. If they could find a few handholds and hang on for long enough, they might be able to wait out the creature.

“Block your ears with something, we’re climbing down,” she said as she ripped up what bits of cloth she wore around her armor and stuffed them in her ears. The dried blood and caked-on dirt should only help in blocking the sound.

Whatever Alvé had to say next about her plan went unheard as the makeshift earplugs were already displaying their effectiveness. She pushed herself up to her knees and started to crawl over to the edge. The fog was doing them no favors, but almost certain death beats certain death. Gripping the rock as tight as she could, Isopel lowered herself over the side.

Nothing gave way yet. But finding the next place she could place her weight was a fumbling task. Every time her foot caught on a bit of rock, it crumbled away when any real pressure was applied, and the steel protecting her torso was beginning to feel like a lead weight. Not to mention the bastard sword strapped to her back.

The only thing to make her feel better was to find Alvé clambering down beside her. While her own focus was rightfully attending to the danger she was in, a quick glance over revealed the man had his eyes shut and his head angled up.

It was amusing to think he could be so afraid of heights, and yet there was a time when he made the ocean his home. That was the scarier of the two to Isopel. A bad fall did only one thing, and it did it effectively enough you probably wouldn’t even feel it before it was over. But the ocean hid great horrors, everybody knew that. You couldn’t even wear plate armor to protect yourself against them lest it drown you.

The singing creature was nearly upon them, and her grip was failing under the twinned assault of her own weight and the cold. Her feet found purchase, and she tested for the next handhold. Steady under some pressure, could she take the chance it would hold the rest of her?

Hardly a choice. Isopel let go of the edge and began to lower herself.

The handhold crumbled in her grasp, and empty air embraced her.

Then solid ground greeted her feet first, but a lot sooner than she expected. She thought she would have a moment to consider her fate before it came rushing up at her. And it wouldn’t cause so much damn pain in her creaking knees.

“Isopel!” Alvé forgot himself and let out a loud cry as his companion fell, echoing across the cliffs.

“Drop down, I’ll catch you,” returned the siren’s call of the void. Actually, it was his knightly friend from about ten or so feet below him. He could actually see a glimpse of her through the dark, and given her height, she could just about reach up and tickle his feet if she really so wished.

She didn’t, but she did help him down.

“What in the hells. I feel like a right fool.”

“We couldn’t see it in the dark. A marvel it can support both of us.” That wasn’t the only thing of note. The stone had a worked quality that Isopel couldn’t mistake as she knelt and ran her hands over the ledge, somehow unchanged despite the time and weather that should’ve assailed it.

Not to mention the sticky, semi-dried, and unmistakably blood-like substance that clung to her fingers when she pulled away. There was plenty of it down here, but no sign of its origin except a slight trail leading into the rock.

“Wide enough for a few to stand down here, and I don’t like the looks of that blood,” Alvé commented.

“You’re certainly not going to like this then,” Isopel replied as she reached over to touch the rock where the trail ended. Her hand passed right through with an unpleasant prickling sensation that ran up to her shoulder.

“I believe we found our crypt.”

They had, though it took more walking. Which they were all too eager to do since it meant leaving the shantyman behind.

Almost as soon as they stepped through the illusion of stone did the music fade behind them. They walked through the carved tunnels for a few minutes to be certain before they removed the bits of cloth and struck up torches.

Not a word passed between them.

They could tell this was a place where death reigned. It was not so obvious as an oppressive miasma that choked the life from them, but it lingered in the too-clean air. Soft and all-encompassing, a gentle lure to final rest.

It only grew the further in they moved, until they came to an opening into a wider room. Alvé busied himself examining the entrance for traps while Isopel peered over his head inside.

Columbarium niches lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Brass urns that had never known rust filled them, packed like peasants in crowds watching a royal procession. What they watched over now was the steady line of blood leading back to a hole in the far wall about twenty feet away. There were no other forms of decoration, no carvings or paintings. Only the dead and their ashes.

And not a speck of dust to be found. How considerate of them to tidy up for their guests in-between dragging away new victims.

“Holy water?” Isopel glanced to Alvé as he stood from his examinations.

“Nope, but I could piss in a bottle and beg the heavens to make do.”

“They haven’t been compliant lately, so I wouldn’t wait. ‘Sides, you’ll want to save that for drinking later.”

“You must be kidding.” His awkward grin turned to terror when Isopel shook her empty waterskin at him.

At least there were no traps in this entrance to worry over, and there were still ways to deal with the restless dead. They couldn’t be fully destroyed without water blessed by a clergy member or consecrating their remains. That being said, you could beat their limbs into powder and walk away, with the results being largely the same for any who didn’t particularly care about the damned souls trapped inside.

It was fortunate Alvé and Isopel found themselves in a unique position of apathy.

More problematic were the crypt confines. Knives could be handled just fine when cramped inside the staircase they found at the end of this initial room, and Isopel herself fit in-line behind her comrade, but swinging her blade was right out of the realm of possibility.

She’d be the torch-bearer then, no matter if it stung her pride.

“Watch that bloody thing. Bad enough you’re having me take the lead, I don’t need you setting the back of my head on fire,” Alvé cursed.

“Tempting as that may be, I’ll be mindful.”

But for all their tenseness, the descent proceeded too smoothly. No pressure plates or holes in the wall to dispense poisoned darts, not even a loose step that might trip one of them up. The sculptors and masons that had worked these hallowed halls hadn’t even been kind enough to provide them with art to enjoy.

Then the trail of blood stopped suddenly after several minutes of clambering down. That was especially disconcerting given the stairs continued on.

“More illusions?” Alvé asked, tapping the packed stone bricks with the hilt of his dagger. They were solid enough that he doubted he could even work one out without plenty of time and effort. “Real, then. Doesn’t appear any of these are willing to move either. Can you take a look up at the ceiling?”

“Nothing up there.”

“So they – whoever stole the mage – vanished.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t study as a wizard.” As fun as it was to heckle Alvé, Isopel didn’t have a better idea as to how or why. “I don’t see an option except to press on.”

“What’re you talking about? We head back, call this a loss and wait out the shantyman. Forget the mage, you see all this blood? She’s already dead or worse,” he turned to face her as he spoke. His complexion was paler than she remembered it being when they first entered.

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“We do, you just don’t want to accept it. See reason, Isopel. This whole thing’s been a lark. Let whatever else is down here eat its fill of her, and let’s be gone before it hungers again. This place isn’t right,” Alvé made to push past her and was surprised to find her give way.

But she didn’t follow after him.

“Dead or not, I’ll see for myself.”

“You’re a right fool. I am too for expecting anything less.”

“Be safe, Alvé.”

“Don’t need you telling me that.” He took a few hesitant steps up before glancing back. “I’ll…wait for you up there. Couple hours, ‘til it’s safe outside, and not a second longer.”

He didn’t look back again.

As she continued on without her companion, down into what must now be the bedrock, Isopel admitted to herself that Alvé was right. This was foolish, and suicidal, and half a dozen other mean things he could say. She just couldn’t see anything else to do.

The people she swore to protect had gone mad and the royalty with them. So alone, trudging down step after step with torch in hand, she could admit it to herself.

Perhaps she just wanted somebody to save. A single victory, no matter how small, would be enough to keep her heart warm in the coming nights even if the rest of her were to freeze. It didn’t really matter whether it was Taram or not, or even if the Eyes were real. This was what she needed.

Then she saw a landing below her. The stairs opened out a few feet on either side in approach to a stone portal. The doors set inside were swung inward and green flames flickered from the other side. Shadows danced in the eldritch light as a figure silently moved beyond the threshold.

The torch Isopel held was snuffed by the time she reached the bottom step, her now freed hands drifting to the hilt of the blade strapped to her back. It was drawn before she reached the opening and pressed herself back against the wall, waiting a moment for the alert to go up.

A breathless moment passed, then two, the only noise that of crackling fire and shuffling feet.

Whatever was in there didn’t seem to have heard her, instead focusing its attention elsewhere. Isopel leaned over when the figure moved away from the door.

What greeted her seemed more a place of scholarly pursuits than a tomb. It was carved of the same rock as the rest of the crypt with a large sarcophagus at the very center – but just like the rest of this damned place, it bore no ornamentation. Not furnished with gold or brass or metal of any sort that would befit a queen, merely stone worked with a purpose in mind.

The room was furnished with items that possessed function. Sconces made to hold torches flickering with the green fire of magic, and tables of the same material as the sarcophagus. Several were pushed up to her left against walls carved to hold not urns but ancient scrolls stacked as high as they would go. The tables themselves were buried in equipment that had a distinctly arcane look to them, though Isopel lacked the knowledge to identify their purpose.

Then to the right lay another slab of a table. This one was occupied not by strange materials or devices but a young girl cloaked in dirty azure robes. Her face was caked with dried blood, and she lay motionless except for the gentle movement of her chest as she took in breath. Still alive, but likely not for long.

A creature wreathed from head to toe in blackened cloth loomed over her. Their hands moved in the air above Taram, shining with a faint golden aura that grew as Isopel watched. Soon it started to wrap around the unconscious girl.

A plan was already forming in the knight’s mind. An ambush and quick onslaught would be her best bet. This creature couldn’t be slain, but it could be inconvenienced long enough for her to take up the girl and escape. Those scrolls looked especially flammable, it would only take one of these torches to set them ablaze.

Isopel was halfway to the creature now while its attention remained on its work. A blow to the legs to knock it down, then one to the hands to keep it from casting another spell. Then snatch up Taram, throw the torch. Run and hope for the best. Alvé would say it was a terrible plan.

But only a few steps out of reach now. Two more. One.

Then something rather odd happened.

The creature turned to face her.

“---” And it spoke, or so she assumed. It sounded like sand being scattered across the dunes.

Lower your blade, I have brought no harm to your companion. I only seek to repair what has already been done.

Somehow meaning worked its way into Isopel’s head upon hearing those whispers of sand.

Confusion at this unsettling feeling and the knowledge that this failed ambush had been her only chance stayed her hand. A couple more moments passed and a hole hadn’t been blast through her chest. She hadn’t been flayed, nor had anything else arcane assailed her.

The creature maintained the golden aura suffusing Taram, however. But now blessed with a moment to reassess, Isopel could see the mage’s skin mending itself. The cuts along her head and hands were slowly stitching shut.

“You’re healing her.”

“---”

Her injuries were mild. Bruised, cut, some internal bleeding. Come here, see.

Isopel took a moment to examine this unusual entity. The black cloth veiling them couldn’t fully hide what lay underneath at this range. The desiccated flesh stretch taut. The veil clung to the face of the creature to reveal sharp contours where the cheek bones poked out.

Two pinpricks of gold peered back through the cloth and into Isopel’s eyes.

Isopel glanced away first, disguising it as concern for the girl.

There hadn’t been need for such worry. Taram was alive and whole, her breathing shallow but steady. The injuries she had accumulated across their few days of travel had vanished and left whole skin behind while only the tears in her robes lingered to tell of what had once been.

“What are you?” Isopel asked, turning back to face the creature. Her blade remained in her hands, but now the tip pointed down.

What you imagine, among other things. Soon nothing at all, same as anything else.

The creature shook its head, then raised its hand toward its face. It waited a moment to watch Isopel for movement. Finding none, it threw back the cloth.

Nothing so dramatic as a gasp left her, though Isopel flinched slightly. It was more out of revulsion than surprise, however.

Queen Nessis herself stood before Isopel. Not that she was recognizable as such based on appearance, as what she looked to be was an ancient corpse. Her lips were pulled back to reveal rows of rotted yellow teeth, skin a mottled brown and gray where the white of bone hadn’t torn through. For all the care that must’ve gone into preserving everything else in this tomb, she hadn’t been able to stop her own body’s decay.

No, what gave her away were the Eyes. Two orbs of pure gold swam in gaping sockets, gleaming with a radiance that knew not of age or tarnish. They sparkled with a light that made Isopel ache for the sun, yet somehow they weren’t painful to gaze upon.

She could stare at them all day if allowed.

This is what you seek, yes? I fear there is little else here that would be of value to you.

“You’re not what I imagined.”

You don’t strike me as the imaginative sort. Knights often aren’t. Best to hammer that out while still a squire.

“Hah! See your time in the crypt hasn’t diminished your wit, Your Majesty,” Isopel laughed and felt a bit better to notice Taram started to stir at the noise.

I rule over nothing and there’s nothing majestic about these rotted bones. If you wish to kiss ass- Nessis couldn’t actually sniff at Isopel given her lack of a functioning set of lungs and more obviously a nose, but that was the feeling the knight got from the slight whistling sound she made. -I recommend you return to the living members of my bloodline. If there are any left.

“Not that I know of.” They had made fairly certain of that before they fled north.

I would say it’s a pity, but who would care to listen? Hmph, go on. The Eyes are yours to take as is your companion. None of it will matter soon.

“What do you mean?” Isopel started to reach for them but pulled back as soon as the queen stopped speaking.

This didn’t feel right. It was too easy.

You know so little, don’t you? You cannot see the true death that awaits us all. Not this half-existence I inflicted upon myself, but the cessation of all things. Can you not feel it?

The queen shook her head again, letting out a wispy sigh.

No, perhaps not. But she can, your mage. Or she will, soon it will be unmistakable. In days, weeks, months if you last that long.

The magic fades from these lands, bleeding out like the people that inhabit them. When it is gone, we too shall take our leave.

The sorrow in the undead queen’s words was raw. A fresh wound…or a wound still being inflicted.

You worry there is some trick still, don’t you? Allow me to reveal the truth:

I could not stop you from taking what you feel you are owed, so at least in this way I may keep what dignity is left to me. Bluster and bluff as I might, I have shown you what power I can muster. Healing a few cuts, bruises, some bleeding. Impressive to a peasant, but to what I once was…compared to the magic that bound me in this flesh, it is a flickering candle against the long night. Incapable of swaying a determined warrior with giant’s blood in their veins.

Despite the queen’s monstrous appearance, Isopel was reminded of the one she left behind in Astoria. Her own master she was bound to by loyalty, and whose life the knight claimed when she saw what had become of them. Would it be so bad if such apathy hadn’t taken root in their heart? Was there really nothing to be done?

“The Eyes, then. Are they useless?” Was all this a waste?

I made them at the height of my powers. They hold true, but for how much longer I cannot say. Take them if that is what you wish.

The queen inclined her head. Isopel expected something to go wrong even now. A trick, a trap, a curse.

The undead queen remained motionless as the knight lifted a hand to pluck the golden orbs free. The first practically rolled out into her palm, producing only a quiet sound that resembled tearing parchment as it was plucked free. Whatever flesh had been attached to its golden surface was aged beyond fragility and could offer no resistance.

The queen waited patiently until the second came out just as easily, then pulled back. Now two empty holes stared up at the knight – she had to admit she half-expected Nessis to turn to dust as soon as they were freed.

Isopel looked down to the two orbs resting in her palm. Despite the light they radiated, they were as cool as the night air. And heavy, heavier than something so small should be.

Then her gaze swept back up to Nessis, who now held a hand out.

Help me to my bed.

“There’s not a…I see.” It was a place of rest. That must be good enough.

She gently took the queen’s hand. It was rough but felt so fragile, not entirely dissimilar to those scrolls lining the walls. But there was a warmth in it that stood at a stark contrast to the cold of the Eyes – how this ancient walking corpse could produce it, the knight couldn’t say. It didn’t make sense, not a lick of it, but the knight was glad for it.

Isopel led the queen to her sarcophagus. She shoved the heavy lid off – no traps in there either – and then laid Nessis inside.

To say the whole affair was unusual would be putting it mildly. This was a monster born of horrible magic and a perversion of the natural order between life and death. Yet she had healed Taram, willingly given up the Eyes, and hadn’t raised a hand against them. Now Isopel was placing her in bed like she was an infirm grandmother. It was….it was…

It took everything Isopel had to shove down the laugh building in her. If it made it past her lips, she knew that would be the end. If she acknowledged how absurd this all was, how mad the world had truly become, she would never be able to stand again. She might as well crawl in there with the queen and wait for the end.

Had it all been pointless?

Perhaps. Isopel wasn’t sure.

It certainly would be if she stopped moving forward.

“I have so much I want to ask you. I want to argue and fight, I want to tell you you’re wrong. That you shouldn’t surrender so easily,” she said, knowing it was silly. Taram was safe, she had the Eyes, the queen had given up.

But Nessis slowly shook her head.

It is done. How, why, and what now…questions that will be lost in the void that comes. There will only be silence and eternity, a world floating stillborn through the night. Not life, not death, nor anything in-between. Oblivion will rule.

But it is not my place to strip the comforts of meaning from you or to tell you your fight is lost, and always has been. If there is an escape to be found, perhaps the Eyes will lead you to it.

Goodnight.

A true queen until the end, Nessis claimed the final say. Before Isopel could raise her voice and denounce her words there was a shift in the air.

What rested before her now was a corpse. Near-identical in all ways to the one speaking to her a moment ago, but something that couldn’t be seen had changed. It was truly lifeless now, and despite how Isopel shouted for Nessis to answer, only silence replied. Whatever magic had bound will to that flesh had fled.

The knight was alone, and the warmth in her hands faded quickly.

The trek back up was hard with the added burden of an unconscious mage to carry, but Isopel appreciated the chance to exert her strength. The burning in her legs was a thankful reprieve from the bitter thoughts accumulating in her head. She need not consider past putting one foot ahead of the next, again and again until she had reached the top.

Alvé awaited her there. One hand clutching a knife, the other rummaging through the urns in search for treasure or something – anything – to keep himself occupied. Certain habits don’t die at all, and to see him slipping back into the routine brought a faint smile to Isopel’s lips.

“Wasn’t sure you’d stick around,” she called out. Taram still slumbered in her arms.

“Felt like a waste to leave empty-handed…wait, you found her? She alive?”

“She is, and we found the Eyes too.”

He gave a quiet hum in response, took a longer look at the two, and thought better than to ask what had happened. They were both alive and the treasure they sought was in their hands, why waste it with worries?

“Hold on a moment, I’ll check to see if the shantyman’s out there,” he said, beelining for the tunnel.

No sooner had he departed from view did Taram’s eyes flutter open. Her arms shot up in defense, nearly catching Isopel across the jaw, and did slam into her collarbone as she continued to flail.

“Easy! Easy, you’re safe,” she tried to calm the girl, catching another glancing blow in the process. But eventually Taram did calm down – or at least she stopped swinging – long enough to realize where she was and who she was with.

“You’re…I’m…we’re alive.”

“We are.”

“What, I remember music. Then I, I think I fell,” Taram said in it a wondering way as she examined her arms. The robes she wore were torn and bloodied, yet her flesh was marvelously intact. It made no sense.

“You did fall. Right into Queen Nessis’ tomb.” Close enough to it to be dragged inside, anyway. At this point Isopel realized she was still carrying the mage and set her down on wobbly legs.

“That’s where we are now? It’s…not quite like how I imagined.”

“Not ornate enough for your tastes?”

“It does house a queen.” It did, but Isopel kept that to herself. It didn’t house anything right now except ash and a few weary folk. Soon it would be empty of even that. “No carvings either, and these urns are simplistic.” That was a nice way to say they would fit a peasant better than a deceased member of the royal coterie.

“Surprisingly intact, however. Hardly any damage from the years.” If it hadn’t been clear before Taram was truly a historian (apprentice), it was now. She ran her hands across the stone and examined the urns, failing to hide a wince when she found the one’s Alvé had rummaged through already. She had some unpleasant views toward graverobbers, never mind that was why they had come here.

It seemed she had forgotten all about their real objective until Isopel held them out to her. Taram took a halting step closer to look.

“My goodness, they’re more than I imagined. I didn’t realize they would be so bright. May I?” She nearly had them in her grasp before she thought to stop and ask.

“You brought us here, so go ahead,” Isopel replied. Taram reached for them with a quickness that banished any worry over lingering injuries, then brought them close enough to her face that the knight began to worry she might blind herself.

“Incredible. I’m hardly a mage yet I can still feel the power radiating from them,” her voice was far away as she lowered them and blinked away tears.

“Really?” Isopel hadn’t particularly felt anything when she was holding them.

“Really. I think this is it. We’ll be able to use these to find a way out.”

“Ah, that’s actually…how exactly do we use them?”

“How?” It was like the question had never occurred to Taram. She looked up at the knight. “How exactly do you use your eyes normally?”

“You, well…I see.” It had been a slight worry when she pulled them from Nessis. Rather easy to take when their bearer didn’t have living flesh that needed to be ripped through. But the thought of implanting them into this still very alive mage…

“Would you like to wear them instead? You did find them, so they are yours by right.” The earnest way Taram spoke only further needled Isopel.

Would they even work if she tried to use them? Not that she wanted to let the young mage tear out her own eyes, but she’d left on this journey with the knowledge that, if she succeeded, this would happen. Would it be cowardice, then, to go ahead with that plan, or would it be respect for Taram’s resolve?

“It’s okay,” Taram patted the knight’s hand. “I know, but it’ll be okay.” And maybe it would be.

“You’re both up then,” a voice called them from the tunnel. Alvé was waiting there for them, but for how long he’d been there neither knew.

“The shantyman has made itself scarce, time for us to do the same.”

Alvé had actually been wrong about the shantyman – though neither of his companions could blame him for the mistake. When they stepped out of the tunnel and onto the ledge, they thought much the same. It was quiet. It remained quiet as they spent some time scaling back up the short distance they dropped.

But as Isopel pulled herself up, she practically ran into the shantyman.

It was knelt on the ledge of the cliffs, its arms held limp at its side. Its mouth was open as wide as it would go – wide enough to reveal rows upon rows of teeth – yet no song filled the air. It didn’t even seem to notice her. Instead, its eyes were locked on something off in the distance that she couldn’t see.

The faint moonlight glinted off something wet on its cheeks.

Red tears, Isopel realized with a start. The shantyman was weeping blood.

It wasn’t an image she was able to shake from her mind as she hauled up Alvé or Taram. It remained burned in there even after she had planted a boot in its back and sent it careening over the edge. Even after they had started a fire and set down to rest – and prepare for what came next – it wouldn’t leave her.

Nessis had been right. Astoria was dying, and every creature living across these lands could feel what was soon to come.

But they had the Eyes, and that would be their escape.

The flames licked at the sky. Taram sat in quiet meditation beside them, trying to control her fear through her breathing, while Isopel roasted one of Alvé’s knives. She was no surgeon, but she’d been on the patient end of their operating blades enough times to know the basics. Basics like heating the blade should keep it clean, and you shouldn’t use a knife to carve out somebody’s eyes, especially not when they’re still alive.

“I’m going to be sick,” Alvé said. He moved as far away from them as he could while still enjoying some of the fire’s warmth.

“Keep an eye out for anything else,” came Isopel’s response, sharper than she intended. But he needed no more prompting to turn around and keep his back to them.

She had hoped he would complain or Taram would change her mind. Anything to stop or slow what was about to happen. But as she loomed over Taram, the only thing there was her own hesitation.

Isopel didn’t hesitate for long.

Alvé kept his word. Before it was done, he had crawled over and began to retch his guts off the cliffs. The worst part was that Isopel preferred the sound of his gagging to the ripping and cutting and squelching she inflicted.

And that she preferred over the silence. Taram didn’t cry out once as she worked the knife into her sockets and pried free her eyes. She gritted her teeth until her lips split and saliva mixed with the blood dripping down her face. But she didn’t scream.

No. The screaming began when Isopel placed the gold orbs into those now empty, still weeping sockets.

The Golden Eyes knew exactly what to do as if they had a will of their own. They mended the ragged flesh around them and pulled it in to cover them, and it was at this part even she had to look away.

The screaming stopped after about five minutes. Taram was unconscious or maybe dead, Isopel wasn’t sure and wouldn’t check until the other noises stopped. The orbs were humming as they worked. A droning, vibrating, almost somehow pleasant hum accompanied by the smell of burnt flesh, crackling and popping every second.

It finished an hour later. Five minutes after that, Isopel was able to look.

Two eyes of gold peered back up at her without eyelids to hide them. Taram was alive and breathing, though her face was coated in blood.

“Help me clean her up,” Isopel called out, her voice unexpectedly hoarse. She’d been weeping, but she wasn’t sure when it started.

“Yeah,” Alvé said. It took a while for him to actually stand and walk over to help her.

Once they had done what they could in tending to Taram, they settled back beside the fire and waited for her to awaken.

Hours passed and exhaustion finally found the two travelers as they rested by the fire.

While they slept, Taram awoke to a world much brighter than the one she remembered, even back when the sun was the master of the skies.

The land was laid clear before her, every ounce of darkness banished. Even the fog could not hide things from her sight, and she could see the oceans stretching to the horizon. There was the Fang, almost exactly where Alvé had pointed to before. And below were the waves, moving sluggishly as they lapped the shores.

Countless dead littered the rocks below the cliffs, a mix of human and not. More than one shantyman made the pilgrimage out here, and more than one had jumped off. Beached sirens, water-logged sailors, and rotting fish mingled with their corpses.

Somehow even that looked beautiful when perceived through the radiance of the Golden Eyes.

“It worked. It’s here, this is the way out,” Taram whispered. She looked down to her own feet, where a ribbon of gold streaked across the ground. As she watched it twirled around her and stretched out, growing and spreading until it had become a path across the oceans. It led straight above those freezing waves and the innumerable dead-

Out and out further yet, to those far lands she’d only ever read about-

Farther still, until one might fear falling off the world entirely-

There lay the escape she dreamed of, to a land that never forgot the sun’s radiance or the gifts it brought every morning. It would be a long journey to make but the road ahead was too clear to miss.

With a smile as bright as the world she saw now, Taram glanced back at her companions and waved them forward.

“It’s here. Come on, follow me.”

They stirred and rose from their slumber, reaching out over the dying flames of their campfire toward her.

Taram took the first step forward onto the golden path.

Then the second. Stone gave way to empty air, and only the path remained. But there was no hesitation in her stride.

Isopel’s hand grazed the back of her robes.

Let us relearn a few truths about the land of Astoria:

First, the sun has fallen and shall never rise again.

Second, there is a chill bite to the air and it shall only grow colder yet.

The third and final of these truths pertains to a certain pair of individuals: Isopel and Alvé continue their way north to search for the giant’s flame. They were unable to follow in the escape Taram found.

And so they must continue to endure.

#short story #mork borg #dark fantasy

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magniloquent-raven · 3 years

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soulmate au part 3!!!!

(read part 1 and part 2 here)

it takes three weeks for anything to happen.

they see each other at school, exchange glances in class, brush past each other in the hallways, fingers grazing as their shoulders bump, incidental touches that wouldn’t draw attention but still leave billy tingling and giddy and embarrassed at himself but…

he’s still getting used to having a soulmate. a real, tangible person he can reach out and touch.

and maybe he’d get used to it faster if he could touch him more, but life keeps conspiring against them. they can’t seem to get a second alone. when it isn’t steve’s kids are crawling all over him 24/7 it’s neil breathing down billy’s neck because he ran out on one fucking class.

well, and then had to lie to neil about why, which was probably what put neil on high alert, but still.

three goddamn weeks.

and neither of them have been patient about it. steve keeps writing billy notes. in the middle of class scrawling things like you have nice eyes and i wanna spend time with you and billy can fucking feel how smug steve gets about making him blush. it’s all he can do not to make a scene in front of half their peers. sometimes he’s not sure if he’d punch steve for being an asshole or kiss him for being sweet.

or both. he can do both.

but mostly he wants time, and somewhere to just...be. with steve.

and he gets that, three weeks after their conversation in the parking lot. steve’s parents will be out of town, and his kids have some stupid game night planned. max keeps asking to go but pretending she isn’t, badly feigning disinterest, and best of all, neil and susan are planning a weekend trip to visit susan’s bedridden aunt a few hours away.

billy is determined to take full advantage of those thirty-six hours. neither of them will acknowledge it directly, but he knows max will tell neil he was home all weekend if she has to. he has no reason to be nervous about being caught, or anything else. it’ll be fine.

it’ll be fine.

he tells himself that over and over but it doesn’t stop him from checking every corner of the house in case neil’s hiding behind a door somewhere before he can even think about getting ready to leave.

he checks again after he’s showered and dressed.

thankfully max is already gone, so she’s not there to see him pacing around like a neurotic rat in a maze.

it almost worse that he isn’t just anxious, he’s excited. and it’s making him twitchy.

there’s no plan. they aren’t going on a date or anything. he’s just...going to steve’s house. steve’s empty house. he’s going to be alone with his soulmate. the list of reasons why that scares him is endless.

and he’s not sure if he’s more terrified of the possibility that steve won’t ask about the makeup thing or the possibility that he will.

knocking on the harringtons’ front door is. an experience. it shouldn’t be. it’s just a fucking door. but billy’s palms are sweating and suddenly he has no idea what he’s even going to say, and he keeps glancing over his shoulder even though he doesn’t really know what he’s looking for, and it feels like he’s been standing on the porch for a fucking eternity but—

his worries don’t exactly melt away when steve opens the door but there is a warm flutter in his chest that’s...new. and distracting.

and steve smiles at him all sunshine and chocolate, and the second the door closes behind them he grabs billy’s hand, wide-eyed, questioning, watching billy’s reaction.

his palm is just as sweaty as billy’s and it’s gross, but also kind of comforting.

“hello to you too,” billy snickers, and steve visibly relaxes, lacing their fingers together properly.

“hi,” he breathes quietly, his gaze soft, but intense, focused. “waiting sucked, okay. i’ve been wanting to do that forever.” he shakes their joined hands for emphasis.

“...that all you were waiting to do?”

steve’s grin turns sly, and his gaze drops a little. “no.”

billy wants to kiss him. he wants to be kissed. he wants steve’s mouth on him, somewhere, anywhere, right now. it’s a nice mouth. he’s spent a lot of time looking at it, and thinking about it, about the way the steam from the showers turned his lips so, so red, wet and slick and both too close and too far away, wondering what he’d taste like—

but steve turns away, taking all the air in billy’s lungs with him. it’s so jarring a shift that billy actually sways a little before he gets ahold of himself and lets steve tug him by hand and lead him upstairs.

the wallpaper in steve’s room has to be some kind of hate crime, but billy doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because there’s a beige bag sitting conspicuously on top of steve’s neatly made bed. the clear plastic top is zipped shut, dusty with age and spilled powders, but billy can still make out tubes of lipstick and eyeliner pencils through the haze.

he stops in the doorway and stares at it, thoughts at a stand-still.

steve’s still clutching his hand, tighter now, and no longer pulling him along. “i—uh. the bag was my mom’s, i think. found it crumpled up under the sink, so, like. she probably doesn’t even remember it exists. and the stuff in it is...new.”

“...new,” billy echoes faintly.

“yeah. yeah, i—i bought it. had no idea what i was looking for though, so i hope i did alright.”

billy blinks at him.

“was—was that okay? i know maybe isn’t exactly a yes, but i kinda hoped it could be, y’know? it’s—it’s totally cool if it isn’t. if you’re—if you’re not up for it. or…” he trails off awkwardly and grimaces.

billy takes a breath. “i’m up for it,” he assures steve with more confidence than he feels.

and steve absolutely beams at him. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

turns out steve not knowing what he was looking for meant he bought...everything.

as billy pokes through the mess he tries not to feel too apprehensive. or at least tries not to let it show. too much. he chews his thumbnail, picking up an eyeliner pencil with the other hand. it’s good shit, all the products are, with fancy names for colours and designer labels. it’s all leagues better than the drugstore clearance shelf crap he lifted as a kid. which doesn’t make this any less nerve-wracking.

“it’s been a while since i did this, so. don’t expect it to be, fucking, art or anything.”

steve shuffles closer from his spot at the foot of the bed and touches billy’s knee. “the eyeliner earlier this year…?” he gestures vaguely at his own face, eyebrows raised.

“friend of mine did that,” billy mutters.

and then his whole goddamn life came crashing down around him because of it.

his anxiety spikes, and he drops the pencil back into the pile, shoving the bag away. “i can’t fucking do this,” he snaps, and he’s halfway standing already when steve reaches for him, alarmed.

“billy, wait—” the hand on his elbow is soft, gentle, but he still flinches away. steve withdraws, fingers curled, lips parted, shock and hurt at war on his face. “i’m sorry. i—shit, i’m sorry—”

“don’t.” billy shakes his head, pulling away further. his lungs hurt. there isn’t enough air in this room. “just—forget it. this was a mistake.”

he’s through the door and heading down the stairs before he can think about it, before steve can respond. he wouldn’t have heard him anyways, not over the echoes of his father’s voice that follow him no matter how fast he flees.

but he stops just short of leaving. stands on the ugly little mat by the front door and stares down at it, his forehead inches away from resting against the wooden doorjamb.

he doesn’t want to leave.

he doesn’t want to go anywhere but back upstairs.

and...he kind of hates it. he has no reason to want that. he barely fucking knows steve, and he certainly doesn’t owe him anything. not a look at his authentic self or even a fucking apology. nothing.

so why does he want to give him all of that and more.

why.

it’s fucking terrifying and ridiculous and confusing and…

“billy?” steve calls out tentatively, far enough away that billy doesn’t startle. he’s making his way down the stairs.

if he’s gonna run, it’s now or never.

now…

or…

he turns around, and leans back, his shoulder thudding heavily as he hits the wall. his eyes itch, and rubbing them doesn’t help.

“billy…” steve’s right in front of him now, hovering just shy of being close, worry etched into every line of his face. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have pushed, i’m sorry—”

“not your fault,” billy mumbles, muffled against his palm. “stop apologizing, harrington.”

steve sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. “i...uh.”

“you were gonna do it again weren’t you.”

“...no.”

billy snorts quietly, head falling against the cold wallpaper at his back. “fuck,” he exhales, hand dropping to his shoulder. “look, this is...threatening to be the best fucking thing that ever happened to me, and good things don’t just—it never lasts. it always blows up in my face, and you should know that before you get caught up in it too.”

there’s an awful, drawn-out pause while steve purses his lips and tilts his head and looks billy up and down, his gaze gentle despite the scrutiny.

“i want to touch you,” steve says quietly. he waits for billy’s hesitant nod before he wraps his arms around and tucks his face into the crook of billy’s neck. “i’ve been waiting for you my whole life, hargrove, you’re not scaring me off that easily.”

and...billy always wanted to believe in the romantic notions people wrote about in songs. soulmates being destined for each other. epic, unconditional love. he never had any reason to believe it was real, but he clung to it anyway. despite the part of him that was wary, afraid of putting too much stock in something that might break his heart later on.

so for steve to just outright say it like that…so matter of fact. the reality of the situation smacks him in the face a little.

he puts his hands on steve’s waist, slipping under his shirt to rest against soft bare skin. touching him feels...right. when he lets himself feel, lets himself be here, in the moment. the sweet scent of steve’s hair, the warmth of his breath, the soothing pressure of his fingertips smoothing the wrinkled fabric of billy’s shirt. it all adds up to a feelings that billy can only describe as home.

not home like the place, but home like the warmth of sunlight and sand between his toes, ocean spray on his lips. a feeling he’s always had to chase to capture, but somehow it’s...here. quiet and still, and nothing like he’s used to, but it’s here.

and his touch seems to put steve at ease as well, he practically melts into billy’s embrace, which does strange and addictive things to billy’s heart.

but he can’t just shut his fucking mouth and enjoy the moment.

“bet i could, though. scare you off. i might, some day.”

“billy,” steve sighs, and pulls back enough to look him in the eye. “trust me when i say, you’ll never even make the top ten scariest things i’ve seen.”

and he wants to scoff, or feel insulted, or push the issue, start a fight, but. there’s a hollow look in steve’s eye. it’s not the face of some sheltered rich boy who thinks he’s a big man, no, there’s truth there. billy believes him.

stopping the tide of questions is almost physically painful, but he knows there’s no going down that road today. he’s hiding enough of his own skeletons to be sure they aren’t ready for that yet.

he might just be ready for something else though.

“i wanna try again.”

steve blinks at him, confused for a beat, two, and. “oh!” his lips part around the exclamation, distracting billy for a moment. “the—the makeup? you don’t— you don’t have to.”

“i want to.” he hesitates, and then presses a brief kiss to the tip of steve’s nose, startling a smile out of him. billy grins back. “i want to.”

#harringrove ficlet #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #a raven's writing desk #soulmate au #yall this au is getting out of control this fic was supposed to be one lil scene #and i didn't even do the thing i wanted to do because billy was like NO IMA DO THIS INSTEAD #so then this whole ficlet got derailed because he's a drama queen #so #there's gonna be more dlkjfkltgfd #cuz im GONNA do the idea i had #im gonna

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trancylovecraft · 3 months

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(KNY) YANDERE PLATONIC! KOKUSHIBO x SISTER READER: You, Shibou. I, Kokoro (CHAPTER FOURTEEN)

Previous Chapter ☆♡☆ Masterlist ☆♡☆ Next Chapter

AO3 link

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: "..So much more than a rat."

A martyr is defined as a person who voluntarily suffers death as the penalty of witnessing to and refusing to renounce a religion. Though in more recent times it has been used to define a person willing to give up their life for a cause not needing to be fuelled by religion or politics.

The man throughout the night, Feet thundering against the cold stone.

His breath was ragged as he sprinted across the empty streets, Cold air singing as a juxtaposition to his burning lungs. The warm blood trickled down his forehead, His eyes wide and wild as he searched for sanctuary.

Faster and faster he went, Tall houses rushing past him in a flash. His head kept jerking back behind him, Terrified of something following him. Something seeking, Something hidden deep within the depths of the night. Something keeping close behind.

He didn't know what happened, One minute he had gotten back from work and the next he was running away. A thick slash mark across his forehead, Oozing out iron ichor from the deep cut.

Like a rabbit running away from the fox, He scampered away.

He felt like it got closer and closer. Almost hearing the faint drumming of footsteps gaining on him, Echoing throughout the night. Hitting like hail against the ground, Making a bitter chill run down his spine.

Who was it? Who was chasing him. Was there someone chasing him? Is he being paranoid?

His sweat dropped, He yelped out in fear.

"Help-! Help me! HELP, ANYONE-!" He cried through the raw dryness of his throat. Tears started to swell at this point. The patter of footsteps grew and grew, So loud like thunder strikes.

They were approaching, They were going to get him-!

"PLEASE- ANYONE!" He screamed. Hollering throughout the night and bouncing off the village walls. It was so blaring, So loud yet there was no one who came to help. There was no one who was going to save him.

He was going to die- HE WAS GOING TO DI-

A sword ran through his neck. Struck like lightning and flowing like a river as it went through his skin and muscle with no effort.

His screaming was cut short by his head hitting the rocky street. A burst of blood erupting from his severed neck.

It bounced once, Then twice then swivelled into place.

A permanent petrified expression laid upon the mans face, Eyes wide and bulging with his mouth eternally open to catch flies. His body wobbled, Thin legs shaking before falling down onto it's knees, Then it's chest.

The footsteps following him finally stopped as well, If only for a moment. The silence rang throughout the street as the blood pooled around the carnage. All before the tiny pair of footsteps turned into a walk, Stalking over to the corpse.

[F/N] looked down at the body, Pausing just where the puddle of red stopped gathering, Careful not to stain her sandals.

The blade clenched in her hand was drenched in blood, Ichor dripping off the tip and onto the rocky pavement below. The imperfect hilt and the makeshift construct of the blade made it all the more strange for such a child to be wielding it.

She looked at the man with no pity nor disgust. There wasn't any anger or drive behind her strike, Just apathy as she stared down at the bloody mess she had made. Her grip on the hilt of her sword grew tighter.

She crouched down, Knees turning as she got closer to the severed head of the decapitated man. Nudging the body out the way with her free hand she finally reached down to the head, Arm extended towards it.

Her hand grasped a firm clutch of his matted hair, Already entangled with blood as her fingers got a good hold on his locks. She pulled it up, The head following her hand as she held it dangling from her fingertips.

She walked. The severed cut of it's neck dripped a thick trail of blood to follow her footsteps, Hand already covered in the pungent liquid that splattered her fingers.

The head swayed from her hands as she walked away. She could of only been about eight or maybe nine yet the way she carried herself was so old and practiced, She could of been mistaken as a woman from a distance.

She didn't look back, Moon raised high within the cold night. She walked towards it, The headless corpse left alone in the street to squeeze out all of its remaining liquids onto the floor.

And soon enough she was gone just as soon as she came. No trace of her ever being here except for a thick trail of blood dragging out of the village and into the depths of the woods.

☆♡☆

"It's just.. It's been tough with my father being ill, You know?" The smell of sizzling meat and the punching kick of spices hit the noses of the passers-by, The enticing aroma being like a siren's song to anyone who would dare enter the proximity of their lulling call from the market.

The sun was raised high in the sky, A morning blessed with the cool heat of the summer sun and the chilling breeze to chase it. It was beautiful and the villagers were aware, All out and about to enjoy the weather and do errands to match.

The market sat under the suns rays, Stalls lined with both food and material products. Meat grilled right at the table, Vivid bursts of tapestries hanging for all to view and contemplate buying.

It was a wonderous place filled with crowds in the dozens. Chatter was live and roaring throughout the street, Sounds of bargaining and laughter were common and all around. It was scenic as it travelled through the village.

[F/N] stood by one of the stalls, Just tall enough to peek over the edge. It was a stall with colourful pouches of spices laying about, Hanging rabbits and cattle meat from the hooks on the wooden structure above.

Her skeletal figure stood awkwardly, Her bony fingers twiddling themselves as she shied her eyes away from the merchant in front of her. She looked downtrodden, Turtling into the oversized scarf wrapped around her neck.

"I.. I'm sorry that I can't pay, Nevermind, I'll stop bothering you.. Apologies!" [F/N] called out rather forlornly as she turned around slowly, Starting to walk a few steps in the opposite direction with lowered head.

The merchants smile turned into a frown, Watching the frail girl trod off down into the busy streets.

"Hold on!"

[F/N] stopped in her tracks as soon as she heard the merchant's voice call out her name. Her head turned over lightly, Eyes peeking out from the tattered blue of her scarf to look at him from afar.

The merchant sighed, A look of pity plastered upon his face as his hands reached up to the fresh meat hanging above him. Picking a cream-fleeced rabbit off one of the hooks he walked out from behind the stall towards her.

"Here you go, Okay? I hope your father gets well soon, Send him my regards, Kid." He said with a small smile as he presented the little rabbit to her, Gesturing for her to take it.

[F/N]'s eyes widened, The sparkle in her eyes starting to bloom as the sun reflected off the hues of her irises. Her bony fingers reached out towards the rabbit, Wrapping around the hide of it's neck before bringing it into her arms.

"Thank you, Sir! You don't know how much this means to me and my father!" [F/N] said, Her hollowed out cheeks parting to give him the sweetest smile possible on her face. The merchant nodded, Hand reaching out to pat her shoulder before turning around to go back to his stall.

[F/N] watched him go for a second, The rabbit in her hands held close. It was such a pristine and fresh piece of meat, It's coat was the colour of beige and it's big ears were flopped down to it's side. The clean cut on it's neck being the culprit.

She turned away, Clutching it close as she began weaving her way through streets of people. Her small body slipping through the cracks without a single trace, Finally leaving the area entirely.

As soon as it did, Her smile changed into something more triumphant.

The merchant had fallen for her lie, Just like all the ones before him. The old trusty one about her father or how she had no money. The latter wasn't much of a lie but it was overexaggerated and it worked every time.

She shoved what little coins she had within her haori pockets, The dragon patterned blue being newly acquired from a pretty white fox she had found while travelling through the woods.

It had the fabric in it's mouth. Being curious she had wrestled it out of the beasts maw and had found it to be a haori of cerulean blue, Liking the design of it she had decided to keep it and wear it now.

The coins shoved into the inner pockets were sparse and everything she had. She chided what little wages she got from her job, Exploiting the young and desperate to fatten their own pockets.

She sighed however, There wasn't much she could do or no one she could argue against as she travelled down the bustling streets. Of which people seemed to grow thinner and thinner as she went along until there was barely anyone there.

This village was poor, [F/N] could tell. From the crime running rampant in the night to the poor architecture of the houses, It was obvious. The merchant would be no different, From what she could deduce was that he was a poor man struggling to make money for his family.

She tried not to think about taking advantage of his good graces, Pushing it to the back of her mind.

[F/N]'s stomach growled, Making her free hand lunge down to her midsection and hold it in effort to soothe the ravenous feeling inside of her.

Either way it didn't matter what wages she earned or how she had lied to the merchant back in the market. She would be out of this village soon enough, She had a job to do after all and she had no time to mull over her situation.

"GET AWAY!"

A voice yelled out from in front of her, Making [F/N] snap her head up at the familiar voice.

A good few metres away from her was a group of boys, Younger than her but a bit older than the young child they surrounded. [F/N]'s eyes widened, The embers in her eyes bursting out into an angry flame once she realised what was happening.

"HEY!" [F/N] yelled out as her legs picked up, The rabbit in her hand tightened as her free hand clenched into a fist. Running over to the crowd of boys she saw they were kicking and tugging at the hair of the child they surrounded.

The leader of the group barely had any time to react as [F/N]'s fist connected with his face, Slamming into the side of his cheek.

The boy shouted in a yelp as his body hit the hard dirt of the ground with a thud, Blood erupting from his mouth. The other boys around him stopping the assault of the child to assess the situation with fearful eyes as they met the imposing figure of [F/N].

"The fuck do you think you're doing! Get the hell away from him you bastards!" [F/N] yelled at them. A grovel in her voice as the surrounding boys rushed to their leaders aid, Of which had already snapped out of his daze to look up at her.

"T-The hell are you?! We ain't bothering you at all-" The boy spat but was cut off once he came face to face with the enraged visage of [F/N]. Veins popping out the side of her forehead, Eyes containing a fire that spoke more than words ever could as his jaw snapped shut.

The boys beside him threw looks towards [F/N], Almost ready to pounce before their leader spoke.

"..C-Come on, Let's just get outta here." He mumbled yet spoke with such ire. The boys picked him up by the shoulders and helped him onto his feet, He threw one more cautious look towards [F/N] before he signalled his group to leave the area.

[F/N] watched them scamper out of the area, Spouting curses and cusses as they ran away down the street. [F/N]'s raised guard didn't dare to drop until they were finally gone, Leaving only her and the young boy in the village street.

Her head looked over to the boy, Her eyes softening as she laid upon him.

"Shizuko..! Hell.. Are you alright?" [F/N] asked as she crouched down beside him, Laying the rabbit beside her. Shizuko, Her younger brother. He was lain out on the ground, His fluffy hair was a mess with dirt coursing through his curls from the beating.

The green yukata and haori he wore was messed up with the grounds soil, Dirtied with splotches. It was unfortunate, It was newly thieved and of high quality. [F/N] doubted she'd find anywhere to wash or steal a new one anytime soon.

[F/N] reached over to him. Shizuko looked up at her with relieved eyes as she wiped the trickling blood off of his forehead. He hummed, Scratching at the wool of his gloves as he looked away from her.

"I.. I'm fine, Onee-san. Just a bit dizzy." He mumbled as he continued to scratch at his hands. He didn't dare look back up at [F/N], Not wanting to see the reaction she wore on her sleeve. Or more accurately- Her face.

[F/N] sighed as she used the sleeve of her kimono to dry the blood.

"What happened? Why were they picking on you.. I swear, If this isn't the first time.." [F/N] hissed as she scanned over his young self. He was only around four or maybe five, It was hard to keep track of time yet he was too young to hold the dirty bruises scattering his legs. Shizuko's scratching got more intense as he shrugged.

"Dunno.. I saw them playing and I wanted to join them.. But when I went to they made fun of my gloves and called me names.. So I called them one back and they just started kicking me.." Shizuko admitted as he showed [F/N] his hands.

[F/N] hand which was holding his cheek grew much more firm, Angrier. Her nose upturned into a snarl and her teeth bared at the mere imagining of what happened, All backed up by the bruises on his skin and the dressing of blood dripping down it.

"Those little- I should of given them more than just a punch.." [F/N] muttered as her hands ran down his body, Checking for any more injury on his little body with care and skill.

"..I'm sorry.. I don't wanna make you mad, Onee-san.." Shizuko said as he looked up at [F/N] with his dark eyes. They were reluctant, That was what [F/N] could tell as she stared back into them with a light gaze.

[F/N] sighed, Her hands raising to meet his own. She squeezed them once, A reassuring gesture.

"No, I'm not mad Shizuko. Not at you. You need to tell me these things, I'll take care of it. You know you can rely on me, Right?" [F/N] smiled as she stared into his eyes, Warm and inviting.

Shizuko smiled back, Though rather lopsidedly.

"Yeah, Nee-chan. I know.." He nodded. [F/N] nodded back at him before her hand hooked under his armpits. And with a small comment of "One, Two, Three!" Shizuko was brought up to his feet.

[F/N], Still kneeled down, Brushed off his emerald yukata with her hands. Making sure everything was in place before she got up herself.

"Now come on, You hungry? Cause look what I got!" [F/N] said triumphantly as she picked up the rabbit to display to her younger brother. Holding it high like a treasured prize. Shizuko's eyes widened, Sparkling in the warm sunlight.

"Woah! You got a rabbit? Does that mean we can have actual meat tonight?!" Shizuko squealed as he jumped up and down excitedly. His smile ear to ear, Brighter than the sun in the sky as he exclaimed it. [F/N] nodded.

"Correct! If I'm right there's some spices back at that old house, So we'll be eating good tonight." [F/N] exclaimed happily. It wasn't something usual kids were excited about, Rabbit wasn't a luxury nor was it a rarity for them to have.

But for them it was a good day. Any day where they ate meat instead of left-over vegetables was a good day.

"You won't burn it this time.. Will you, Onee-chan?" Shizuko questioned, Tilting his head to look up at her with slight caution.

[F/N] rolled her eyes.

"That was one time, I won't do it again!" She said adamantly. Lowering the rabbit to her side in favour of placing her hands on her hips. Shizuko giggled as he watched her reaction, His gloved hand raising to tug at the one on her hips.

"Come on! I want rabbit- I'm hungry! I'm hungry!" Shizuko pleaded as his little hand tugged at the arm of his older sister. [F/N] rolled her eyes but the smile on her face couldn't dim as she let Shizuko hold her.

She was happy that his spirits were raised from the low of the beating. As they started walking, [F/N] started to remember how this wasn't the first time this had happened to him and it put a damper on her mood.

Each town or village they had went through, From the valleys to the mountains the same things were to be expected. Newcomers were looked at with suspicion, Especially at two young kids with Shizuko was an easy target for the boys. He was small and wasn't able to fight back against the older boys, Especially targeted since it was obvious he didn't have any parent to snitch to. Which is why [F/N] took up the mantle of caretaker.

It didn't help that the constant scratching of his hands made him seem odd to any passer-by's. It made [F/N] angry, He couldn't control how his hands processed touch and how he chose to show it.

She wished people would have more empathy sometimes, Though by now she had become use to the opposite of it. Still, She had some hope. Not for her but for her younger brother at least, He didn't deserve it.

Her hand squeezed Shizuko's, His fingers curling around her palm to share body heat. A comfort between two siblings and the only touch the younger could ever stand, His hand grasping tighter at his sister's.

What a fool that man was. The concept of a late bloomer was never a thing to him, Just taking the child by the heel to dangle them over the river and not hesitating to let it run red. In truth, Shizuko wasn't defective as he said.

He never was, Never would be in her eyes no matter if he had the hands or not. But he did, He had the hands. He had failed the test, Yes, But he had been a late bloomer. His ability becoming more and more prevalent as he grew.

More and more until it had became way more than what that man's abilities could wield, So much so that he could identify the exact make of a fabric or the location it was made in. He could identify a fake from an authentic. In other words, It was divine.

But it was too powerful, Growing painful as he got older. He had gotten a disgust for the feeling of any object he touched, Feeling near sick once it connected with his fingertips.

[F/N] had trouble keeping up, The only solution she could think of was a pair of finely woven woollen gloves of the highest quality. The softest, A mild solution as it barely helped his discomfort.

But even so he held onto [F/N]'s hand, Her touch warm and being the only one ever to make him feel at ease.

As they walked along the street, [F/N] smiled. They weren't well off nor was there ever a day they had time to just sit back and relax. But they had each other, And that was enough for them.

But a thought lingered in her mind, One that never left her for a second. Even when she smiled it was still in the back of her mind, Eating way like a brain disease, Every second of the day that thought stayed with her.

If Shizuko was a late bloomer, Then what about all the others?

☆♡☆

"..You actually didn't burn it this time."

The moon was placed in the low sky, Signalling the early night.

The mix of luminescent blues and the darkest of ultramarines painted the heavens above, A beautiful mural speckled by the sparks of faraway inferno's. Lighting up the night and the village streets below with soft moonlight.

The luminous light took no heed in flowing through the partly stained window, The orchid blue igniting the floorboards below and the ombre shades of the abandoned bedroom. It glowed on the ledges of the dusty furniture, Outlining the bold shapes in the dark.

[F/N] sat on the bed. The alluring smell of slightly-overcooked rabbit invaded the room, Luckily overpowering the rotting stench of the decaying old woman in the other. Died from old age, Not by her hand.

This house was only a temporary hideout, Only a place to pass through and rest up before they moved onto the next. The old woman passing of natural causes was a blessing in disguise as it gave them time to reside here before her neighbours got suspicious.

"Well, You didn't burn it as much as last time." Shizuko teased lightly, Giggling as he bit into his rabbit.

He sat beside [F/N], Comfortably placed upon the mattress with his legs folded in a basket. His gloved hand clutched on a cooked leg, Only singed slightly at the sides. The smell of the spices and herbs drifted in the air, A running rosemary and pungent paprika.

[F/N] tossed her head to the side, Smiling as she held a small arm. A much smaller portion compared to her younger brother as her bony fingers wrapped around the forearm.

"Shush! You're lucky I was able to get the grill in here working, Just eat your rabbit in peace. Okay?" [F/N] bit back as she started to nibble on the rabbit's paw, Barely chewing off any of the skinned meat from the bone.

For a good few minutes they sat in silence. The dust particles floating about the room only illuminated by the glossy radiance. They took it in, Both chowing down on their meal, The rabbits ravaged skeleton sitting only a few feet away on a bedside.

Though it was interrupted when Shizuko slowly stopped chewing the meat from his half-eaten leg, Eyes focusing down onto the exposed bone in thought before glancing up towards [F/N].

"Onee-san..?" He mumbled, A stark contrast to his chipper tone turned sour.

[F/N] blinked, Looking down at him.

"Yes? What do you need?" [F/N] asked.

Shizuko didn't answer for a moment, Taking a look back down at his rabbit as he seemed to ponder his words. His frown deepened, Looking back up at her.

"Why do we never have rabbit often like the other kids?" Shizuko asked, Staring into her eyes with his own charcoal hues. He looked conflicted, Confused even. [F/N] swallowed down a chunk of meat as she looked at him.

"..What do you mean?" [F/N] asked slowly.

Shizuko hummed, Frown sharpening.

"Everywhere we go it seems like the other kids always have some kind of fancy meal like udon or ramen while we only have it sometimes.. We always have boiled vegetables or berries.. Why can't we have fancy food like the other kids too?" Shizuko asked, Tilting his head.

[F/N] didn't speak, Her mouth locked firmly shut.

The rabbits arm lowered in her hands, Dropping to her thinning thighs as she turned to stare towards the moonlight's grace. Her eyes searched within the room's darkness, Sentences fizzling out on her tongue as she desperately tried to grab at the proper words to say.

She didn't even want to say, She didn't even want the question to be prompted in the first place. Telling him would be wrong, Telling him wouldn't do him any good nor would it do her any good.

But she knew it would come along eventually, So she spoke.

"Well.. We don't have ramen or udon because.. It's not too good for your health." [F/N] finalised. Looking down at Shizuko as he took in her words, Silently praying to whatever god up there that he would buy it.

Shizuko only stared back up at her, Eyes narrowing in on her face.

"Why? All the other kids have it every other day..?" He asked. [F/N] bit her tongue, She guessed the curious mind of a child really was unmatched. She gripped the ledge of the bed as she spoke.

"It's because you're special, You know, 'Cause of your hands." [F/N] lied through her teeth as one of her hands snaked over to his, Wrapping around his palm in a comforting manner as she spoke.

"My hands affect food..?" Shizuko asked, Confused.

"Yeah.. If you ate too much of the fancy food then your hands would loose all their power, That's why we can only have it every so often." [F/N] explained. It wasn't the best explanation, Nor was it thought out, But it was the best she could think of as she spoke.

Shizuko looked away from her, Turning back down to the rabbit leg he had in his hands. The gloves clutching onto the rabbits wrist moved a little, His eyes honing in on them.

"Are you okay, Shizuko?" [F/N] asked, Suddenly feeling concern from his actions.

Shizuko raised the rabbit leg, Only nibbling off a chunk from the thigh. Chewing slowly, He scoffed.

"It's just.. Why are we so different from everyone else? The other kids don't move houses every week.. They always have new clothes but not us and they have parents that look after them! Where's our parents, Nee-chan?!" Shizuko exclaimed, Hands slamming down onto the bed.

[F/N] was taken aback, Her eyes widening for a moment. Shizuko seemed angry, In a split second he had seemed to let out whatever was building up inside of him. [F/N] swallowed, Trying to think.

Lying to him, That was something she never wanted to do yet had done it more times than she could count anyways. Not to mention the merchants and the sellers, It always left a sour taste in her mouth when she did.

But was lying to him as bad as telling him the truth? To what lengths was a lie morally wrong and what ways did a truth truly hurt? She didn't know, She really didn't know.

But her heart followed her mouth, Tongue guiding her way.

"Shizuko.. " [F/N] said softly, Getting down from her perch on the bedside to kneel in front of him. Her hands still ran to grasp his as he seethed slightly from his outburst, He looked into her eyes, The moonlight's radiance reflecting off of them.

The warmth of her hand cradled his, Soothing him for a second.

"The reason we don't have parents is because.." [F/N] swallowed back her hesitation. "..They died years ago, Leaving us alone."

"W-What?! How? How did they die, Nee-chan?!" Shizuko exclaimed, Eyes going wide.

Sweat ran down his brow, His jaw going agape at the revelation. The hand wrapped around his squeezed slightly, Though she wasn't sure if it was for her comfort or his this time as she tried her best to steady her shaking jaw.

"Bad people killed them when I was just a kid and you were still swaddled in cloth.. I was barely able to get you out of there before they got to us too, I had to carry you through storms, You know." [F/N] said finally as she looked up at him.

Shizuko didn't speak, Just stared blankly with a shaky frown. The rabbit leg had been long dismissed to the side, The luminosity shining across their faces and the serene surroundings was a silent soliloquy in that one frozen moment.

Shizuko swayed his feet slightly, A sombre expression washing over him.

"You won't die too, Right..? You won't leave me will you, Onee-san..?" He asked, The first tinge of insecurity shone through his voice. It made her frown deepen in the lines, The worry seeping into his voice was repugnant to her.

Her hands parted from his for only a second.

"Shizuko.. I will never leave you. You will never have to be alone, Okay? I'll be here to take care of you, I'll make sure that you never need to worry about things like clothes or food.." [F/N] hummed so low within the bask of the moonlight, Her voice just as soft.

Shizuko looked back at her, Their eyes connecting in an understanding not uncommon for the siblings. The way both of their eyes shined, The way both of their expressions turned into something more warm and familial as each second passed by.

It was comfortable.

"..You promise?" Shizuko smiled, His voice nothing but the pass of the wind. [F/N] smiled back as her hand reached out, Her hand reaching out and her pinky entwining with Shizuko's.

And suddenly, The room didn't seem as cold anymore.

"I promise you that I will never leave you.. Death would need to pry us apart for that ever to be the case.." [F/N] confirmed, Her pinky squeezing around his in such a comforting manner.

"..Were they nice? Our parent's..?" He asked. His voice so quiet yet in the quiet of the room seemed so loud.

[F/N] smiled once more, A familiar love growing between the two despite the sour taste pooling in her mouth. She nodded her head slowly, Though the splash of red appeared in her peripherals.

"Very. Now finish your rabbit and get under the covers, It's well past your bedtime." [F/N] said finally, Getting up from her knee to stand in front of him. Shizuko smiled brightly, Snatching the rabbit leg and hastily chowing down the meat before shuffling back on the bed.

[F/N] helped him take off his haori. They had no nightwear so they slept in their yukata's. Raising the covers, Shizuko buried his legs under them. The old woman's bed providing warmth as she blanketed him with the thick duvets.

Shizuko laid his head against the pillow, Still smiling as he got comfortable.

"Night, Shizuko.." [F/N] said, Turning and trailing away from the bedside into the ombre casting in the room. The luminescence leaving her, Yet Shizuko's eyeline never straying as he raised a brow.

"Huh? Where are you going this time, Onee-san?" He mumbled, Nuzzling into the soft bristles of the feathered pillow. Ebony eyes as dark as the shadows staring into her with concern.

[F/N] smiled once more, Turning back to him.

"..I'm going to go fight the bad people, Okay? If anyone comes knocking, You know what to do." [F/N] comforted.

Shizuko smiled.

"Leave through the window and hide in the spot you told me to..?" Shizuko giggled as he pulled the sheets over him just a little more. [F/N] nodded, Turning back into the darkness.

"Exactly. Sweet dreams, Okay?"

That was the last thing she said before she walked further into the dark, Her pencil thin figure getting more and more fuzzy the more she traversed in. As she reached the wall she leaned down, Hand connecting with the faulty hilt of a sword hidden within the black.

She picked it up, Careful not to make any noise as she opened the door. Slipping through the crack with the blade following close behind.

Taking one more look at her little brother, She sighed.

She had to do this.

Then the door clicked shut.

☆♡☆

The moon still held high within the vastness of the atmosphere.

It was cold outside, A chill running down the spine of any bare skin that dared to be exposed within its domain. Not that there was anyone out at this time of night, Even if they tried they'd be deterred by the horrid weather.

But not [F/N]. The light taps of her footsteps lead her down the abandoned stone pathway, Devoid of the usual day-life within the village. Market's empty, No more adults standing about for idle chat or conversation. Just the whisper of what spoke drifting in the cold wind.

The grip on her sword tightened, Her hands shaking didn't bother her as her face was just as freezing as the weather surrounding her. It was such a large blade to be cradled within the small hands of such a young girl, Almost comical in her grasp.

She couldn't think about that though, What scraps of agency she had was left behind with her little brother. She had a job to do, Her sole sword was the only thing she needed to bring with her.

Nothing else.

The meetup point was suppose to be only a few metres away behind a closed sukiyaki stand. This village, Despite it's lovely exterior, Was rife with a disgusting underbelly laying below the flowers and flair above.

That's what [F/N] was told anyways, She wasn't paid leftovers to question why or who she was here for. She was told to listen, She was told to obey. That's all [F/N] needed to do and all she had ever done, Ever since she had been on payroll at least.

She walked further and further, The sukiyaki stand now in sight. It was located within the dingier part of town, Where bars were more frequent and the only company you could acquire was drunkards and tipsy old women on the prowl.

This however was one of the only non-alcoholic food stands around. It stuck out like a sore thumb, Probably why it was the meet-up area in the first place. Easy for someone to spot yet not out of place for the locals around.

[F/N]'s footsteps stopped, Now standing directly infront of the closed wooden shutters of the stalls. Everything was quiet now, Nothing but the friendly chitters of crickets and the hush of the wind dancing in the air.

She waited, Not moving a muscle.

"You're here."

A voice echoed out from behind the stall, A familiar tune to the tone of monotone.

[F/N] blinked, Turning around she had already sensed the man by the shade he cast over the moonlight. By the stench of tobacco and the lingering scent of alcohol, She knew he was there.

"I said I would." [F/N] stated. Not a snarky response like one you'd banter back to a good friend, But just a statement. No emotion of affection behind it, No kind of fondness but a simple brash cordiality.

The man looked back at her, A scruffy beard haphazardly grown on his face with tired eyes. Yet they were vigilant, They were prying and they scrutinized the girl who was more than a foot smaller than her.

She didn't shake however, Her stance didn't stumble nor did it stutter. She stood strong, Stronger than someone like her should of been standing for. Staring him dead in the eyes he spoke once more.

"You have a large bounty tonight. This village is a hotbed for the lowest of the low, The payment will be better than the last, Around 5598 yen is up for grabs. You taking it?" The man asked, Taking and throwing the cigarette hanging from his mouth onto the ground. Stomping it out.

[F/N] nodded slowly, Calculating the amount of money she would earn. Was it enough for a single bowl of udon? Maybe two.. Shizuko did say he wanted to have more of the 'Fancy Food'.

Even so would she have any left afterwards? She'd need to be smart about this. Maybe once she got older she could earn more money like the adults taking contracts, Maybe then she'd be able to afford nicer things for him or perhaps even herself.

"Yes.. I'll take it." [F/N] confirmed, Her free hand extended and uncurled on instinct. The man blinked, Blowing out the last remnants of his cigarette in smoky wisps before reaching behind his back and fishing for something in his back pocket.

And then a scroll was dropped into her palm. Tossed by the man as her hand grabbed onto the chilled fibre, Pulling it back to her and uncurling the rolled paper.

"Okay, Have fun then. Report back the next night for your reward. You know the rules: If anything goes sour I'll find out.. And won't be back, Once you off the targets you bring the heads back for proof of kill and of course, Don't get caught." The man said, Turning around.

[F/N] didn't bother to watch him go, Eyes already skimming the names and locations written down on the paper. He had already disappeared into the dark of the night before she even bothered to glance up at him.

The paper had listed several unknown names and vaguely familiar locales, Just as usual. There seemed to be around six on this one, Six separate criminals for her to slaughter with their blood turning into her money.

That was her job. Ever since those men had lured her away with her baby brother in her hands she had been doing this. While [F/N] hadn't been born with the sensitive touch of the hands, She was born with something else.

A finesse with a sword, Or any weapon for that matter. Her hands were special in the way it swung a blade or jabbed it into flesh. Like a honey badger, It was a wonder how she could take on people so much bigger than her and come out on top.

Not even a skill but a talent, Not even needing much training from the group of mercenaries that had took her in. She didn't see much of them but she didn't need to either, Just travel from whatever village or city she was told to go to.

Killing criminals is what she did, The scum of the earth and the barnacles on the bottom of the ocean floor. Though as she thought about it more and more, It was more like the snake swallowing it's own tail.

She shook her head. Thinking wasn't something a mercenary was meant to do, Not in this kind of scenario. [F/N] squeezed the hilt of her sword, Her legs picking up in what she was meant to do as she took off into the vastness of the night.

[F/N] ran, Faster and faster as she didn't even make a sound running through the street. The first location was already engraved in her mind, Locked to the task, Her eyes went straight forward.

Morality was nothing but a hinderance when survival was a priority.

☆♡☆

The blood runs off the blade in rolls, Dripping carmine onto the cold dirt of the floor.

It splashes against the ground in splotches, Life returning to it's mother and seeping into the miniscule crack lining the muck. The wind did nothing to move the sword which it came from, Didn't freeze nor flare in the nights lukewarm air.

Popped vessels, Ligaments snapped like faulty twine, Jugulars punctured with polished canines and fingers chopped like fresh produce. None of these made her bat an eye, Not anymore.

The human body was like putty in her hands, Or bamboo against the edge of her blade. Once you do this for long enough, You learn to map out the nerves from foot to forehead. Memorise where to cut to cause most misery, What splatter of blood will come out if I puncture here?

Decapitating heads especially, Becoming akin to breathing over the years. Just one flick of her wrist and the spray of blood would burst into the air, The leftover bouncing away onto the ground.

[F/N] had to learn, Needed to if she wanted to survive. The severed head of both men, Women and even kids her own age being the singular trophy she needed to return with. Like a dog, She followed. Because if she didn't, She wouldn't be fed.

Being trained by a gang of mercenaries was nothing short of altering, Though [F/N] couldn't even remember what she had changed from in the first place. The only memory she carried was fast asleep in his bed, One where she worried for constantly.

When the blood runs into the river water, What's to say it won't reach the stream ahead? [F/N]'s tried her best to shepherd him away from her own life, Still tasting the lies on the tip of her tongue.

But their future, His future. Both of them were unsure, But [F/N] knew that she couldn't keep him away forever, Not when he started to grow and foster curiosity.

So she stood within the confines of the old rotting walls, Silently looking down at the carnage caused by her own blade. His severed head still spilt his own ichor, Eyes bulging and staring lifeless at his own decapitated body.

He wasn't the first, And he wasn't going to be the last either. Not for a while, Not for a long time coming.

[F/N] still had one more target to hit by the end of the night, And if she wanted her brother to eat by tomorrow she'd need to aim well.

So she entangled her fingers amongst the mans bloody locks once more, Yanking his head up and tossing it into the rucksack filled with all the rest, Making it feel right at home amongst all the other heads she carried.

And [F/N] left without a sound, Silent as she moved throughout the shadows of the room and out the drafty window cooling off the blood. No one spotted her, Not as her ravenous figure melded into the shadows.

On route to the next one.

☆♡☆

The darkness of the night, A curse to many that wandered the streets of this lone village yet it was a blessing for [F/N] as she moved throughout the shadows.

Her body was concealed. What few people were about had no idea about the young girl only feet away as she passed, Only a drift of the wind as her body circled the perimeter of the house.

It was her final target, Her final stop and that money would be hers. [F/N] was exhausted, Absolutely drained yet her heart kept pumping and her lungs working. She needed to keep going, Keep working until she broke.

That was what a good mercenary was, What a good tool was.

The house was bigger than the others in the village, In the nicer section of houses and streetways. It had two stories and was rather tall for it, The first floor being triple her height as a pre-teen.

She hopped the high fence with relative ease, No noise made as her legs swung over the lumber bar and feet thumping against the grassy floor. She hadn't been spotted, Not by any possible bystanders or the residents themselves.

[F/N] needed to move quickly. From what she had scouted, Her last target was inside. She hadn't spotted any others inside though the scroll did describe him as having a wife and child of some sorts, But from what she had seen they weren't home.

Her hands brushed against the splintered wood of the housing walls, Trailing her way towards the nearest window. It was so easy, For a usual criminal he definetly didn't have any survival instincts as it was open ajar.

Strange, But she didn't think much of it.

As she shuffled closer towards the window, She peered inside. Hands resting on the frame as her eyes barely peeked over the edge.

A simple table and tatami mat was the only thing inside. The lantern placed atop it wasn't lit, Even slightly broken, Making the room just as dark as it was outside. There were several doors, All shut.

But the centrepiece of the entire room, Was the man sitting at the head of the table.

He wasn't anything special, Though [F/N] couldn't see much of him as his back was turned to her. Just the scalp full of dark hair and a thinly green yukata that clothed him, Average too, This really did seem like an easy job.

The hands gripping onto the ledge tightened, Careful not to make a sound as she pulled herself up from the dirt and grass she stood on before. Worn sandals pressing on the old wood with no noise, She climbed inside.

Her feet hit the old floorboards, The creak being near melded into the silence. [F/N] stared at the man, Eyes not wandering for a single second. This was it, His nape was in sight and so ready to be cut.

Moving forward, He didn't suspect a thing. None of them did, Neither him nor the rest.

Her sword slid out of the hilt, Rusty blade not shining though the moonlight shone through the open window. Her grip tightened around it, Careful as she raised it up, High towards the gods that guided her blade.

"..Papa?"

[F/N] stopped.

For a moment she felt as if time itself had stopped around her, Just to observe to moment.

[F/N]'s eyes darted over to a door she hadn't noticed before, One along the far wall. It was tilted open, Just a crack. [F/N] didn't even notice that it had opened, But she certainly took note of the young girl looking through from the other side.

She was mousy with golden blonde hair, Dark eyes that peered through the crack. [F/N] could make out that she was young, Younger than her with pretty ribbons tied up in her honeyed-hair.

She was Shizuko's age..

[F/N]'s eyes connected with the girls, Her own widening as the sword in her hands was still raised in the air, Ready to strike down on her father.

But the man froze up, Shoulders raising as [F/N] realised the dark shape cast by her blade was in his full view.

He turned around, Terrified eyes meeting with the ones that were destined to kill him.

But in a split second he acted, Jerking his head back to meet his daughter, Eyes pleading as his mouth opened up to call out to her.

"M-"

He didn't even get past the first syllable.

[F/N]'s sword was brought down onto him like the striking tide against the shoreline, Blade cutting through the fibres of skin, Hardened bone to muscle. It didn't even take a second for his head to fly off his body in a spray of hot blood, Tossing around until it slammed into the front wall.

The head rolled onto the floor, Bruised and battered until it stopped.

Right in front of his daughter, Who looked down at it in horror.

The girl screamed, High and shrill as her dark eyes widened to their very limits.

[F/N] didn't know what happened, Her face splattered with the mans ichor as she looked over towards his severed cadaver of a head. The droplets of blood ran down her cheek to her chin, Nesting in the corners of her face.

From the corners of her eyes to between her lips, The ichor had infested.

Every inch of me is covered in the blood of an innocent man. She didn't have control of her body, Not her hands nor her blade. Instinct to kill acting on it's own. [F/N]'s eyes trailed down to her hands, Where the blood was most potent. Drenched entirely in red, Spilling onto her hilt and the metal of the rusty blade.

Holding her weapon up to her face, She looked at herself in what little reflection remained and just stared.

Don't get caught.

That's what he had said, That's what rung in her ears every time she hunted.

[F/N]'s eyes darted back over to the girl, Her screams still piercing and echoing around in the room. It was silencing, It was like air raid sirens hollering throughout the night. It was all [F/N] could hear, Not even listening to her ragged breathing no longer.

The girl pressed herself to the very back wall of the room she was in, Legs near crushing themselves into the wall in desperate attempt to keep the growing pool of blood away from her.

Did.. Did she do that? He had a child..? He had a child. He.. This man..

The mans head, Her fathers head. It stared up at the girl, Thanatoid eyes gazing up at his daughter.

It only made the girl cry harder.

"I.. I'm-" [F/N] didn't even acknowledge her parting of her lips or the strum of her vocal chords. Her fingers shook, Almost dropping the lowered blade in her hands.

"G-GET AWAY! G-GET AWAY!" The girl screamed, Eyes finally turning up to her and staring like a cornered animal. Like she was a ravenous wolf, Like the blade in her hands was the sharpened point of canines.

Ready to bite down onto her.

"D-DEMON, DEMON!! SOMEONE, H-HELP ME!!" The girl continued to scream as her knees almost buckled on her, Shaking, Trying not to collapse against the decapitated head of her father.

[F/N] stumbled back, Legs acting on their own.

She needed to go-! She needed to get out of here! The girl's wails would alert the neighbours soon if not already, Soon enough they'd find her- They'd get her-! In all protocol she should kill the girl- The girl-

The girl looked like Shizuko.

[F/N] ran.

Her body moved for her once more, Jerking around towards the open window and near lunging herself through it. Hands gripping the ledge, She felt herself snake through and the soles of her sandals slam against the dirtied ground.

The girls cries never stopped, Not as they ran through the window and echoed out into the empty night. [F/N] could already hear the calls of concerned neighbours, Watch as the bursts of lantern-lit light shine through the cracks of the houses around them.

[F/N] didn't wait to see their faces.

She sprinted away, Hopping the high fence with ease. This wasn't in the job, This wasn't in the deal! The man who she had slaughtered like cattle, From what she read on the list he hadn't had any daughter mentioned-!

It said he lived alone-! It said he-

[F/N] felt herself break.

They lied.

They lied to her.

[F/N] kept running, Making her way onto the streets as she heard the uproar of crowds. Yelling, Screaming and crying. All noises ran throughout the streets like a pack of dogs, Chasing her, Following her and ready to drag her back.

Those men, The people that had gave her the job. They had told her he was a criminal that lived alone in this town, No family of the sorts to be found. But he did, His daughter was there.

She looked well-cared for- She seemed healthy-

But they had lied.

And [F/N] had taken that away from her.

Tears started to drop down her hollowed cheeks, Shaking legs trying not to tumble over. She was still covered in that man's blood, Head to toe, But she ran like hell to the place her body took her.

Shizuko.

[F/N] needed to get to him immediately.

They needed to get out of this town, That girl had seen her and knows what she had looked like. Everyone would know, They'd be searching-

That man.

He wouldn't be back for her, Not for her bounty. With the way the village seemed up in arms, Screams piercing through the night and chasing her down, He would know exactly what had happened.

There would be no one to save her. Not her, Nor Shizuko.

So she ran, Faster than she ever did before.

Covered in the blood slaughtered innocence.

☆♡☆

"Careful-! We need to move quickly.."

[F/N] hissed lowly to Shizuko, Though it was not venomous in tone. The light of the daylight was a malison to them, Most ironically like a shadow, Following her like a curse.

Her hand gripped onto Shizuko's, His young undeveloped fingers wrapping around the thin and spindly phalanges of [F/N]'s. He looked up at her, Worried and confused eyes staring at the focused one's of his sister's as she peered around the corner.

[F/N]'s back was pressed firmly against the outer wall of the house, Located near the edges of the village. Her head poked around the corner, Observing the stroll of pedestrians nearby.

They were on edge, High alert. [F/N] could tell by their raised shoulders, The way their eyes darted back and forth as if something would jump out at them. They were very aware something was out there, Something dangerous.

They had her description, They most definetly did.

[F/N] heard the worried gossip of the locals in town, She heard the way they discussed the murders and the one who had hailed them. Her hair colour, Eye colour, Skin to her clothing was all rumoured about.

She couldn't be seen, Not even a glimpse.

"Onee-san.. What is happening? Why are we running?" Shizuko whispered, Hurriedly and hushed. His little hand gripped onto hers so tightly, Confused as to why she was so disturbed.

[F/N] glanced back at him, Trying to keep her horror to a minimum. "..Don't worry about it, We just need to lea- ACK-"

Though before she could finish her sentence she keeled over, Hand resting on the edge of the house lunged to her belly as she suddenly groaned in pain.

Shizuko gasped, Instantly coming to her side.

"Onee-san! Are you okay?! What's wrong?!" Shizuko cried as he watched [F/N] grasp desperatley at her tummy. It felt as if her stomach was eating itself whole, Not having anything in days, Her body started to feel woozy.

Drool ran down her lips, Aching for a bite of food she so desperately craved. But she wiped it off anyways, Trying to supress her hunger.

"..I-I'm fine.. D-Dont worry about me." [F/N] coughed as she finally released the hold on her stomach. [F/N] raised from her position, Back straightening out to display the ridges of her spine poking through it.

Though her answer was quick, Shizuko didn't believe it any longer. "No way! S-Something's wrong.. I.. Nee-chan, What's wrong with you..?" Shizuko whispered as he looked over [F/N]'s skeletal form.

There was no way they could get food here, Not anymore. The vendors would notice her, Especially the ones she had already swindled. Anyone she had interacted with in the past few days would recognise her description, So there was no feasible way she could get any sustenance.

Besides, It's not like she had the money to pay for it.

They needed to get out of here, But that was easier said than done. With the several murders, Some residents have taken to night patrols. Others who fancied themselves heroes have kept their eyes open, Searching for the person who could've done this.

Their loved ones, That was no doubt.

"..Please, Shizuko. I'll tell you everything later, I promise you.. But we need to leave now! We can't stay.." [F/N] pleaded with him, Squeezing his hand as tightly as she could with what little strength she had.

Shizuko looked back up at her, Eyes starting to water. Though he was young and unaware of the situation, He understood the severity. Especially when he looked into the eyes of his older sister, The ones that looked like they were about to shut down.

"Come on now.. The exit is only a bit away. We'll get some food and shelter for you soon.." [F/N] smiled through her pain, Hand starting to tug Shizuko along as she walked out of the corner.

It was a lie, This town was so far from it's neighbouring villages that it would take hours just to get to the nearest settlement. But [F/N] so desperately wanted to believe that they would get out, She had to, She had no other choice.

She'd get Shizuko out of this, Out of the mess she had made. Even though her body was failing, So close to collapsing altogether, The only thing she could think about was her younger brother's safety.

So she tugged him along, Carefully making her way through the streets. Scurried through alleyways and back routes, Making sure that no one would see her, That they would get out and she would somehow figure out a way to safety.

Her legs carried her forward, Thinning and whittling away by the second as she ambled towards where the town edge muddled into wilderness. Carried along the sides of the streets, She pulled the scarf over her head just a little further.

"Come on.. Almost there.." [F/N] assured Shizuko as she finally caught a glimpse of that finish line. Eyes shining with hope, She picked up the pace.

[F/N] finally saw the ending. The wilderness blurring from the town streets. She saw the lush clusters of leaves burst out from the branches in the trees, She saw the way the fields of rye-grass blow in the gentle wind.

She saw the sun high in the picturesque sky, And her stomached ached with hunger.

[F/N] stumbled towards it, Desperate as her legs shook like a new born-foals. Shizuko in hand she yearned for the sun, Wobbling towards it. Her vision growing deluded, Woozy in the head from the dire hunger in her stomach.

So close-! So close to-

[F/N] collapsed.

Her legs finally gave out, Knee's buckling under her as she fell to the ground. Her body hit the smoothed out dirt pavement with a thump! Fortunately letting go of Shizuko's hand in time, Not letting him fall with her.

"ONEE-SAN!" Shizuko yelped as he ran over to her fallen form. Lowering down onto his knees as he watched his older sister wheeze and sputter out what moisture she still held in her throat.

[F/N] picked up her head, Eyes straining towards the blue of the sky.

She needed to get up, [F/N] couldn't fail here! She had luckily fallen next to a wagon and horse duo that had luckily concealed her form from the passer-by's a few streets down, But [F/N] knew it would only be a temporary hide out.

Fingers dug into the dirt of the pavement, Muck getting under her hardened nails. [F/N] tried to get up, To get out of this situation and get Shizuko to safety. She needed to try.

Get up, Get up now! You can't fail here.. Useless- Get up-

"..Looks like you could use some help."

A man's voice called out.

[F/N] jerked her head up towards the wagon, What little spike of adrenaline helping her up. Her eyes widened, Strained and shaking as she watched the figure of an older man hobble around the side of the wagon.

He cast a shadow over her and her brother who had rushed to her side. Grey haired and weathered stature looming over them, [F/N] stared back up at him with wild eyes, Almost challenging him to do something.

"..Y-You. Who are you..?!" [F/N] interrogated, That coarse of adrenaline in her veins helping her to her knees along with Shizuko guiding her movements. She stared at the man, Arm moving in front of Shizuko as if to protect him.

The man took the cigarette out of his mouth, Staring back down at her as he tossed it on the floor and stomped it out.

"I'm a merchant 'round here. Was about to leave for the next town over with my exports before you two collapsed against my wagon, So'? You need help or what?" The man asked rather bluntly, Watching as [F/N] stumbled to her feet.

[F/N]'s eyes rushed to the wagon. Confirming his claims once her eyes laid on the clusters of jars, Crates of fresh produce and barrels filled assumedly to the brim of wines and juices of all kind.

It made her mouth water on command once more, Stomach lusting after the sweet-sour taste of the fruits inside.

The man caught quick wind of this, Instantly moving in front of his wagon.

"Ah, Ah! You ain't takin' any of my stock without a fee, Little Lady." The merchant remarked, Standing rather defensively between her and his wagon. [F/N] gritted her teeth in turn, The greed of this man making her want to punch his jaw in.

But before she could say anything, The merchant spoke up once more.

"I recognise you, Ya' know." He started, Leaning up against the Wagon. "You're that kid who killed some of the people around here, You match the description from what I've heard. Or am I wrong about that?"

"..Yeah, So what?" [F/N] huffed, Nose curling up into a snarl as she almost challenged him with her eyes. So he did recognise her, Word has spread even to the travellers passing through.

The mans lips upturned into an opportunistic grin, Standing up to his full height.

"I could get cha' outta here, Both you and that one there." He said, Pointing a fine finger towards Shizuko. "It just so happen's that I'm passing by a pretty lovely village to sell my stock, Maybe I could drop you off there."

[F/N]'s eyes narrowed in on him.

"What's the catch?" She prompted.

"The catch is 5000 yen." The man replied as he fished a hand into his yukata pocket, Reeling out a cigarette which he promptly stuck in his mouth. "I ain't wavering on the price, It's sittin' firm."

"5000 yen..?" Shizuko asked lowly, Glancing back towards [F/N] who instantly started to search through the pockets of her haori.

Her hands searched desperately, Trying to scrounge as much coins as possible from within her pockets. Fingers touching cool material, They snatched every little penny from inside and yanked them out into her palms.

Shizuko watched as [F/N] started to count the coins laying within her palms, Shifting through every last one as she tallied the number in her head.

[F/N]'s lips thinned.

She counted them again, Flipping through the coins once again with just a little more urgency than before. Come on, Please- 5000 yen. [F/N] prayed to whatever god was listening, Whatever one could help her, Prove the number wrong-

"Nee-chan.. Do we have enough..?" Shizuko asked, Tugging on her haori as he noticed her crestfallen expression.

"I.." [F/N] stuttered, At lost for words as she stared at the amount carried in her hands.

2530.

2530 was all she had.

The man seemed to take note of her expression, Watching as her face just went blank, Staring dead at what could've almost been her death sentence laying in her palms.

"Ah, Well. If you don't have enough money, Can't take you and the kid there. It'd be a long journey and you'd need to take some of my produce, The stuff I'm tryna sell here." The man explained, Shrugging as he lit his cancerette and turned away.

[F/N]'s expression grew frantic, Watching as he started to just waltz away from her and her brother. She loathed him, She hated him. A man who had more than others yet yearned for their riches anyways.

He was greedy, He was mammonish. Everything [F/N] hated in a man yet he was the only one who could get them out of here.

Looking down at the pennies in her hand, She knew that she wouldn't be able to afford their journey out of here. Their journey. [F/N] looked down towards Shizuko, Watching his eyes start to loose that glimmer.

It made something in her just.. Stop.

That frantic look in her eyes started to die, Her hunger slowly fading to nothing but white noise in the background as she looked at him with something more akin to acceptance. Shizuko, Her younger brother, The boy who she loved and cared for his entire life.

They had fought through hunger, Fought through thunder and storm and won against all odds. She had lied and swindled hundreds, Killed even more, All to make sure that her little brother would survive.

But what were the odds now?

Her head turned up towards the sky, Where the sun was held. It was almost looking down at her like the gods from the heavens above, The beautiful blue sky that reflected in her eyes, The birds soaring free through the clouds.

They wouldn't get out of here, They would not live.

Not together.

"..Then just take him, Take my brother."

The man turned around, Lit cigarette in mouth as he turned to look at the girl stood still beside his wagon.

Shizuko's eyes widened, The grip he had on her haori tightening.

"Nee-chan! What do you mean just me?!" Shizuko yelled, Tugging harshly on her haori to try and get her to look at him. "What about you..?! You're coming too, Right? Come on, Don't be like that!"

Despite his cries, [F/N] didn't look down at him. She didn't move or budge a bit, Almost despondent, Her eyes wandering somewhere far off into the distance.

"The price for both of us is 5000 yen. I have 2530, That is half of that number. So just taking my brother would be enough fee." [F/N] spoke. Soft in tone as she smiled, Finally turning down to look at Shizuko.

He stared back at her with terror unlike she had ever seen, But her eyes only held acceptance. Acceptance of her fate, Acceptance of his.

She smiled at him, And Shizuko felt himself shatter.

"Mmm… Yeah, Alright' I'll take that deal." The man broke through their silent conversation, Shrugging as he walked forward towards them with an expecting palm out. "Hand it over and the deal's done."

[F/N] outstretched the fist that clutched the last of her saving tightly, Hovering it over his hand.

"Before I give you this.. You need to promise me something." [F/N] said, Her voice darkening along with the sharpen of her eyes.

"Shoot." The man prompted.

"You must promise that Shizuko will be taken care of." [F/N] insisted, Staring him dead in the eyes. "You make sure that he'll be fed and housed somewhere, With good people. Make sure he has a damn good life."

"Nee-chan.. What are you doing..?" Shizuko muttered. The look in her eyes, The one that reflected the suns greatness. The acceptance within them, Shizuko did not understand even a little bit.

The man almost laughed at that, Humourlessly, But almost.

"Yeah, Sure, Whatever. There's a nice little rundown temple where some monk takes care've a buncha kids like you. He'll be fed real good there." The man said, Rolling his eyes before blowing out a puff of cigar smoke.

[F/N] eyed him like a rabid dog before finally letting go of the coins in her hand, Letting them fall into his hands.

She has no other choice.

He quickly snatched them up, Stuffing them in his already filled pockets before waving a hand and turning towards the front of the wagon.

"Alright then'. Then say your goodbyes quickly and get your brother in the back. I gotta head out quickly if I want to make it there by dawn." The man said as he strode off around the side of the wagon, Going off to tend to the twin horses sat idle in front of it.

[F/N] didn't remove her eyes from the back of his fine-woven yukata, Though her gaze was somewhere far-off. Despondent, She didn't move.

But Shizuko kept tugging on her arm, What little strength his age had started to plead with her.

"Nee-chan! What do you mean just me?! What about you? You're coming with me right..? You promised you would stay with me! You said that you would so don't break your promise!" Shizuko asked rather urgent, Eyes pleading with the ones that didn't meet his.

[F/N]'s lips parted, Letting out a small sigh as she finally turned her head around to meet him.

A smile still there, Plastered on her face.

But her eyes spoke differently, And Shizuko couldn't comprehend what they meant.

"..Of course." [F/N] spoke, Her thumb starting to rub circles into his hand. "But right now.. I'm going to need you to be brave, Okay? You're going to go away somewhere for a while, Somewhere I can't follow.."

[F/N] bent down onto a single knee, Barely keeping her up as she lowered down to meet Shizuko's eyes. He looked back at her, Turtling back into his shamrock yukata. He seemed at a loss for words, Barely able to stutter out a sentence.

"What.. You're not coming with me?" Shizuko mumbled, Shaking his head. "What will happen to you? Where will you go..?"

[F/N] continued to look him in the eyes, Smile still on her face yet it faltered.

It was if her lips had tightened, Pressed together to make sure the words she had wanted to say would not get out. [F/N] didn't dare speak them no matter how much she may have wanted to, No, Instead she looked up towards the sun.

The blue sky was as vibrant as it always was, The birds sailing free across the expanse of their sea. Hark, [F/N] could hear their calls, It echoed throughout the sky above, Making her long for the heavens.

But the birds raised higher and higher, The sun above seemed much more dull than it usually did. [F/N] watched as the clouds drifted away, Away from her. The sun continued on as the birds soared off into the distance.

They would continue, She would not.

"..I'll be fine, Shizuko, You know I will.. I.. We'll just be apart for a while, Okay? Once I'm settled and doing better, I'll come find you, Okay?" [F/N] tasted the sour flavour on her tongue, The same one that appeared when she talked to town merchants.

Disgusting.

Even so, Shizuko didn't seem to accept this, Heartrate spiking as he lunged into her arms.

"N-No! I don't want to leave! I wanna stay with you Nee-chan! Don't let me go, I-I don't to leave- You promised, You promised!" Shizuko cried as he wrapped his tiny arms around her mid-section and buried his head into the hollow crook of her shoulder.

[F/N], Even though her strength was dwindling quickly could very well pull him off of her. She could of very well picked him up and set him down onto the back of the wagon, But she didn't.

Instead, She wrapped her own spindly arms around him, Resting her head atop his mop of curls and sigh.

She closed her eyes, She had to do this.

"Shizuko.. How about I tell you a story?" [F/N] whispered, Pulling him closer towards her.

Shizuko blinked, Tightening his hold around her. [F/N] didn't hear a single word from him, Not whisper or wail. She sighed once more, Knowing very well that Shizuko wouldn't say anything.

So [F/N] took a deep breath in and started.

"…So, Once upon a time there was.. A boy and his lamb." [F/N] began, Digging her nose deeper into the curls of his hair. "The boy and the lamb were very close, They had basically been together since birth.. The boy was the lamb's very best friend.."

"..The lamb was the boy's best friend too, Right?" Shizuko finally mumbled, Head still firmly pressed into her neck like an anchor, Unwilling to let her go.

[F/N] smiled.

"Maybe. I suppose it depends on how you decide to look at the story.." She said, Staring up towards the sky once more.

"The boy and the lamb did everything together. They ate together, They slept together, They were never apart and both of them were very happy about that.. The boy loved the lamb, And the lamb loved the boy." She whispered.

"Until..?"

"..Until the lamb wandered too far from home one day." [F/N] said, Now unable to stop the water boiling up over the rims of her eyes. "T-The lamb was careless and cocky, It had wandered into a lions den."

Shizuko noticed the wobble in her tone, Eyes darting over to see the face he just couldn't make out from this angle. [F/N] kept his head pressed softly down on the crook of her neck, Not wanting him to worry.

"And the lamb was stupid enough to drag the one person it loved most into the den with it, The boy had followed the lamb and now they would both be eaten alive for it.. They both would die." [F/N] whispered.

[F/N] now had a hard time keeping her voice steady, Keep herself from hugging Shizuko tighter and never letting go. [F/N] didn't want this, She didn't want to die. She wanted to live but-

"..N-Now, The lamb was much faster than the boy. It could very well just run away to leave the boy to die, It could save itself but.." [F/N]'s words died out into nothing more than a whisper now, The grip on her younger brother softening to a featherlight grace.

Tears flooded over, There was no other option.

"The lamb had gotten them into that situation, T-Therefore the lamb decided that it would get eaten while the boy ran. The lamb would give itself up for the boy, Because.. T-The lamb loves the boy, The lamb would do anything for him.." [F/N] croaked, Holding him closer to her chest.

Shizuko couldn't feel the hot tears melting into the curls of his hair, He wouldn't see where they came from even if he did. But his eyes started to wobble, Specks of saline starting to dust his eyes.

He gripped onto her tighter, Tighter than he ever did before.

"What does it mean.. Nee-chan, W-What does the story mean?" Shizuko whispered.

"..I-It means that the boy needs to run now. No matter if the boy and the lamb don't want to separate, E-Even if they had promised to stick together. It means that he must go now and leave the lamb behind.." [F/N] whispered.

Her grip loosened on him ever so slightly, Almost debating whether she should stay like this forever or let him leave. But the way her stomach ached, The way she felt that she would fall apart any minute now.

It told her what she needed to do, What she must.

[F/N] let go of Shizuko, And with whatever little strength she had left in her body she snaked her thinning arms under his armpits and hauled him up towards the back of the wagon, Nestling him amongst the piles of cargo.

Shizuko didn't cry, But his eyes became an angry red. He didn't take his eyes off of her either, And [F/N] was too dehydrated to cry any longer. So she just stood, Smiled as she stumbled back away from him.

"Nee-chan.. You'll come find me, R-Right?" Shizuko pleaded as he laid in-between the goods, Settled between boxes and jars filled with everything that he'd ever need. "You won't forget about me.. You.. I'll see you again, Right?"

Shizuko, Born from the blood of his predecessors and raised through storm and slaughter. His hands were blessed by the gods, His palms were divine. He was curious, He was intuitive, Headstrong to the letter.

He was smart, He was clever.

Yet just not enough to know that here today, He would be the only one to see the glory of the moon tonight.

"Of course. I'll find you after all of this is over.. Sooner or later." [F/N] smiled, Weak and feeble as she tried to quell the way her organs started to die. The way her muscles started to fail, Her eyes grow foggy.

In her barely-working heart she knew it was a lie, And it disgusted her to her very core. But he didn't need to know that, He only needed to survive.

"Leavin' now!" The merchant called out from the head of the wagon, Sat with the reigns of the twin horses clutched tightly within his palms. He had a lazy look as he glanced back at them, Only needing the confirmation of the back of Shizuko's head and [F/N]'s distance away from his wagon to take off.

It happened in a single whip of the reigns, A squeal of the twin horses' rally and the rattle of the wagons wooden frame.

The horses raised their front hooves, The shine of their sleek chestnut coat shone under the sun as they slammed them back down onto the smoothed out pavement.

They took off, Dust in their wake as the wagon was pulled along with their trailblazing gallop. Stallions, They had to be, Otherwise how could they have dragged them apart so quickly?

The sound of clopping hooves, The neigh of the equines. [F/N] stood by, As still a broken clock as the dust of the stallions gallop drift around her emphasised ankles. She watched, Eyes still connected to Shizuko's with the saddest smile she had ever worn painted on her face.

He stared back at her, Still sat on the back of the cargo. He rocked back and forth along with the movements of the wagon, Though his eyes remained fixed to her no matter what. An unsure, Tight lipped frown on his face.

He got smaller and smaller, Almost like a speck of dust. [F/N] didn't know how long she stood there, How long until the beautiful blue sea above them became one with the horse and wagon.

And Shizuko was gone, Disappearing on the horizon.

The sun still shone bright in the sky as ever, The clouds drifted further and further away from her and the birds became nothing but a memory she could recall in her far mind. And as ever, She was starving, Soon to die.

The wind brushed through her untended hair, Dancing in the wind. It tickled at her skin, Lukewarm summer heat seeping into the skin that hung thinly on her skeletal frame. She took it in, The last she would ever feel.

[F/N] turned, Eyesight becoming two-timed and foggy. She stumbled in her walk, Mind working slower than it would ever normally but she knew what she had to do as she tried to keep her footing in stride.

[F/N] found it funny, What little strength she had was used to recall a fact. One she had read from a book she'd stolen once, It was a fun piece of trivia. One she recalled as she turned in the other direction and stumbled off.

When cats grew old, When their time came and they were going to die. That cat was said to sense it, To know when it was going to pass on to the next life.

When it did, When that cat got that impending sense of their life-string shortening it was spoken to go off and find a place to die. They do this because they know that they are weak and vulnerable to predation, They do it because it's peaceful.

But a cat doesn't want to die alone, A cat would much rather pass on surrounded by what little loved ones it had. But it's a complicated answer as to why they would prefer isolation, Aside from the benefits it might give.

There is no one answer as to why the cat chooses solidarity, Some even go the opposite route and become much more affectionate to their owner.

But if they do isolate they will often curl up to numb their pain, They go to sleep, Unconscious after days and nights of walking. Somehow still alive despite their fragile state.

Laid against the steps of a shrine, Shadow protecting them from the scorching heat of the cruel morning.'

☆♡☆

The slosh of the cold ocean waves hit the legs of the rickety wooden docks as always, Aquamarine seafoam was their residue, Running down their supports in rolls.

The shrine stood tall, Decaying support and dying candle-light still visible through the paper-thin windows. Like a god above everything else, It towered. Her prison still there to loom over her, Cast a shadow on her back.

The dark void of the infinity castle still hung overhead, The emptiness almost audible and reverberating through the entire passage. It was so null here, So completely nothing. It was lonely, It was isolating. Alone, As always.

And Akaza's hand was still gripped firmly with [F/N]'s, Fingers hesitantly interlocking in a union unfamiliar to both.

"..I have killed hundreds, Akaza. Not demons, But human beings. People who did nothing to provoke me or my ire.." [F/N] spoke, So low that it could've melted into the sloshing of the luminescent sea around them.

But Akaza heard it well, He heard it all.

The slaughtered newborns, The slaughtered men, The starvation and the sacrifice. The lion and the lamb.

His eyes were focused into a point of the docks below him, The broken glass of his golden eyes didn't look up at her, Not as their fingers were still entwined. The story that she had told him, The one where she had starved against a shrine not unlike the one they were perched before.

His stare intense against the docks, His lips thinned.

The story she had told him, To survive as the strongest of the weak. It made something in him turn, Something he did not like.

"..You had to survive. You killed because you needed to feed your brother and yourself, It is just simple survival of the fittest." He didn't have control of his tongue in that moment, He himself was not even sure why he was saying this. But he didn't make a move to stop it, Just squeeze her hand tighter.

[F/N] glanced over to him with sorrowed eyes, An angry strained red appearing in them. There was no light reflecting in them, A frown deeper than her eyebags appearing on her face.

Still sodden wet with the ocean's salty water, From her hair to her clothes she was drenched. Droplets running down her skin like rain on a tiled roof, Chilled, She was shaking. Still curled up into a fetal position as if trying to calm herself down.

Like a cornered animal she sat, Terrified and alone.

"Thats the thing.. Akaza." [F/N] sighed, Looking back over towards the colliding waves of the ocean. "I have killed innocence. I have killed fathers, Mothers, Daughters and brothers. Every inch of me is drenched in their blood.."

She spoke, Her words turning into cold vapour floating off into the air.

"I am nothing but an abandoned beast.. I have broken my promises, My word is my lie- Just.. Don't try to convince me I'm a good person, I don't want to hear that right now.." [F/N] whispered as she dropped her head down, Closing her eyes as if to wake up from some terrible dream.

But reality was a horrid reminder not many could escape. Akaza didn't say much after that, How could he? What words were right to speak? Would he even dare? Why the hell did he even care in the first place?

[F/N] shook her head, Water still dripping down her defeated form.

"..What about you?"

"..What?" Akaza responded as his eyes darted over to hers for only a moment, Confused to her prompt.

"..Why'd you save me? You know.. Apart from getting to kill Kokushibo. You seemed pretty adamant that I still had something to offer.. But.." [F/N] pursed her lips, Her brows knitting together as if picking her words carefully.

"..You broke your principle. You hurt me, A woman." [F/N] finally said, Turning her dropped head to look at him. She recalled how he had punched her mid-fall, Pushing her over just far enough so that she would land in the water.

Blood had came out, He had injured her.

Akaza's body instantly tensed up, Muscles flexing up into something that seemed defensive as a scowl appeared on his face. [F/N] could feel his grip grow tighter around her palm, Something she didn't react to.

"..I didn't hurt a woman." Akaza remarked, Spitting out his words like a snake shooting venom. "..I stopped the strongest Hashira from making the worst decision of their life, From throwing away their strength."

[F/N] almost rolled her eyes if it wasn't for that unwanted flicker of gratitude still harboured in her soul, She clicked her tongue.

"..Whatever. It's not like it matters anymore.. Inari isn't real, Kaigaku is still alive and.. There is no way I'll ever get out of here, Out of this hell, Not alive anyways.." [F/N] whispered into the voids cool air, Almost wanting to glance up at the heavens before ultimately deciding against it.

[F/N] didn't say anything more after that, Neither did Akaza have a response. Instead the noise was filled with the settling of the old shrine behind them, The battle of the waves against the docks and the infinite emptiness of the void.

She sat there, Hands still covered in slick cardinal ichor. It would never wash off, No matter how much she'd scrub and scrub in the bath until her skin peeled off. It would remain forever, Wet and undried. Disgusting and dirty.

[F/N] had ruined hundreds, If not thousands of lives.

What redemption was in letting her stay alive when she had taken the souls of the many? What reason did she have to exist, To still be standing when everything around her just fell apart at her hand. Shizuko, Mitsuri, Everyone.

[F/N] was their curse, Their burden.

Tears started to reform in her eyes.

Why was she still alive?

Akaza sighed, Mind working thousands of miles per hour. He didn't know how to feel or what to do, How to comprehend all that happened in the last few hours. Kaigaku, The Soul Hashira and her suicide attempt-

How could he possibly react?

"..There is nothing I can do anymore.. I.. I just can't go on like this. Everyday it feels harder and harder just to not breakdown and give up.. I.. I just wanna give in, What more can I do?" [F/N] whispered not to Akaza but herself, Still staring intently at her palms.

Akaza still sat staring down at the old wooden stairs, His lips still thinned into a prominent line. He was lost in thought, Words spoken by the woman beside him swirling in his mind like an oncoming storm.

What could she do? What could she possibly-

Akaza's eyes widened.

"..What? You got something to do or..?" [F/N] took notice of the sudden change in his actions. Especially once his head perked up and snapped towards her, Almost able to see the lightbulb sparking over his head.

"Shit.. No.. Actually, There is something you can do." Akaza spoke and [F/N] instantly scowled at him. Great, Another lecture. She tossed her head to the side and lowered her head.

"..Akaza, I don't want some misguided speech about how it's all worth it. Please, Just keep it to yourse-"

"No-! No, I mean like there is something you can do to actually get out of here!" Akaza butted in, Exasperated as he looked back at her with an annoyed glare. [F/N] narrowed her eyes on him, Drifting her vision over to him.

What plan could he possibly have to get her out of here?

"You said that you and Kokushibo don't have a good relationship, Yes?" Akaza asked, Urgent in the eyes and voice.

"..Yeah? What of it?" [F/N] asked, Rather suspicious as she eyed him up and down.

"Then maybe that's the way to getting you out of here." Akaza stated, Almost as if he had this thought out in the minute he had planned it. "You need to gain his trust, You need to make him lower his guard."

[F/N] gawked at this, Eyes widening.

He was suggesting of all things, Of all possible ways to get her out of here.. Was getting friendly with her captor? A demon who had certainly killed thousands, Kidnapped her and destroyed her shrine. He was suggesting she played nice with him?

"Oh, Absolutely not." [F/N] rebutted, Shaking her head adamantly as she curled tighter into that sitting fetal position. There was absolutely no way she would ever try to please that monster, The one that she deemed worse than herself.

Akaza scoffed, Starting to pinch his temple in frustration.

"Oh come on, [F/N]. I'm giving you a way to get out of here, Gain the bastards trust. It sounds like he likes you and that is a fucking miracle here." Akaza snapped as he grew closer to her. "You would be the only person he would ever relax around, So you fucking take advantage of that."

[F/N] stared at him as if he had grown two heads, As if he had spoken absolute gibberish and expected her to understand it.

She opened her mouth, Angry and ready to argue.

"No, No, No! I'm not getting friendly with that goddamn degenerate. I-I don't wanna play house with him! I don't want to pretend to be his sister or.. Oh for fucks sake he's uppermoon one, He's a bastard. He's- HE'S-"

"-He's giving you any other choice?" Akaza cut in, Making [F/N] silence herself immediatley as she was met with the determined and unwavering stare of Uppermoon three looking her dead in the eyes.

[F/N]'s mouth hung open, Ready to argue and rebut everything he said but-

Nothing came out, Not a single word.

[F/N] shut her mouth, Slowly guiding it to close. Was she really given any other choice, In this vacant hell there was nothing but her and her captor. But was she really willing to give up her morals for..

Morals. Why would morals matter now? It didn't when she swindled family men out of their well-earned goods, Wrung the necks of hundreds and broken the promises she had held so deeply to her heart.

She was already at the bottom of the barrel, She couldn't sink any lower.

"..No. I don't have any other choice." [F/N] whispered as she turned away from Akaza, Eyes no longer wanting to linger on him and look at that determined expression. Jealous of his tenacity.

Akaza smirked, Getting through to her.

"Then you start playing nice with that bastard. You make him think that you want to be near him, All the while planning your escape out of here." Akaza said, Almost commanding as he squeezed her hand.

[F/N] sighed.

The grasp on Akaza's hand started to loosen, Fingers slipping away from their knot before retracting altogether. Akaza's watched [F/N] pull herself to her feet, The step underneath creaking with her weight.

"..Yeah, Okay. Whatever." [F/N] sighed. "I'll.. Play nice."

Akaza's smirk died, His eyes narrowing in on her as he watched her walk aimlessly up the stairs, Towards the shrine.

"[F/N]..!"

She turned her head almost despondently towards Akaza, A look in her eyes that told him she was lost. That her feet carried her somewhere she did not know, That something was still very long with her.

"I still have a question.." Akaza called out to her, Putting a hand beside him to push Akaza to his feet. "The Sunlight Village, The one you said you grew up in. It's still apart of the demon slayer corps, No?"

[F/N] looked at him as if she knew what he was about to ask. It was out of curiosity, Out of genuine want to know. To him, It just didn't add up.

"..If you were apart of the demon slayer corps as a prominent member, Your father, The head of the sunlight village would've been able to recognis-"

"-I killed my father, Akaza."

[F/N] called out and her voice echoed throughout the entire void. Akaza stopped, Falling silent instantly at her quick answer. [F/N] smiled as she looked at him fully now, Humourless, Sad more than anything.

"I returned to The Sunlight Village, This time with a sword in my hand. By the time I had returned my mother had died from a miscarriage years before, So I couldn't get to her. But unfortunately for me, My father was still alive." [F/N] started.

"I severed his head with my own blade, I dragged his body to the river by the house and squeezed him until he popped every last drop of blood into the water." [F/N] stated so calmly, As if stating the sky was blue or that the grass was green.

Akaza could only stare dead as she turned back around, Not moving, Still as the wind now as they sunk in the silence.

"..If there was one person in this world that I do not regret slaughtering, Then it was him." [F/N] finished, A sort of fire in her voice so sure of itself. "That monster deserved it and so much more, I was merciful for giving him death."

And as soon as the words left her mouth she had raised her foot, Stepping forward and ambling towards the entrance of the shrine.

Akaza didn't speak up after that, His question answered and so much more as he watched the woman he thought he had figured out start to walk off. Would she be okay? Akaza knew deep down somewhere in his cold heart that she'd be fine.

For now, At least. She'd be alright for now.

But.. She didn't tell him the full story.

From where she had finished off, Any person listening from an outside view would've assumed she had starved and died. Though she was still standing, Barely, But still alive she was.

She didn't tell him how she survived, How she got mixed up with the slayers or kill one thousand of his kind. She didn't say how she became a man when she worked as a Hashira, Nor did she say why she wanted to kill demons in the first place.

Akaza didn't ask anymore questions however, Today had enough of them. He didn't have the energy nor the guts to question her any longer. Instead, He'd let it settle, Just for a little while.

She didn't want to tell him, And that was fine.

He'd let it go, Just for today.

Akaza turned around, Beginning to wander off down the rickety yet trusty docks. The still wind started to pick up and start to dry of his corpse-coloured skin, Making the small tufts of salmon hair start to wave in the air.

And just as fast as he came, He left. Disappearing in a burst of wind and the strum of the biwa woman he called out to.

☆♡☆

The sunlight flooded in through the cross-paned window, Illuminating the specks of dust drifting through the inner spring air.

The emboldening light reached the desk of the makeshift office sat in the infirmary of the butterfly mansion, Amaterasu's radiance smiling down on the petite woman idling by the bookshelf adjacent to the desk.

Shinobu shut the hard-cover book, Carefully reaching upwards to place it back with it's family of similar literature. Biology, General medicine, Botany. All of these were keywords in all the titles, Each sorted and ordered neatly on the shelf.

It was a slow day in the infirmary, Only one or two patients laying fast asleep on the beds lain out for them. This gave Shinobu some time to herself, Time she usually dedicated to practicing her craft or getting her usual one-hour in for sleep.

But she didn't feel like sleeping, And she had flicked through every book in her library a good few thousand times. Other tasks she usually did like feeding her pet goldfish, The one sat on a cosy fishbowl on her desk had already been tended to.

So Shinobu wandered over to the windowsill, Where a sudden floral aroma hit her nose like it usually did. But unlike flicking through her books it never got old, Instead making her smile something more genuine than she usually wore.

Petunias, They were her favourite flower.

In the past few months or so, Shinobu had taken a hobby to gardening. Often spending more and more time out in the mansion's lush gardens, Planting and potting flowers, Digging up produce grown in the soil.

She found something comforting about watching something so small as a seed grow into a budding flower. The petunias she grew on the long pot across her windowsill being a particular example.

Shinobu reached a delicate hand out, Cupping the base of where the stem met the petals with a polite touch. Leaning down just a little bit she closed her eyes, Taking a long breath of the sugar-like scent, Inhaling every ounce of it into her lungs.

It calmed her, If only a little bit.

TAP! TAP!

Shinobu opened her eyes.

She raised back up to her full height, Hand falling away from the flower as she spied the visitor on the other side of the windowsill. It was her crow, Kamakiri, A sleek ebony feathered bird with a decorative butterfly charm collar around it's neck.

Shinobu smiled, Reaching over and flicking open the latch to the window. She pulled it up with a mindful screech, Careful not to wake what little patients she had in the infirmary.

"Ah.. Kamikiri~! I see you're back from your scouting." Shinobu greeted. "Though I suppose that's not entirely why you're here.."

Between the beak of the crow was a pristine white envelope, One the colour of doves. Kamikiri nudged it forward and Shinobu took no time in fishing it from her birds mouth, Stretching out a single finger on her free hand for her bird to sit on.

Kamikiri happily took the perch, Flapping its wings upwards before settling down on top of her mistress' finger. Shinobu, With her free hand, Managed to unseal the letter from within the envelope with relative ease.

She held it up to the sunlight, Letting Amaterasu guide the words dotted with ink on the paper. Her glossy eyes scanned every symbol, Her lips pursed as she continued on, An intrigued expression appearing on her face.

"..A cult near Fukushima, I see.." Shinobu muttered as she continued scanning the letter, Observing the official report from the head kakushi. She continued on, Eyes reading every word with consideration.

But her breath hitched in her throat.

Kamikiri squawked, Her wings flapping once, Then twice before lowering down and taking off out the window. She soared out yet stayed close to the mansion, Circling back to go assumedly perch in the makeshift bed that was made for her here.

Eyes widening, Shinobu's shoulders raised. What resemblance of a smile on her face broke down into a monotone line, Eyes staring blankly at the keyword written plain on the piece of paper.

Shinobu's eyes darkened, The petunia's smell becoming all the more potent.

"UPPERMOON TWO"

Next Chapter

44 notes · View notes

chewiedon · 3 years

Text

SWIM IN GOLD | DOUMA

request: Reader is known to be the most beautiful woman in the village. Douma got intrigued by the word 'beautiful' from rumors that he tried to find the reader to see how beautiful she is and probably eat her soon. But when he saw how beautiful she really is. He hold off his hunger and kidnapped her. After that, Douma locked her in one of a special room for Queens (idk). The reader was upset and wanted to escape. As soon as she got the chance to, she run endlessly through the deep forest. A demon jumped out and attacked her, but before it could. Douma was there to kill it himself. The reader was threatened to be punished after that. But she doesn't care anymore. She knows she is safe with him from now on.

You woke up on the rough surface of the tatami mat with a thin comforter over your figure. Waking up with confusion plaguing your mind, you quickly raised your body and turned your head left and right trying to find something familiar in your strange surroundings. Immediately you tried to remember what you did the night previous, did you get drunk and accidentally sleep with someone? Did you end up being kidnapped?

The last thing you remember was laying down comfortably in your futon and going to sleep, not being able to recall the ingestion of any intoxication. The thought crossed your mind that someone might have drugged you asleep, that way you wouldn't have woken up. You weren't that heavy of a sleeper.

Morning rays of sun seeped through the cracks of the shoji doors, a body sized mirror in the corner or the small room reflected the little light it could catch. Standing up on your feet you got a better look at the room you were in, your gaze stopped at the sliding door which you immediately grabbed.

Sliding it open you were welcomed with long halls containing wooden floors, a man in a light colored kimono flinched when he saw you as he rushed to you.

"Madam, please wait in that room! The Lord is currently speaking to worshippers, I-" You cut the distressed man before he could continue.

"Where am I? I've never been here before," You were confused at the formality, sure men were usually formal to you but never like this.

"You're within the Lords' Chambers, if you're refusing to stay in there I'll have to lock you in there, madam!" You disliked his tone of voice with you, you were looking why and where you were and he was trying to lock you inside a room?

The rules of being a good guest flew out the window, you were in this strange house against your will and you don't want anything to do with it. You raised your voice, anger and frustration beginning to surface.

"I don't give a rat's ass about your "Lord" or whatever! Why am I here, I wish to leave!" You could feel the heat surface to your face as aggression rushed through your body, your foot stomping on the floor in frustration as if you were some child.

"Ma'am please!" The man pleaded.

"I had a feeling I heard a commotion~!" A masculine voice sang, a man dressed in colorful layers of kimonos with shining blonde hair.

He looked like he didn't long for this world, he was so colorful. A top his head he wore a crown as if he were some kind of God, in this case you could even say he was that. It explains his majestic appearance.

"Pardon the trouble, but please get back into the room, I'll be with you soon~!" You could hear the facade behind his tone, it was disgustingly obvious and he was disgustingly good at it.

The colorful man reached out to touch you, likely for some kind of comfort. You swatted his hand away, and took a step away. Your emotions were going haywire, who do these people think they are? Kidnapping you? Before you could even blink, a large hand had grabbed your jawline and pulled it forward.

"Keep this shit up and I'll punish you. I'll be with you soon," His tone turned cold, his smile wiped off his face- he looked like a different thing entirely.

Your stomach sank as fear had set in, this man standing in front of you was much bigger than you and clearly had power over people. There wasn't much hope for you, was there? You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded with a small whimper, you could feel your forehead dampen with sweat.

He removed his hand slowly and put a friendly pat on top of your head, his cheery disposition had returned. He walked down the hallway, the same way he came from originally.

"I'm so happy my wife is so understanding~!" He sang, "Takeshi-san please take good care of her in my place!" He sang before disappearing around the corner, leaving you in shock.

The servant, now dubbed as Takeshi shouted back, "Y-yes Douma-sama right away!" Before nudging you back into the room.

Douma was a name that rang in your ear, your mother often talked about him with the other housewives in the village about his cult. Despite the warm demeanor that followed the Eternal Paradise religion, you'd stayed far away from it. Something felt always off.

And now that you were stuck inside this small room with no reason why you were in the first place. A rock had settled in your stomach, a very large and immovable rock. You sat on the rough tatami mats on the verge of tears, choking back sobs.

Minutes turned into hours, hours of a sore throat and quiet crying. You were stuck, and nobody would think to look for you in here.

"Crying? What's wrong?"

The voice you had dreaded resonated throughout the room, your gaze was fixated on your crossed knees. His hakama pants made way into your view as he stood right above you.

"My... You didn't even use any of the gifts I got for you. I was sure you would like them."

"Why am I here?" Your voice was cold, trying your best to keep yourself from shaking.

Something was wrong, so very wrong. A sinister edge came off of Douma, he almost reeked of impurity. Simply from the way he presented himself to you, his facade made the rock in your stomach only grow. Your evident helplessness only made your anxiety spike.

His hand was cold, he cupped your cheek. Douma's multicolored eyes seemed to leave you in a trance, they were beautiful. Before you could even process what was happening his lips were on yours.

You've never felt more disgusted by something than right now.

Douma didn't have any body heat, his skin held a chill to it.

Shivers danced up and down your spine, you didn't dare to break the connection. He broke off and kissed your forehead while you stood frozen.

His breath smelled like blood.

"Was that your first kiss? Well don't worry, when we get married I'll make sure to kiss you plenty~!" He sang out, a bright smile on his face and his cheeks red.

"Married?" you had started, "I can't get married, my mother says I must wait until I'm 18 until I choose a suitor!"

"Your mother, oh the nice older lady with (h/c), right? No worries, I ate her just last night when I took her!"

Ate? What the fuck?

Was he the leader of some sick cannibalistic cult? Worshippers of the devil? Your voice was caught in your throat, unable to properly process the words that had spilled from Douma's lips. Was it a metaphor for something?

Douma sat down, your gazes at a similar height as you sat up straight. His back was slouched to look you straight in the eye.

"I'm unable to stay long, I'll make sure to keep you lots of company tomorrow though! It's simply just bad timing, my master has requested a very impromptu meeting. I'll be back, darling~!" he skipped around the room and flung the shoji door open, revealing the engawa.

Taking a deep breath, allowing the night air to fill his lungs.

"The night is beautiful," Douma commented, "But you're even more beautiful."

In less than a blink of an eye he disappeared. As if he was never there in the first place.

Douma didn't lie to you, he did have to leave to see his higher ups. But it was a trap, a test. He had known you were jittery, and he could feel the rushing adrenaline from the moment the two of yours' lips had met. He knew you would try to run away, and as such he could provide protection. Humans' minds were simple and delicate, and he knew how exactly to get you on his side. You were such a delicacy, he's never felt drawn towards someone like he had with you.

It may have been the way other men had talked about you. Or the way you had presented yourself to others. Those meager humans didn't deserve you in his opinion. You presented yourself as some kind of goddess, an inhuman being and giving your attention to mere maggots.

Back inside the estate, you didn't even look to see if Douma had actually left. Some fucked up shit was happening here and you didn't want any part of it. Not even looking for your shoes you had dashed out of the house. Ignoring the stinging of pine needles and small rocks against the bottom of your feet, you forced your legs to carry you through the forest.

Even though you didn't get a good look at your surroundings, nothing looked familiar in the slightest. You didn't care if you were running to the middle of the forest, you just needed to get away from him. The loose kimono restricted your movement, you twisted the obi off and lazily knotted the string around your waist.

Eventually, your adrenaline and stamina had given out. Your burning muscles only got weaker until they eventually gave out and knocked you on your knees, your lungs on fire from running. You had no idea how far away you were from the house, you could still see the dim light over the array of bushes and trees.

The song of the crickets was loud in your ears, as well as the snapping twigs and the rustling of the life around you. You had tried your best to muffle your heavy breathing, not wanting to cause any abnormal disturbances that might hint to your disappearance. Putting one hand over your wheezing mouth and another over your chest in hope to help calm yourself down. You could feel the blood pulsating all over your body.

"Ohoh? A human?"

Your heart sank, everything in your body completely refused to move. Ruled by the exhaustion and terror. It wasn't Douma's voice, but the choking stench of death made your throat close up.

"A woman too, luck really is on my side tonight!"

The demon stood above you from the withered log you had been hiding against, he twisted his body downward inhumanly. Grabbing your shoulder and digging his claws into your flesh, the stinging pain invading all your senses as you tried to wiggle yourself out. You tugged desperately at the hand, screeching and crying until your vocals were sore.

"How troublesome."

Before you could even begin to process the bloody image in front of you, your body had slammed into the rough ground below you, almost knocking the wind out of you. Scurrying backwards, seeing the attacker now in bite sized pieces. Decorating the grass below him with his insides.

"You disobeyed me."

Douma stood on the log above you, moonlight highlighting his figure. Godlike. Just what was he?

"I'll have to punish you."

The shaking in your body ceased, as soon as he had stepped on the ground before you your arms were latched around him.

You didn't care how he'd punish or hold you captive, you knew you were safe.

#douma #demon slayer douma #douma x reader #demon slayer x reader #douma demon slayer #demon slayer #demon slayer muzan #kny muzan #muzan x reader #kny x reader angst #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #anime x reader #manga x reader #hi

305 notes · View notes

remmushound · 4 years

Text

My spooky gift exchange to @nightneko!!

Content warning: Blood, decapitation, character death, trauma

Leonardo was running. He was running but it wasn’t enough. The rain pounded all around him like the song of his own demise, the stone under his feet growing slick and the purchase hard to find, but that didn’t matter. As he long he kept going forward, that didn’t matter. The momentum was needed, and he couldn’t slow. Not for a second. The moment he slowed, he knew he would get caught.

It had all started out so innocently. He had been practicing his portals after a bout of insomnia seized him in the night like the claws of a great raptor in flight, and he had to do something to pass the time. Sleep didn’t come after an hour, or two, or three. On the fourth hour came resentful training up on the rooftops of his city, so beautiful and bright when compared to the suffocating fog and black sky of this doppelgänger world He found himself in.

Time after time, he had traced a circle in the air and step into it. Time after time he thought of the places he wanted to go— from the Bronx to Brooklynn to Queens... to Tony’s Pepperoni’s and Murakami’s Place; the blind salesman would always leave out leftovers for the Yoru ni kuru hito, the ones who came in the night, who he couldn’t see but knew where there and would make sure he got home safely. Then Leo had gotten reckless. He started testing his speed. How fast he could teleport. How fast he could think of new places to go. Testing the limits of his weapon, fueled by a cocky sense of invincibility that most teenagers had. Hueso had warned him of such things as portal jackings and the horrors they could hold for the one attacked. How, the more times you teleported, the stronger the signal you sent out, like a beacon to your coordinates. How it made it so easy for them to find you.

When Leo had finally decided to go home, he had such a clear image of the lair in his mind. Bright and colorful, the walls covered by Mikey’s increasingly impressive graffiti, some of the older examples drawn over by Donatello’s equations whenever he’d have a breakthrough without paper handy. Numbers and symbols traced over colorful pictures of old, worn from the years but still carrying so many memories in the peeling paint. Leonardo imagined everything down to the last detail; every last crack left by Raphael by accident or on purpose. The groove worn into splinters chair by years of repeated use. The kitchen filled with leftover pizza, the snore of three sleeping turtles and an old rat echoing down the halls. But there was none of that when he stepped through the rift and landed on the other side.

Instead of the warm invitation he had expected, the air was cold and lifeless. The walls were gray and the floor stone, with no mat or rug to block the barrier of frigid ground. Instead of comforting light, there was dim gray, and his breath came out in heavy plumes of fog. There was no gentle snores— no sound at all, in fact, apart from the distant sounds of running water. The air didn’t smell of breakfast, but of rot and decay. It smelled like death.

“Wha... guys?”

His voice echoed in a haunted melody that returned to him from all directions.

“This is a surprise.”

Leonardo jumped and spun around to face the figure approaching him, not quite at tall as Leonardo, but regardless was walking in such a way that made him feel small. Hands folded behind his back, a peculiarly designed white lab coat draped over his bulked form, and a mouth frowning. A mutant. A turtle. With a purple bandana.

“Who are you...?” Leonardo had asked once his body allowed him too. The other was so familiar to him, yet somehow... monstrous. Maybe in the way he didn’t smile— nothing like when the Donatello back home rarely ever offered the gesture. When Donnie did that, it was just Donnie being Donnie. But this frown seemed almost sinister, somehow.

The other mutant only hummed. On his three-fingered hands were red gloves— no, they were white. They must have been, at least, under the layer of glowing crimson that coated them top to bottom in a A viscous layer. It was then Leonardo noticed that the pattern on the lab coat wasn’t just a pattern— it wasn’t a pattern at all— it was blood.

When Leonardo’s eyes began to adjust to the dark of the sewer tunnel, more patterns and items came to his view. Strewn up on the walls and on showcase in dim, glass cases— in jars, fermenting in some kind of liquid, and on the floor and even some hanging from the ceiling. Body parts. Mutant body parts. Fur and scales and skin— organs and bones and... shells. Three of them. Hollow and empty of the lives stripped from within them, adorned with ribbons and weapons. The pelt of a mutant tiger laid on the floor, mouth opened in an eternal cry of agony. A rat— an old, mutant rat— was stuffed and positioned in such a pose it were as if he were alive; mediating in an eternal slumber. Leonardo had almost called out to him until he saw the stitches. The stiff and limp tail, the unmoving body. And that’s when Leo ran.

He splashed blindly through the waste-infused water, charging through the blackness parted only by the odd storm drain offering lamplight from above. Quite often he’d stopped to catch his breath and to try and listen through his heaving and the pound of rain from the surface. Every time he did stop, he was faced with the heart wrenching sound of the second set of foot steps getting closer. Closer. Closer.

The five minutes it took him to find the nearest manhole felt like five hours, and the time it took him to scale the ladder and escape through it felt like even longer. Longer for the blood-splattered mutant to catch up. The first thing he has done once he crawled out into a trash-strewn alley was to find the nearest fire escape— if he could just get away long enough to stop for a moment, long enough to think, maybe a plan could be found in the chaos. There was always an escape. There was always an escape. There was always...

Three buildings crossed and Leo looked back. Three building down he saw the sick, perverted Donatello standing there silhouetted in the light of the street, bō staff in hand. Grinning at him. Leonardo ran on.

Seven buildings crossed and he turned to look back. The monster was even closer now and Leonardo could make out the features more clearly. He could see the other turtles eyes. He didn’t know what to expect when he gazed into them. The red, glowing eyes of a monster, perhaps? Eyes void of any sanity or sense? Maybe! But no. They were just eyes. Just normal eyes. Bronze, gleaming with life. Leonardo ran on.

Ten buildings down. Thirteen. Fourteen. Leonardo couldn’t run anymore. His legs gave way and he crashed to the ground, yet still his pursuer kept on going. His pace did slow when he saw the other mutant collapsed there on the building, but he didn’t stop. Leonardo tried to crawl. If he could just get into the sewers again, or the streets, if he could just disappear!

It was too late.

“Wow.” The donatello—no, Leo couldn’t bare to think of him like that— the mutant stood over him with a partial smile. He wasn’t panting, hardly even breathing. It was like he wasn’t even alive, and with the appearance of him it was easy to believe. “Y’know, I would’ve expected you to put up some sort of fight. My Leo sure did.”

Fight— fight! Leonardo reached behind his shell. The Mutant clicked his tongue and laughed, shifting his body to show off the gleaming sword supported on his back.

“Probably shouldn’t have dropped this either; just, in hindsight, you know.”

“What— please—“ Leonardo couldn’t get full sentences out; breathing was far more important.

“I know, I know.” The mutant laughed and waved his hand, “but hey— it’s all in the name of science, huh? I’ve never worked with a Trachemys scripta elegans, so you're something entirely new to me!”

He pulled out a needle filled to the brim with hot pink fluid.

“And here’s something new to you!”

Leonardo crawled to the ledge and tried to escape over it, only to be met with a sharp kick to the middle of his carapace that pinned him to the stone.

“This is just a little something to make you sleep...”

“DONATELLO!”

The voice sliced through the night like a knife. A woman’s voice. The Mutant’s force on Leonardo’s shell lifted, and when Leonardo turned to look, the turtles back was turned to him, staring at a girl. A girl with ginger hair and a pale face speckled with brown freckles.

“April!” The abomination gave a grin.

April? This girl was April?

“Donnie this has to stop.”

Leonardo could escape now if he wanted to. Sure, his legs were still numbly sore, his chest still heaving, but there was some sort of energy returning to him. He couldn’t just leave April though...

“Come on April, you know I have to.” The Mutant walked toward April with gentle demeanor that betrayed the darkness inside him. “Sacrifices have to be made in the name of science!”

“How many is it going to take, Donnie?” Tears flowed freely through April’s eyes like water spickets. “Leo, Raph, Mikey, Splinter... am I next?”

“I would never hurt you, April.”

His sword— if Leo could just grab his sword he could save himself and the April! He could grab the sword and he could...

No. He could never go through with it. Not with that monster looking like it did. Not with him looking like Donnie. But if Leo could just chase him off...

“Splinter didn’t didn’t even fight back, did he?” April went on. “He didn’t even try to stop you!”

The mutant shrugged. “He could never hurt his son.”

“You’re a monster...”

Leonardo pushed himself slowly to his feet and crept forward. His hand out in front of him, ready to grab for his swords hilt, just praying this April kept the Mutant distracted long enough.

“I’m not.” The Mutant shook his head, “I’m a scientist.”

Leonardo bit his tongue in his focus with enough force to draw forth the metallic taste of blood. Just a little closer...

Then his wrist was seized when the other turtle spun around with lightning speed, gripping him tight and hoisting him up like a ragdoll. The Mutant fixed Leonardo with an amused stare. “And I’m also a ninja.”

Leonardo tried to struggle away. “Please— please just let me go!” He had no shame, he had nothing to lose but his life, “Just let me leave! I wanna get back to Donnie and Raph and Mikey!” His cheeks were stained hot with tears, and his chest felt as if it were being constricted by a python. “I WANT MY DAAAAD!”

The Mutant stopped. Leonardo gave a soft whimper as he was dropped violently and landed with a hard THUMP. He wiped his eyes to try getting a better read of the other turtle. To look in his eyes and try to decipher what thoughts were hidden behind the dark pools.

Then the Mutant laughed. The turtle dressed in purple laughed. A laugh that made his eyes close and called forth a few snorts between breaths. It was wrong— it was all wrong. A laugh should be gentle and lighthearted, drawn forth by a genuine joy. A noise meant to make your heart flutter a bit, especially when it was you who called that heavenly sound to release. But not this noise. This noise was a sinister one, a cold pleasure that made the surrounding air drop at least a few degrees. A monster like that didn’t deserve to laugh.

“You should see the look on your face!” He howled the evil tune of Leonardo’s demise. Then, all at once, the laughter stopped.

Leonardo’s ears rang. Though it took his mind several moments to process what had just happened, his body registered everything at once. A warm wetness all over him and the rooftop around him. The sound of a blade had come first of course— unmistakable to the swordsman— flashing through the air and slicing flesh. Slicing bone. And it was that which expelled the red fluid off in all directions. Then there was a thump. One loud, powerful thump that set Leonardo’s heart to continue the pattern and beat in his chest far too fast, far too hard. Surely it would jump out at any moment and leave him there, bleeding out with a gaping hole in his chest.

Then sound exploded back into his ears. The taste of iron flooded his senses, drowning out everything else. He touched his hand to his face and when he withdrew it, green had turned to an oozing red. The teenage girl stood there behind the headless corpse, holding Leonardo’s sword in shaking hands, just as bloody as Leonardo was. Her bosom heaved. Her breaths came out in soft whimpers, and her arms soon gave way and let the sword clammed to the ground. In the next moment she was gone, down the fire escape and leaving Leo there with the body.

He didn’t know how long he sat there waiting for his legs to regain strength, but by the time he was able to move, the blood had already begun to dry on his skin and flake off in a brownish powder. He picked up his sword and his numb arm guided the blade to make a portal. He gave a chuckle. Almost perfect.

He just about stepped through it before he remembered he was only holding one sword. He turned back to the dead mutant, a slight blood still oozing from the severed neck. Pillaging it’s body like a vulture made Leonardo sick, and he had to make a dash for the ledge of the building to hurl over it. He had his sword though. He could go... home?

Home. Warm and bright. By now it would be filled with the bustle of his family getting ready for the day. The whistle of Splinter’s morning tea... Mikey making breakfast. The sound and scent of sizzling bacon became so alluring it was almost real— and then it was. When Leonardo opened his eyes after stepping through the portal, Splinter sat at the head of the table, sipping his tea as he clasped it between two paws. Raphael and Donatello were bickering about something or other, and it was like the sweetest music. Leonardo looked down at himself and he was as clean as he was when it left— somehow the blood had left him, even though he swore he could still feel it slipping across him. A nightmarish sensation. Mikey, bright-eyed and yet to reapply his shell paint, turned to Leo with a smile and offered a plate of eggs and bacon and toast.

“Hi Leo!” He grinned. “You’re late for breakfast, mister! Here— eat.”

Leonardo smiled and almost broke into a sob as he accepted the plate. “Thank you, hermano...”

His eyes flashed to Donatello. The words that fell from the softshells lips were silent upon Leonardo’s ringing ears. When he blinked, all he saw was the blade slicing down— slicing him.

Suddenly, Leonardo wasn’t so hungry.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #donatello #donnie #leo #leonardo #tmnt au #tmnt spooky gift exchange

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thetrailofyourbloodinthesnow · 4 years

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Hindu Mythology Event // Day 6 - Underrated Relationships

Lakshman and Urmila

(I had originally planned something different for today, but this fic popped in my head, and I amazed myself by managing to write it in a few days. So enjoy some fluff of these two after Lakshman's return to Ayodhya) (Also in AO3)

"Really, Mila. You don't have to..."

Lakshman was promptly shushed by his wife as she lead him by the hand into the baths. "I want to do it."

He had long ago sworn to himself that when the blessed day of their reunion came, he wouldn't deny her anything she asked of him. So, he stopped protesting and followed her like an obedient child.

Still, he would have preferred to do this by himself. In the last 14 year he hadn't given much thought to his aspect. The grooming and bedecking that were a vital part of courtly life had to be abandoned in the harsh austerities demanded by the forest exile. Royal silks and oiled hair were replaced by clothes of bark and matted hair, but he'd hardly care. Besides, for most of that time the only people that had been around to see him had been Ram and Sita, who were in the same unkempt and unclean state as he was.

He knew he looked nothing like the dashing prince that had left Ayodhya all those years ago, but seeing his reflection in an actual mirror (he had only seen it in rivers and ponds in the forest) and contrasting his looks with those of his twin made him realize just how much he had changed.

"Goodness, I need a bath!" He'd exclaimed, making his family laugh. In reality, he needed far more than a bath but he figured that was a good place to start. He'd tried to excuse himself from everyone to go get clean, but Urmila insisted on helping him.

"You must have expected your prince charming to come swaggering through the palace gates," he told her while she poured perfumes and flower petals into the water for his bath. "And instead, you wondered who was that wild ascetic that was walking toward you." He felt a little ashamed of not having thought of tidying himself up a little bit for her.

"Doesn't matter what I thought." The corners of her mouth curled up. "I'll have my prince charming when I'm done here."

She made him take off his tattered clothes and get into the water. He sighed when he entered the tub, it'd been a long time since he'd had a hot bath and he'd forgotten how good it was for his strained muscles. Urmila began soaping and scrubbing his skin, rubbing it with turmeric and herbal pastes until all the grime and filth that had accumulated in his pores had been drawn out, leaving his skin smooth and soft. She raised an eyebrow to the scratches and bruises that covered his body, but didn't comment on them. She'd already been told everything would be explained later.

Before they arrived back home, Ram had asked them to restrain from telling everyone what had happened during their exile, at least for a few days. Not everything was kept secret, though; the flying chariot that had dropped them in Ayodhya and the talking monkey that accompanied them weren't the kind of things that could wait for an explanation. But for the rest - Ravan, Sita's kidnapping, the war - it was better to wait until they were fully settled in before telling the story.

Lakshman agreed, there was no need to overwhelm their love ones with the full account of their 'adventures' and to make themselves revive them so soon after the facts. To think that only a few days ago, he'd been fighting side by side with monkeys and bears against an army of demons!

It's strange, he thought while he brushed off the dried blood under his nails. A part of me feels like it happened years ago, while another feels like I'm still there.

After she had cleaned him fully, Urmila move on to his beard. It was a long, tangled, unruly thing. She first trimmed it with sharp scissors and then shaved it off, leaving only a mustache, the tips of which she oiled and curled upwards. Lakshman felt oddly naked without his beard, but decided it was worth it after feeling Urmila's soft fingers against his bare skin.

She saved the hardest part for the end: his hair. It took a lot of patience and effort to untangle the rat's nest on top of his head. She had to first soften it with oils and then separated it into small sections that she would then try to past a comb through. If it were for Laksman he would have cut it all off and save himself the trouble, but Urmila had a frown of determination in her face. So he kept quiet and let her continue her ministrations, only wincing whenever her comb got trapped in a knot. "Sorry," she would mutter every time it happened. At last, his hair was freed of tangles and Urmila was able to run her fingers through it.

He sat there for some time, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her nails softly scraping his scalp. It had been a while since he'd felt so at peace. In the darkest times he had feared this peace would never come again. But there it was, after so long. Hopefully, it had come to stay.

"Lakshman," Urmila's whisper broke his reverie. He opened his eyes slowly to look at his wife, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw how she was looking at him. Her always bright eyes seemed to burn now, scorching with the unmistakable flames of desire. His treacherous mind made his stomach flip by reminding him of the last time that a woman had looked at him like that. But no, he told himself, this is different. There was no edge of possessiveness in Urmila's eyes, no tinge of desperation. Just a tender request.

She was so beautiful, this wife of his. Far more than he'd remembered. Either his memory hadn't done her justice, or she had grown lovelier with the years. Her round face was like a full moon, with dimpled cheeks that still gave her an air of innocence. Her almond-shaped eyes were like two brown pools that he could gladly drown in, with long thick eyelashes that grazed her cheeks like two black fans. And her lips were plump and perfectly curved, looking as soft as rose petals. They drew him in, irresistibly pulling him by an invisible thread until he was touching them with his own lips.

They kissed tentatively at first, as if dipping their toes in the water, before taking a full dive, growing more passionate, more hungry for each other. After a while, Urmila broke the kiss, leaving Lakshman panting, and taking a step back, she began to loosen her clothes. She had clearly changed since he'd last seen her. The girl he'd married never lost the shyness of a new bride, blushing and lowering her glance whenever she undressed in front of him. The woman that stood in front of him now didn't take her eyes from his as she unwrapped her saree and let the fabric drop to the floor, displaying her nakedness without a hint of shame.

Lakshman inhaled sharply. For years he had constrained his baser desires with the painstaking discipline demanded by the life of an ascetic he'd been living. Well, that constrain was thoroughly shaken by the sight of Urmila's naked body. Its perfection aroused the lust the had never been fully quenched, only lay dormant waiting for her.

She sat straddling him, laying on top of his chest and pressing her forehead against his. They both moaned when their bodies came into contact, but neither of them moved afterwards. They stayed perfectly still, holding each other so close they could both feel the other's trumping heartbeat.

"I spent so many nights tossing and turning in my bed," she said in a low husky voice. "Dreaming of the day I would touch your body with mine again." Her eyes now showed a hint of pain behind the desire. "That bed was so cold and lonely."

His own heart ached. He began a string of apologies, but she quieted him. "Shhh, don't apologize. Make it up to me."

He felt that it would take a whole life to make it up to her, but he was willing to start then. He began venturing his hands all over her, feeling every crevasse, every curve of her body, while she clung to his shoulders, nuzzling his neck with little kisses that drove him mad. He wanted to take it slow, to enjoy every second of it, but Urmila was too eager in her passion, making him struggle to keep her pace... Only to have him reach the finish line too soon after starting the race.

His face burned with the shame of it. "I'm sorry... Umm... I... It-it's been a while," he mumbled a pitiful apology. He wanted to slap himself. Not even when he was a green boy had he embarrassed himself so thoroughly.

Urmila shook her head, and lay limp on top of him, burying her face in his shoulder. After a few moments, he felt her breathing become ragged and her tears dampened his shoulder. He opened his mouth to apologize again, but she spoke first, her voice a tremulous murmur, "Please don't ever leave again."

A hard knot lodged his throat. When he had parted all those years ago, they both have made promises of faithfulness and eternal love. But 14 years was a long time. They both had grown up and changed immensely during their separation. They had barely known each other back then, and now they were virtually strangers. His biggest fear upon his return was to find that she had grown indifferent of her distant husband, or worse, that she hated him for having abandoned her in the prime of her youth, when she had been ready to give him all the love that she possessed. And he couldn't have blamed her for it.

He had practiced for years what he would say, how he would ask for her forgiveness upon seeing her. But when he stood in front of front of her, he was speechless. He'd stayed frozen in place, not knowing what to do, for what it felt like an age but must have only been a few seconds. Until she overcame her own hesitation and thrown herself into his arms, crying that she had waited for him, had thought of him every day, and hadn't stopped loving him all this time. He'd lifted her up and spun her around, crying and laughing, and knowing himself to be so lucky that she had guarded her heart for him, as he had guarded his for her. He couldn't repay her loyalty by abandoning her again.

He made her face him, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Staring into her eyes, he spoke; "Even if I had to leave, I would take you with me," he swore with a voice choked with emotions. "I won't spend another day away from you." The smile she gave him was shaky but it warmed his heart nevertheless.

Lakshman was a man of the Raghu clan, who were always true to their word. And he gave her his word then; that for as long as he lived, he wouldn't let her sleep in a cold lonely bed again.

#hindu mythology #hindumythologyevent #hindumythologyedit #ramayana #lakshman #urmila #my edits #my fics

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passivenovember · 4 years

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The Skull on the Shelf that Bares My Name

This is my first time posting a fic on tumblr, so. Here goes nothing

Billy was like an oil painting that had been around for a thousand years. Pretty in the right lighting, hideous in the swell of nightfall. All rough edges and smeared color, full of broken things inside that cut through the air and rattled around like shattered glass whenever anyone got too close, bristling and blowing with the 75mph wind that tumbled through his soul.

Billy thought it was breathtaking.

Thought he was breathtaking with split knuckles and broken ribs. Matted hair tangled with dried blood. Busted lips painted red, color spilling down his chin when he smiled too wide at his reflection.

He liked it messy and hideous.

Did everything he could to destroy the precious image, the golden boy.

He had always been pretty. Like a girl; sparkly eyes and curly hair. Neil had always old him someone would come along and color outside the lines, scribble over the image his mother had left behind and Billy had always been so breakable in the face of adversity.

Flinching against hurt and agony until it became commonplace. Until he grew tired of gluing himself back together every night under the light of the moon.

His face was beautiful like a sculpture carved from stone, or a window into the face of his mother and her mother, but.

Billy himself was like a cardboard box full of glass.

The Billy on the inside was sharp.

And crude.

And violent, when the mood struck him. Ask anyone and they'd tell you; guy's like a train barreling through an apartment building.

And he was.

A glorious, terrible, beautiful, ravenous storm brewing in the open sea.

Billy hadn't known girls could be hazardous.

He knew they were soft. Pretty, delicate and sometimes tough when they had to be. His mother had been like that--brazen. Flighty and aggressive in a different way, like when the sun emerges from the clouds and shines too brightly.

She was warm and loving.

Perfect in her femininity. Billy looked nothing like his mother because she dressed like a wood nymph, all sheer fabric and dresses that defied gravity. Her hair was blonde and curly, always pinned back with clips and beautiful scarves and Billy wanted desperately to look like her.

Film star beauty.

Painted lips, soft hands. When she threw herself off the bridge he brushed his fingertips over the fabric in her closet and tried to imagine what it would feel like to have the world at your feet.

She was so beautiful it felt like swallowing tar.

Hot and boiling on a summer's day.

Billy pulled something from the rack, ran his fingers around the liquid soft fabric of his mother's favorite dress; the white one with the pearl neckline that felt like water settling around his shoulders. They said she was going to be buried in this one and Billy hated it.

Hated that something so beautiful, so delicate would rot away in the cool, damp earth.

He sat in front of her vanity and watched the light twinkle against the jewels that littered the countertop; rubies, emeralds, opal stone cut into neat shapes. When he was a child Billy's mother would let him play with her rings because they made good skipping stones in the pond out back.

We'll always find more, his mother would say, and it was true. Neil spared no expense in making her shine like a million stars as if she didn't already steal the air from every room.

Pocket it in her velvet handbags for safekeeping.

Billy put a ring on each finger and studied his reflection in the pristine vintage mirror.

He looked like a rat.

A rat in a pretty dress, playing pretend for a day.

The front door slammed open and Billy put the dress back on the hanger.

The girl on the T.V. wasn't like his mother at all.

Not soft or feminine, but smoldering. Alight with power and freedom as she strutted around the stage. She looked like her eyes were swimming in water; thick black makeup smudged around green orbs, hair messy and tangled, legs littered bruises that peaked through the holes in her stockings as the lights threw her into disarray.

Slut kiss girls won't you promise her smack

is she ugly on the inside

is she ugly from the back...

The woman was a disaster packaged in something almost pretty but not quite. Like a beauty queen moments after winning the crown fair and square, tear stained makeup and fleeting promises of eternal beauty. She flung herself around the stage, dress ripped to shreds as the hands of the audience tried to tear away pieces of her flesh.

Her fingers were bruised and bloody as she wailed away on the guitar. Nails cracked and worn with the weight of her vengeance. With each press of her lips against the microphone the color oozed outside the lines of her mouth until she looked like a living dead girl and Billy.

He had never seen someone so beautiful.

The first time he put on a dress for real it had been an homage to his silver screen queen.

Black shift dress. Baby doll sleeves. Torn stockings and barrettes in his hair.

Kinderwhore they called it.

Billy stood awkwardly in front of the mirror in the bathroom and tried to make sense of the princess seam that came to an unsteady rest just above the line of his ribs. The clinging fabric felt nothing like the one his mother had been buried in it felt.

Dirty.

Sinful. Instantly cloaked in assumptions; he does heroin. He's a a bum and a loser in search of something the music can't give him so he searches for it in the sting of a needle. Billy bit down on his lips until they bled.

The color ran thick like maple syrup over the skin of his face, bringing out the blue in his eyes as it ran down his chin. As it caught in the stubble-rough landing of his jawline.

Billy looked like a mess.

Instantly, he was addicted. The first time Billy saw her he knew; that was his own image reflected back at him from the fifteen inch screen.

He began looking for inspiration wherever he could find it.

Debbie Harry, Freddie Mercury, Joan Jett, David Bowie. Women and men. Gods. His heroes. Feminine and masculine and dirty.

Courtney Love was always his favorite.

Filthy. Absolutely gut wrenching. Every time he saw her perform it was like his spleen was being ripped out and Billy couldn't escape the way he saw so much of himself reflected in her. All his rage and discomfort, his fury amplified by a million.

So he tried to emulate it.

Billy shopped around local thrift stores to find leopard print jackets and peasant tops. Dresses that hung wide or snuggled against the swell of his hips, kitten heels that brought much needed length to his hamburger legs and when he brought them home, always through the backdoor and stuffed carefully into a trash bag, Neil would raise an eyebrow.

Playing dress up?

Billy would grimace. Max is lookin' to be a Debbie Harry for Halloween. 'M helpin' her find the prefect dress.

And Neil drank like the answers sawm in a bottle of gin, so.

He would raise a fist at that. Never fully convinced but satiated, content with Billy playing the perfect older brother. His nose would bleed on the nights when Neil couldn't shake the impression that his son was a faggot but that was as far as it went.

Max never asked questions and Billy never told her the truth; that he felt more like himself when Courtney Love stared back at him in the mirror.

She sat with him sometimes.

Watched him apply his mother's lipstick, carefully at first and then all at once when the music carried him down.

Black lung coat and your little crown That's the crown that you get for falling down Hey baby, let me look in your eyes I see you standing in a weird red light...

"Why do you listen to this shit?" Max wrinkled her nose. Like a freckled bunny rabbit, it was kind of ridiculous. "She screams so fuckin' loud, you can't even understand what she's--"

"Mascara."

"Why? I know girls who would kill for your eyelashes."

Billy snapped his fingers. Max handed over the little black tube with a trademark eye roll, resting her chin in her hands as Billy repeated the process of careful application and then careless destruction of his hard work.

"Look prettier when you keep it nice," She snapped.

And Billy just chuckled. "I don't wanna look nice."

Max stared at him, popping a jaw breaker into her mouth. "Why not? Isn't that the whole point of makeup, to look pretty?"

Billy scrubbed at his eyes, warmth flooding his stomach again at the way the blue stood out against the black ring around his eyes. Like carefully crafted bruises, nothing like the ones Neil gave him. He shrugged his shoulders.

"That's so fuckin' predictable." He sat on the bed, pushing the hem of his skirt to roll the nylon against his legs.

"Using makeup and clothes to look worse, fuckin' idiotic." Max grumbled, but she watched with glowing eyes as Billy began scraping his nails down the length, creating runs in the delicate fabric.

"You gonna sit there yapping or are you gonna help?" He bitched.

Max slid to her knees in front of him, getting to work tearing holes into the stockings the way she knew Billy liked.

It was therapeutic, almost, having the help.

"I like when you do Blondie." She said after a while. "Fuck ton less work and Courtney makes you aggressive. She's got the energy of a horny dude, it's fucked up."

Billy smirked.

It was always more fun to play pretend with Max and her bitchy voice tethering him to the ground. He feared that, without it, he'd get lost in the feeling of freedom. Fly too close to the sun or something, catch on fire when he inevitably missed the tell-tale creek of the floorboards that meant Neil was listening in.

Max annoyed the hell out of him, but.

She kept him safe. Why, he didn't know.

Maybe she really was interested in the whole thing, electing to believe that every boy wanted to be a girl because the alternative meant her brother was sick in a way that couldn't be cured.

Billy stood, slipping on the kitten heels while Max held his hand.

He admired his handiwork.

"Gotta hand it you," Max whistled, low like a wolf. "Gets shittier every time we do it."

"Shut up, brat." But Billy was grinning.

For Max, that was a compliment.

Don't blush when I rip you open Hey baby, let me look in your eyes As you go off into your weird red light...

He ran his hands down the soft fabric, relishing the way the hem tickled the sensitive skin of his thighs.

He was pretty.

Not like his mother, not like Courtney Love, but.

Uniquely himself.

Max cocked her head to the side. "Don't you get tired of getting all dressed up with nowhere to go?"

Billy bristled. "Oh yeah? And where could I go in San Fran that wouldn't skin me on the spot for dressing like a bitch?"

"Castro." The gay area.

Billy felt his cheeks darken. He thought about it for a second; the lights, the thralls of people just letting the light in. Being themselves.

He shook his head, turning back to the mirror with a glare. "Yeah, okay. I'll get right on that."

"Cool, I'll just fetch my coat." Max turned to leave, chucking when Billy trapped her with an iron grip. "Relax, spaz. Neil would kill us both if he saw you looking like that."

And.

She was right. Billy had thought about it countless times before, what would happen if he threw a jacket over his baby doll dress and slipped out the back door one night. How the cool air would feel on the bare skin of his thighs, but. That's all it ever was. Just speculation.

Only dreams.

Knowing his luck he'd catch Neil in the hallway after his midnight piss and that'd be it. They'd never get the blood out of the wallpaper.

"Looks like we're stuck playing pretend." Billy patted absently at his spring of messy curls, refusing to let the sadness seep through but Max noticed immediately. Perceptive little shit.

She held up a finger, disappearing through the crack in the door. A second later she was back with her polaroid camera.

"Smile."

"No fuckin' way," Billy snarled. He could already imagine it; Neil digging through his sock drawer to find the pot he was always accusing Billy of smoking, only to stumble across something else.

Something worse.

Billy's ribs began to ache with the phantom memory of those fists planting like flower bulbs in fresh soil. He bruised easily, like an overripe peach.

Not everyone knew that about him, but. He did.

Max frowned. "Come on, we could send them to Courtney's P.O. box, I'm sure she'd be flattered."

Billy shook his head, tears swamping his vision as Max lifted the camera. The flash was blinding. Billy lunged for it, swearing as Max slipped past his grip. She took another picture.

And another.

And then another, until polaroid's littered the floor like fallen leaves on the dirty ground. Billy had tears rolling down his cheeks, ruining his makeup by the time she finally stopped. He held out his hand. "Max, just. Give that fuckin' thing to me. Now, we gotta burn this shit, alright? We gotta--"

But she wasn't listening, she was staring at the first image she had taken, when Billy was caught off guard. Max was absorbed in it, eyes glittering with something Billy had never seen before.

He snatched the picture from her hands and lifted it up to his face, brow wrinkled in disgust until--

This wasn't anything like staring in the mirror.

It felt more immediate, more real as Billy examined the image of a flawless stranger. Of a woman.

Of Courtney Love.

"Pretty," Max said.

And.

Yeah. He was.

They started taking pictures every time Billy got dressed up.

Max would help him get ready and then they'd do little photoshoots in his bedroom. He was a reluctant subject at first, awkward in his own skin until she suggested they smoke a joint before each session.

"To loosen you up a little, dick wad."

"What kinda brother would I be if I let my kid sister smoke pot?" Billy shook his head. "Absolutely not, Max."

She shrugged. "Then you do it."

So, he did.

And it helped. They switched up the music, finding it easiest to shoot to The Smashing Pumpkins, played with lighting and mood until she was satisfied with the "vibe," made immortal on film.

The images Max captured were like moments in time, archived in the shoebox under his bed. Billy looked like a rock star in every one--Debbie Harry on some days, Courtney on others; hair messy, cigarette trapped between his fingers, stockings ripped to shreds.

Max admitted that Courtney was her favorite, after a while, so that's the one that stuck.

And Billy loved every picture she took. Loved her artistic eye, obvious in the way she moved his lamp around the room to capture his features just so. Every session was serious like she was the photographer at Rolling Stone and he was her subject for the week.

It was addictive.

They had been taking pictures every night for a month when Neil caught them in the act.

The first punch felt like a bomb had gone off in his head, and Billy hit the floor without so much as a fight.

He remembers blood on the carpet.

Blood in his hair. On the walls. A splitting pain in his ribs and between his legs.

Keep digging your own grave, William.

Max patched him up after Neil's car tore out of the driveway.

"I'm sorry Billy." He hadn't realised she was crying. He ran his fingers over her cheek. "It's all my fault, I didn't mean--"

"I felt pretty." He said.

They stopped taking pictures after that.

Moving to Hawkins, Indiana was like stepping off the Earth and floating through space.

Billy felt weightless.

Every mistake, every hidden secret cloaked in baby doll dresses and leopard print coats had been left in San Francisco where they belonged. Stuffed in the back of his closet with the polaroid's they were able to tape back together.

He tried to forget the way it made him feel.

"You're the prettiest boy I've ever seen."

It wasn't meant to be a compliment. Billy could tell that from the way Steve's lips curled into a snarl.

He pushed his way into Billy's space, clearly drunk and high off something that made his pupils swallow the milky brown of his eyes.

Steve looked like he was swimming.

There were track marks in his arm. "You're like a vision," He reached out to touch, to feel, flinching back when Billy slapped his hand away.

"I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing, Harrington--"

"I think I'm in love with you."

And Billy had thought the same thing, the first time they ran into each other at the gay bar in Indianapolis, but. People talked.

Hawkins talked, like the city itself was an entity with a pulse and conscience that had been shot to shit in the eighties. Billy did his best to glare. "You don't love me, pretty boy."

"No, I." Steve grinned. He was high as a fucking kite. "I do. You're my guardian angel." He laughed hysterically, in a way that made Billy's skin crawl.

"What, your dealer tell you that?" He huffed.

And it was mean.

So fucking mean. If Steve was a junkie his skin wouldn't be so clear, so smooth. Like black cherries in milk, goddammit. Billy wanted to lap at the skin on his neck, taste the salt of his skin.

He wondered distantly if he'd be able to get high from it.

Probably. Steve smiled anyway. "Let me take you home."

"Such a fuckin' line," Billy said.

But he was already tugging pretty boy through the crowd.

Billy kept his dresses in the back of his closet where he kept his mother's suicide letters.

She had written more than one, consumed by her sadness in a way Billy had never understood until he had taken the fairy light inside him and smothered it.

Every once in a while, when Neil was out of the house and Max was at school or something, He'd take one out just to feel the weightlessness of the fabric settle against his skin.

Like little paper angels.

Like the whisper of something like hope but not quite, just out of reach.

He never did the full look anymore. Never put his heart and soul into it the way he had before, when Max was there to keep him from floating away, but.

Gradually he felt himself catch fire.

They had been together for three months when Steve peeled back the layers.

Neil was away on business, so Steve was sleeping over. Needed a shirt or sweats or to sleep in, catching sight of something bright red and shiny as he shifted the leather jackets at Greatful Dead t-shirts to the side to expose a stash of beautiful gowns that shone like an open sore against the soft light in Billy's bedroom.

Billy came through the open door, words dying on his lips as the bong in his hand shattered on the floor.

Steve held the dress up against the light, tongue poking out of his mouth in consideration.

"Max wants to be Debbie Harry for Halloween," Billy fished for his old excuse, eyes welling up with tears when Steve's jaw set in a firm line. "I'm helping her find the perfect dress, I--"

"Bill's--"

"That's not mine, Steve, I swear." Billy dropped to the floor.

Got on his fucking knees, hands level with his face in a silent prayer as he tripped over himself to rebuild the walls that had kept him safe. He was talking, spewing bullshit as Steve stood motionless against the closet door. Billy flung his arms around Steve's legs. Buried his face in his thighs, because.

He couldn't go through it again.

Wouldn't survive it.

"I never even seen that before, Stevie, please."

"Get up." Pretty boy commanded.

And.

Billy blinked teary, soulful eyes at him. "Huh?"

Steve shook his head. "I said stand up, baby. Get off the fucking floor."

Billy did. Steve watched him for a moment, expression unreadable. Billy prepared himself for the gut punch, the harsh word, the look of disgust in those eyes that had never shown anything but reverence for Billy, but it never came. In a single, syrupy slow motion Steve held the dress to Billy's throat, scanning him up and down in a way that left Bill naked and squirming.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think, as Steve smiled softly.

"Wanna see you." He said.

And. "What?"

"Can you put it on for me?" Steve asked. "Bet you look gorgeous. Like an angel, or a model or something--"

Billy let out a thick, wet sound. "I look like a beast, I'm--"

"No." Billy jumped when Steve nuzzled against his neck, the dress trapped like a gossamer curtain between them. "Bet you look like a deity. A goddess of rock n' roll. Like Courtney Love, right?"

And Billy had done a lot of things in his life. He was a builder of fortresses, a hider, an adventurer when the mood struck him. Billy protected himself and Max and his mother for as long as he could remember, carrying things that were too heavy for those with weaker shoulders, but.

He had never shown himself to someone he loved. No sugar, no cream, just.

Completely himself.

Billy took the dress and opened the safe in the corner. Pulled out his mother's makeup and painted himself into a masterpiece as Steve watched, motionless on the bed.

When he was done Billy was afraid to look in the mirror.

Terrified of what he'd see but Steve took him in his arms, peppering gentle kisses all along his face until Billy had built up enough courage.

"Ready? Steve whispered.

Billy let himself be turned around. Situated under the heavy sling of Steve's arm, until--

"Pretty."

Steve nodded. "Beautiful."

#harringrove #idk if this is how you do it but thats showbiz baybee #thanks for making it to the bottom lol

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