#BUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! it's quite heavy on the Yihwa all in Saja's face SO IF THAT OR LITERAL ANY OTHER ASPECT OF THIS REPLY

[mythvoiced]

@jeoseungsaja​ | "I already made my decision, you're not going to change that." (Saja and Yihwa? 👀) 400 RANDOM DIALOGUE PROMPTS

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She doesn’t even realise the irony of her situation: how much easier it is to chase after him now that she’s in this state. 

When he wears his hat, no one can see him. And she? She’s invisible to the eyes of all being safe those like him, those dirty fucking bastards with their cold greasy fingers and that rotten core of theirs, the disgusting filth between bones and soul that makes them who they are, fucking sinners, the lot of them.

The both of them.

The irony lies in how it is the situation she is fighting against that facilitates her fighting at all.

She’s never held particular interest towards the opinion of humans, of civilisations, if everybody around her dropped dead at the first glance taken in her direction, more power to her, right? But this, this is a whole new level of freedom, that elicits shrill shrieks of displeasure and low hissed growls of hatred every time she walks face first into it, the way no one can see her and no one can hear her and she fades through every body that blocks her path, as she slams her soles down the cement of the pavement she’s chasing the grim reaper down on.

He walks as if this is the usual for him, who is he, to be this comfortable in his existence, in the way the world works and reacts around him, him and his stupid fucking hat and the way he seems to bury his hands in his armpits at the first sign of approaching life, someone like that is supposed to be the end of her? 

Something like that? That fucking guy?

Someone walks out of a restaurant and right through her.

She’d almost made it to him, all through her stumbling, and his knowing this city better than she’d ever bothered to get to know it. Her world is Taebaeksan, why would she care for the streets of Seoul, huh? So what if she’d gotten lost more times than she cared to count, she won’t memorise these goddamn roads if he forced her to, he could drag her face across the traffic shields and she’d just turn around and spit directly into his face.

But this, this shoves her back, she stumbles even though neither she nor the stranger that had walked right through her can feel the motion as it takes place, they just move on into their perfect life, whatever the fuck that may entail, and she just continues to walk on this side of existence, bare-foot and looking like the corpse she’d left behind.

Who was it?

Who’d killed her?

She hadn’t looked.

In-ha? Came back to finish the job? Fucking bitch. That detective kid? Who? Who the fuck would that be?

She’s stood still for too long, someone else just crosses right through her, smiling, laughing into whatever phone call they’re having, stupid and meaningless and an absolute waste of air.

She screams, straight into the air, blood-curling, and enraged, frustrated and beyond what the best paid therapist could recover, there is nothing to be found in a breakdown like this, unless an actual trained professional steps up. But would there be, to try and get through to the madness clouding the mind of a woman who kills and steals souls to augment her own life energy, who sucks humans dry of their essence and then swallows it whole as if she’d been a nine-tailed fox in a past life?

She whips around, she can still see him, he’s not that far, she can rush, she can walk right through all of these people, and their useless fleeting lives, she runs through them, barricades knowing she won’t meet any resistance and doesn’t stop next to him, no, she whips around him, slams herself into his chest, shoves as strongly as she can, but how strong can she even hope to?

In this state, all that’s left in her is… her.

And that kid.

And his special little drop of soul within her.

It had been an unparalleled success: all the souls of the deceased she’d hold within her, they’d run out one day, energy is energy, and if it isn’t held within a container that regenerates it, it runs out. So it fades away and leaves her depleted once more.

But his soul, oh no, it’s still attached. And the charger continues to charge.

“What do you want, huh?” She can do this all day, she’s thought this before. Can he see it? Can he see her? Does he know what she’s willing to do? Her hands clamp down on his forearms, a dead death-grip, leverage to pull herself closer.

“I’ll give you anything you want, anything. There must be something you want, right? You’re not human anymore but you basically all act like you are, anyway. I’ve seen the way grim reapers live like humans and you almost smell like them too,” she doesn’t realise it, no, the irony of being able to stand here without a shiver running down her bare arms, without the cold seeping in through her non-existent skin, through soles and whatever would peek out under the excessive movements of her lacking body.

“You reek of human desires, so what do you desire? I’ll give you anything, I’ll give you my body if you want. I’ll give you someone else’s body, do you want someone dead? Or, or do you want someone to live? I can trick the Gods for you if you want, anything,” she leans in, whispers as closely into his face as she can go without going cross-eyed, because she needs to see his face, needs to see his eyes, the smallest hesitation, the smallest hint of a weakness, the tiniest possibilities of her finding the right button to press.

“Do you want to… remember who you are?” She breathes it into the space between them, focused on his eyes as if she’s trying to read the formula that put them together, see the sin within them.

“I know you can’t. I’ve overheard you reapers talk, I know how you work, what you are. I can help you. I can figure it out for you, I am very resourceful. What do you say? Huh? Wouldn’t you like to know why you’re the way that you are? What you did wrong?”