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btsuga-d · 9 months ago

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Can You See Me || Chapter II ʚɞ

↬ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ

𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝. 𝙸𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚕'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝙴𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚞𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙸𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜?

↬ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ

𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙼𝚒𝚗 𝚈𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒 𝚡 𝙱𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝙾𝙲!𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝙸𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚕

↬ ᴛʀᴀɪʟᴇʀ

➤ 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔

↬ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ

𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔, 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝, 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝, 𝙿𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕, 𝚁𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕, 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛, 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝙰𝚄, 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕, 𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝚂𝚎𝚘𝚔𝚓𝚒𝚗!𝙳𝚘𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛, 𝙼𝚒𝚗 𝚈𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒!𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙹𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗!𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝚃𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗𝚐!𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔!𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝙷𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚔!𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚗!𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝

↬ ᴡᴏʀᴅᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ

3.3𝚔

↬ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝, 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜, 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚐𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎

↬ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ

𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 🌸 𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝙲𝚈𝚂𝙼. 𝚆𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒'𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎. 𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗.

↬ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ʟɪꜱᴛ - 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯

ᴍɪɴ ʏᴏᴏɴɢɪ ʟᴇᴇ ɪꜱᴇᴜʟ ᴋɪᴍ ꜱᴇᴏᴋᴊɪɴ ᴋɪᴍ ɴᴀᴍᴊᴏᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢ ʜᴏꜱᴇᴏᴋ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴊɪᴍɪɴ ᴋɪᴍ ᴛᴀᴇʜʏᴜɴɢ ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ

↬ ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ʟɪꜱᴛ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪɪɪ

June 9, 2018

I pressed the elevator button with all the force contained in my index finger. I pressed it several times, just to make sure it got the message. The red number at the top marked that it was coming from the fourth floor. I tapped one foot noisily against the ground, trying to relax the nerves that were gripping my stomach. That wait was nerve-wracking.

My heart was pounding. What was I going to do if it was really him? What would I have done if I lifted that sheet and saw – no. I couldn’t even think about it. I pressed my head against the wall, my finger still pressed on the elevator button.

A ding and the doors swung open. I looked up and lost myself in two brown puddles, as deep as the ocean itself. A rather tall boy with brown hair slightly long at the back of his neck stared at me as if he wanted to pierce me through and through. Some wisps fell back in front of his eyes, making his appearance even more disturbing

I read pain in his eyes, a suffering that I could not have explained in words. I looked down and noticed that he had both forearms wrapped in gauze. His square face was clean, but he kept his mouth slightly slanted, his eyes fixed in mine. I found it impressive that he had not yet blinked. Like a predator stalking his prey.

Our exchange of glances lasted a few seconds, until the nurse who was accompanying him made her gaze wander from me to him.

"Do you know her?" she asked him.

The dark-haired shook his head, uttering a simple, deep "No." Then he added, still keeping his eyes on me, "And I certainly don't want to know her." His rough voice sent shivers down my spine. He passed me, brushing my shoulder with his arm. The nurse followed soon after and bowed her head slightly toward me, apologizing for her patient's brusque manner.

I didn't turn around to see where they were headed. Surely, I had more important things to think about. At that moment I wasn’t interested in the rudeness of a stupid little boy, even though he must have been about my age.

I slipped into the elevator and pressed the button with the number -1 on it. The doors closed and I saw the light fade. I wrapped my arms around my body as I felt the elevator begin to move downward. The darkness and the noise of the descent made me even more anxious. The cabin trembled slightly before stopping on the top floor and opening the doors wide.

I stood before a very long white corridor. The light was so bright that I had to close my eyes slightly to let them adjust again. I took one step, then another and another until I saw the “morgue” sign at the top of one of the doors. I reached out my hand, resting it on the handle. And I froze.

I didn’t have the courage. I was literally shivering. And not from the coldness typical of morgues.

I pulled back as if I had just burned myself, continuing to stare at the spotless wooden surface. On the other side of that door could be the answers I had been waiting for an entire year. Or at least some of them. I looked up again, but my hand had no intention of lowering that doorknob. I turned around, frustrated, and squatted on the ground holding my knees.

I was afraid of myself. Of how I would react. Finding out the truth was worse than believing the lie I had constructed for myself. The hope that my father was alive… That was the only thing that allowed me to keep fighting. That was all I had left. What was I going to do if it shattered? How could I be sure that I would not shatter as well? That was what I was afraid of. That I would never be the same again. That I would become my own shadow. That day, my life might have changed.

Maybe I would have done better to wait for someone to arrive. I wasn't sure I could stay there without a competent attendant. The girl at the front desk had told me she would send someone, but I had run off even before she could finish her sentence. Maybe, with someone by my side, I would regain my courage and be able to cross that threshold. All I had to do was wait.

But suddenly, out of nowhere, the notes of a piano resounded.

I lifted my head and turned my gaze toward the end of the hallway. A series of notes was pressed on the keys of a piano, spreading a slow, soothing melody. Between notes, there were moments of silence that accentuated the already gloomy atmosphere due to the rain and thunder. A flash of lightning lit up the sky and I stood up, walking the short distance to the brown door at the end of the hall. The melody continued to proceed in stages, almost as if it was adjusting to the advance of my steps toward the door.

I took a quick glance at the dusty sign placed on one side. Chapel. See a small church next to the morgue was nothing exceptional, but find someone inside was quite unusual. I pushed open the door to reveal two slender shoulders wiggling following the movements of his arms along the piano keys. He had very blond hair and wore a shirt that was white and neat, and above all, loose. So wide that the hem of the sleeves grazed his knuckles. A pair of beige pants wrapped his skinny legs, and on his feet he wore white tennis shoes.

I did not enter the little church, but decided to stay on the threshold. To observe it. The piano was an old brown model belonging to the French brand boisselot fils. It looked really old, but that guy had the ability to make the listener believe that the sound was coming out of a grand piano. I watched him until something changed in his playing. Now his fingers had picked up speed and moved from key to key with extreme elegance, brushing over them as if they were made of porcelain. I could not see his face, but I was convinced that his eyes were closed.

Then the melody slowed down again, until it returned to the series of notes from the beginning, always interspersed with a moment of silence, but one tone lower than the initial ones. He seemed to be reflecting. He was organizing his thoughts, asking himself questions, but unable to find an answer. The questions continued, but his frustration grew as the melody increased and grew louder.

I am angry. I am furious at the world, at those who made me suffer. I fought to the last, but my tenacity was not enough. I just want someone to listen to me, to hear my words full of anger and fear. Because I am afraid of being alone. Because I am afraid of falling into the void and never surfacing again. I am afraid of becoming someone I am not. Looking in the mirror and not recognizing my reflection. I am afraid of myself.

That was what his music was telling me. The thoughts were flowing as if he was directly opening his mouth to speak to me. It had never happened to me before, but his emotions ran over me like a flooding river. I stood in the doorway as my eyes automatically filled with tears. They began to stream down my face without my realizing it.

I could understand his pain. It was identical to mine. I could feel in him my own fears, my own worries. I could tell by the gentle touch that had been replaced with a firmer, more powerful one. Skinny shoulders wiggled under his white shirt; one foot pressed on the pedal while the other went in rhythm with the tune. His fingers began to slide from one side of the piano to the other with frightening coordination and speed, making the muscles under his semi-transparent shirt tense. His anger was rising, as well as the tone of the melody. By now he was at the mercy of his emotions.

I watched as he lowered his head slightly and saw gold earrings jingle from the purposeful movement of his arms. He almost seemed to be holding his breath, choking in his own anguish. I wanted to save him, to pull him out of that raging river and tell him everything would be all right.

I got chills when the music increased again, accompanied by the sound of rain and thunder that ripped through the sky. It was freezing in that room, but I saw drops of sweat that began to trickle down his temple, caressing the soft shape of his chin.

His anger exploded all at once and he stopped suddenly, keeping his fingers resting on the final chord. Then, as if he had left something unfinished, he resumed playing again. The bluish veins stood out on his white hands from the exertion. The rhythm had faded again and he returned to stroking the keys, but this time there was a bitter note in every note he touched. As if his inner debate had ended and failed. The result was still the same. Nothing had changed. His anger was still there, his hatred was still eating at him.

He lifted his hands from the keyboard, almost as if he wanted to leave the melody hanging. A sigh escaped his lips. He lifted one arm against the piano and rested his head on it, letting his damp blond hair brush against his wrist. He was out of breath, as if he had just run a marathon. Through his shirt, I could see his lean shoulders rising and falling.

Then, suddenly, he did a strange thing.

He stood up and picked up the can of gasoline that had always been beside the piano, but which I had not noticed since I had been too focused on him. He opened it with a single wave of his hand and began to pour the clear liquid on the piano. He filled its keys, wetting the wooden surface as well. Then, to my amazement, he began to slide it down his neck and onto his shirt, which immediately became transparent. It looked like he was showering himself with gasoline. I had never seen anything more disturbing in my entire life.

My heart lost a beat when he reached out to grab the small white lighter on the piano. He held it tightly between his fingers and brushed the movable top of it with his thumb. I still couldn’t see his face because his back was to me, but I was sure his expression said nothing good.

“Yah!” I squealed as I entered the room.

The boy turned sharply when he heard my shout, still holding the lighter up. I instinctively stepped back when I met his eyes. The frightened ones of the guy I had seen on the second floor? Or the deep, terrifying ones of the guy in the elevator? They were nothing compared to those who were looking at me at that moment.

Another flash of lightning lit up the sky and I could distinctly see those dark slits, outlined in black. Those thin yet so expressive eyes made me doubt that they were real. There could be no such intense, deep, menacing gaze. It was humanly impossible. He stood motionless watching me as he scanned my face, the lighter still in his hands.

I tried to reason with him; it was the only approach I could attempt.

“Please, put it down,” I pleaded him, pointing to the lighter in his hand. The guy didn’t flinch. He kept looking at my face as if his life depended on it. Only then did I realize that my cheeks were still wet from the tears from earlier. “Talk to me, will you? I don’t know you, but your playing really moved me. I-I am willing to listen to you, if you want.”

On his face appeared one of the most chilling grins I had ever seen. He finally lowered the hand that held the lighter, but he began to move slowly toward me. Reflexively, I stepped back. His steps were slow, heavy. He was not very tall, but because of that, beyond all logic, his figure seemed even more menacing. I stepped back until I realized that he had begun to increase his pace to catch up with me. Frightened by the hostile aura he emanated, I turned my back on him and began to run toward the open door.

I didn’t have time to cross the threshold that I saw a pale, thin arm go over my shoulder and close the door in my face. I dared not turn around, aware that I was trapped between his body and the door he was holding locked with the palm of his hand. I felt his warm breath on my neck and a shiver ran down my spine, right where his chest and my back had made contact.

“Turn around.” The tone was so low that I could barely make out what he had said. His voice was even lower and hoarser than the boy in the elevator. A chill caught me when in turning around I brushed against the arm he was holding up. “Look at me,” he ordered again since I was keeping my eyes down. In doing so, I couldn’t help but notice his completely soaked white shirt. The intense smell of gasoline bothered my nose and made my eyes tingle, but I continued my ascent to his face, meeting first his snow-white neck, then his thin lips and finally his dark, deadly eyes. I immediately lowered mine, unable to sustain his gaze. I swallowed.

He moved even closer to my face, forcing me to press my back against the door. To my surprise, he grabbed my chin and forced me to look him straight in the eyes. I aimed my gaze into his brown irises and saw something snap in them. His eyebrows furrowed even more and he gritted his teeth until he let go of my chin with a snap. The hand that had just released me from his grip closed around my neck again, leaving me no chance to breathe.

I opened my eyes wide, terrified. I clawed at his hand with my fingernails, but my efforts proved utterly futile. His grip grew stronger with each passing second, and his eyes thinned until they almost disappeared. I gasped for air as his face moved closer and closer to mine. Our noses brushed against each other, and I could tell from his satisfied grin how much pleasure he was getting from this situation.

I realized that I had stumbled upon a bloody psychopath.

Almost at the limit of my oxygen supply, I made one last desperate attempt. I pulled my leg back and kicked it forward with all the force I had in my body. I hit him right in that sensitive spot, forcing him to let go and kneel down. I immediately turned to open the door, but my luck could not last that long.

I felt myself being grabbed by my hair, and a second later I felt a stabbing pain in my head. He had slammed me against the piano. My counteroffensive had only ended up infuriating him more. I could tell just by looking at his face. He was livid with rage. Still dazed from the blow from earlier, I saw the room whirling. Because of this I didn't understand what he was doing until I felt him towering over me. Sitting astride my legs, he grabbed me by the collar of my blouse and yanked me forward, forcing me to arch my back.

I was not even in time to realize the situation that I felt something wet hit my face, immediately feeling a deep burning sensation in both eyes. The pain was so bad that I could not help but cry out. A pungent smell of gasoline was occluding my nostrils, and I felt a bittersweet taste in my mouth. My head felt completely wet and I immediately felt nauseous. I tried to open my eyes, but when I did, my vision became completely blurred and I could only catch a glimpse of my attacker’s brown irises injected with blood and evil.

I squinted my eyelids, continuing to scream in pain. My eyes burned, I was short of oxygen and my head ached so badly. I felt the guy’s white hands tighten around my throat again, but this time I had no intention of fighting back. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. If he wanted to kill me that badly, I was going to let him do it.

Then, I heard the door open wide.

“Holy shit… Yoongi!” I shouted, throwing myself at the boy’s figure. I grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to grab the lighter he was holding. Once again, he had tried to set himself on fire. But this time he was not alone. She was there. The girl I had seen in front of the reception desk who had brought back so many memories. “Yoongi… Yoongi, damn it, let her go!” I shouted again, pinning his arms down and yanking him to pull his hand away from the girl’s throat. Jungsun immediately came to my aid, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him backward.

Yoongi may have appeared weak, but his willpower should not be underestimated.

I sensed an intense smell of gasoline, and once I retrieved the lighter, I threw it into the hallway for safety. Then I went back to dealing with my companion, who seemed to have completely lost control of his emotions.

“We need to sedate him, I’ll go get a syringe,” Jungsun suggested, but we didn’t have enough time. I had to think of something else.

“Yoongi… Yoongi, look at me. Look at me!” I let him go and stood in front of him, covering his view. But his attention was still on the girl lying behind me. He looked possessed; I had never seen him in that state. “SUGA!”

Finally, Yoongi froze, as if he had just awakened from a trance-like state. He fixed his eyes in mine and looked at me bewildered. I sighed heavily. It was amazing that he responded so easily to that name and not to his own. He was completely misguided. I walked over to him and hugged him tightly to stop his shoulders from shaking. He covered his face with his hands, massaging his eyelids heavily. Then he ran his trembling fingers through his damp, sticky hair.

Once I was sure he had finally calmed down, I turned to the girl behind me. She had a wound on the back of her head and was bleeding. I checked her pulse and opened her eyes to take a look at her pupils with a small flashlight given to me by Jungsun. I froze suddenly, checking a second time as a precaution. Damn.

I turned my head to meet Jungsun’s questioning eyes. I cast a glance at Yoongi who was still sitting on the ground with his hands clawed into his blond hair. He was breathing heavily but seemed stable. I went back to look at the girl who had started moving again. I helped her sit up and brought my face closer to hers, noticing that she was keeping her eyes closed.

“Miss,” I said in a whisper. “Open your eyes. Can you see me?”

The brunette remained motionless for a few moments, then, with a tremendous effort, lifted her eyelids. She blinked them once or twice, until she lifted her chin slightly in my direction. She looked at me, but without really paying me any attention. She parted her lips.

“I can’t.”

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writing-to-survive · 1 year ago

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#195

"Watch this!"

"I would, if I could see."

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trans-duckling · 19 days ago

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KakaGai Valentines Event: Love in the shape of words

The first letter Kakashi wrote was one thanking Gai for staying by his side despite everything. He was referring to both the past and the future, because he knew that, no matter how bad things could get, his husband would stick to his side. And he needed to write down how much he loved him for that.

By then, his sight was mostly intact, at least during the day. Therefore, he was still able to write without a problem, take care of any chore and, in general, just lead a normal life. That would not last long, though.

When the Hatake woke up that morning, darkness welcomed him as usual. Well, to be fair there was still a small circle in his vision allowing him to see into the world, but the image he got out of it was so blurry that he was considered medically blind. He had gotten used to it.

Turning to his side, he extended an arm over his husband’s chest, fingers brushing against the hair covering it. He could feel the deep breaths indicating Gai was still asleep, in case the snores were not enough to reach that conclusion. Years ago, that would have been strange, but not at the moment. The other man still left three days a week soon after the sunrise for training, but spent the other four mornings with Kakashi in bed. He was delighted with it.

As expected, the Hatake’s body was still slightly sore —and possibly bruised— due to the previous night’s activities, but he would not complain. He had to demonstrate his husband how thankful he was for the incredible presents he had gifted him. It was then when he remembered the letters.

See, Kakashi had started writing letters to Gai soon after his diagnosis. The honest reason behind it was that it would soon become something he could not do; write down stupid notes and other things to his husband. And he may not care much about it, but the Hatake had a collection of all the post-it the other man had written to him during the last decade, from groceries lists to love notes that he stuck over his lunch box back when Kakashi was still the Hokage. He had had the intention of keeping them to read through all when they were older, but he guessed Gai would be doing the reading, considering the situation.

And so, he now had a collection of letters to his husband to compensate all those he would not be able to write. Or he wouldn’t have, if not because the other man had been stupid —and perfect— enough to buy him a braille typewriter.

Decided it was the right moment, Kakashi slid out of bed without waking Gai up or step on any of his dogs. This last obstacle was more difficult to overpass, as they tended to occupy all the floor of the bedroom and part of the bed, but experience gave him some advantage. He felt some movement at the end of the bed, though, and the low breath made him smile.

Slowly, the Hatake stretched a hand out to scratch Endal’s forehead, but his aim was off and ended up brushing his ear instead. The ninken, however, just moved his head until Kakashi’s fingers were where he wanted them, and after a few scratches he licked his hand and went back to sleep.

As silent as he could, he left the bedroom and walked through the house until he reached the office/gym where they kept a collection of different things. Honestly, with all the trips they had been doing, that room had been a little bit abandoned and he considered a miracle he didn’t step on anything. There were a couple of close calls, but he was a highly trained shinobi and that undoubtedly helped.

After retrieving a wooden box hidden behind a stack of books —Icha Icha 2nd especial edition—, he made his way back to the bedroom and sat next to his husband. Kakashi closed his eyes, focusing entirely on Gai’s breaths and snores. If he tried hard enough, he was able to picture his face; more wrinkles covering his forehead and cheeks, mouth open and still perfectly white teeth glowing under the morning light. The Hatake had gotten used to a lot of things as he lost his sight, but not being able to see his husband’s face had been the hardest.

“Gai” he called.

When only snores kept echoing in the room, he sighed and brought out a finger to poke at the other man’s cheek.

“Gai” the Hatake repeated, still poking him. “Gai. Gai. Gai. Gai. G…”

“Rival!” his husband grumbled at one point, hand enclosing around his annoying index finger. “May I know why are you being so…”

“Annoying?”

“I was going to see insistent.”

“Sure you were.”

“Kakashi” the other man sighed, moving into a sitting position. “Is there something wrong?”

“Why would it be?”

“Because you woke up earlier than me and instead of staying in bed, you woke me up as well” another slow movement, and Gai’s face came very close to his. “So, either there is something going on, or maybe you’re just…”

His husband’s lips brushed against his. And then their friends said he was the perverted one. Still, he kissed him back. The Hatake was not a monster.

“I did not wake you up for that” he chuckled, catching Gai’s lower lip in between his teeth. “Although I would like to put a hold on it for later.”

“Duly noted, dear husband.”

Rolling his eyes, Kakashi let go of the other man’s lips and pushed him slightly away. Like that, they were seated in front of each other and with enough space for him to bring out the box hidden behind his back.

“I wanted to give you this.”

“A present?” Gai chuckled. “Is this because of yesterday?”

“No” he huffed. “I have been doing this for a long time, I just wasn’t sure of when to give it to you, so… Here.”

The Hatake felt his husband’s hands carefully taking the box and then leave it in front of him on the bed.

“You’re not going to open it?” he wondered.

“I’m worried something might come jumping out of it.”

“Now you’re just being stupid.”

“No, I’m being cautious considering the man I married.”

“Eh, you chose me.”

“And I would do it a thousand times more.”

Kakashi kicked him on the left leg. He didn’t like blushing so early in the morning.

“Go on and open it, Gai.”

The soft noise of the small hinges was the only sound in the room for the next couple of seconds. That, and a curious hum coming from the taijutsu master’s mouth. The Hatake didn’t move, keeping his eyes settled in which he hoped it was the box and not a random point in between the two of them.

The sound of paper being unfold indicated him that Gai had taken the first letter in his hands.

“Rival!” he gasped a few seconds after. “This is… This is… How many have you written?”

“I’m not sure” Kakashi admitted with a shrug. “Some are very short, though.”

“It doesn’t matter! This is amazing work, and your words… You’re going to make me cry!”

He had assumed that would be happening, but the need to show Gai how much he loved him had been too high. Of course, he still did things in their day to day to keep the flame awake —not that they have ever had problems with it—, but some things were difficult for him to say out loud. Maybe because they were too cheesy and he was embarrassed, maybe because he was sure the moment he would try to start a sentence, the words would disappear from his mind. Whatever the case, by writing it down Gai could read them whenever he wanted.

“When I wrote the letter you have in your hands, my vision was mostly gone” he explained. “After that one, I realized I wouldn’t be able to do it anymore, which was really the whole reason why I started it.”

He heard the wooden box being put away and a moment after a couple of arms came to wrap around him. Kakashi let Gai drag him against the warmth of his body, his legs fitting perfectly in between his husband’s and back resting against an still hard and muscular chest. A kiss was softly placed on his naked neck and he felt himself melting a bit.

“Of course, you had to go and buy me a typewriter” the Hatake continued with a false sigh. “Now I don’t have an excuse to stop writing you letters.”

Gai was not the best one at reading braille —not that he need it in his daily life—, but he was sure the man would take as much as he needed to read anything he wrote.

“I love you” his husband murmured, lips against his ear.

They had been married for years. Those were daily words for them by now.

His heart beat faster anyways.

Kakashi turned to kiss Gai on the lips. Practice had made it possible for him to aim correctly even if blind. He breathed his husband’s air.

“I love you.”

#kkgivalentines25 #kakagai #gaikaka #hatake kakashi #maito gai #might guy #naruto #fanfic #ao3 #disabled characters #blind character #love letters

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redlikerozez · 1 year ago

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悪魔の巫女 | Akuma no Miko | The Devil's Shrine Maiden (01) written by RedLikeRozes

Chapter 1: Lobelia (approx word count 6.6k)

Summary: This tale begins with a complete uproot to a shrine maiden's normal life. Stolen from all she knows, she finds herself caught in the sights of a curious and wicked demon.

Lobelia - malevolence

A/N at the end.

(Masterlist)

There was a flutter of wings from birds in the trees overhead and a soft and cold wind nipping at her cold fingers. She kept a kneeled position in front of the shrine to her goddess, Amaterasu, relighting the incense that had burned out. The small yet fragrant stick held up to the flame of a candle. She waited a couple of seconds before the smell of the incense and smoke filled her nostrils before carefully placing the stick into the burner plate. She sat back onto her calves, giving her knees a rest from the hard wooden floor of the shrine and bowed deeply facing the shrine, nose coming into close contact with the floor, but not touching it. She remained in the deep bow for a couple more seconds to show her deep reverence and finally shifted her weight back up.

As her head rolled back up to sit atop her shoulders once more, an unusually harsh breeze blasted against the back of her neck, making the hairs there stand up on end. Suddenly, wood splintered into her cheeks and crashing noises jostled her senses. The floor from under her knees rumbled and creaked in protest, threatening to give way.

She didn’t have a moment’s notice before the shrine was split in two, just above her head only milliseconds before she sat back up.

As fast as she could react, she was already backing away from the shrine in confusion, tripping over her bright red hakama a bit down the stairs. A socked foot slipped on the now uneven staircase she tried to descend backwards. In one swift motion, her head and left shoulder collided with the sharp and cold gravel path below. Gasping in pain and confusion at her balance being snatched from her normally so careful self, she clutched her shoulder instinctively with the other hand and tried to stir up. Her head hissed and throbbed in pain, unease and distress coating her stomach instantly, threatening to let spill the rice that had settled in her stomach not long ago, so she kept mostly still on the gravel that had split her cheek and was now collecting a small pool of blood that tangled into her hair.

Ears ringing in pain and from the loud noises from the shrine moments before, a new sound echoed into her ears from not too far away. Screams of terror and hurried footfalls scraping through the gravel assaulted her spinning head. Something in her body knew that she had to move right now or something terrible was going to happen. She forced her body to roll over onto her good shoulder and slowly picked herself up to her feet again. Just as she predicted, there was another unusually harsh breeze that sliced mercilessly into the spot she had just been. Dirt, gravel, rocks, and an unfamiliar wetness sprayed into her face. She removed the hand from her clutched shoulder in confusion again, bringing a curious finger to the wetness that spattered on her lip. She brought it to her nose, instantly smelling a coppery concoction that she recognized instantly.

There was a new warmness off to her left and a crackling sound. Despite the intensity of the flames, her body was frozen cold. She could taste the overwhelming smell of blood and metal that burned into the back of her nose and throat and the smell of fire, smoke, and ash that only intensified it. The screams had stopped by now and the only thing besides the raging fire was a pair of heavy and haunting footsteps slowly approaching in front of her. Her eyes widened in fear. She could hear at least two people approach, but she couldn’t recognize their footsteps. One was heavy and long-strided, the other only the faintest of noises, but still different sounding from the other shrine maidens that she had come to recognize by the sound of their gait.

“Oh, are you the last one?” a deep growling voice called out from the smoke. “I’ll have to be more thorough next time,” it said, sounding a bit disappointed.

She dropped to her knees instantly, not caring or noticing the gravel threatening to pierce through the skin of her knees even through her hakama. The arm that she could move she placed above her head in terror at what was about to come, trying to shield herself from whatever the monster before her was about to do.

Right after her knees touched the ground, the same harsh breeze she felt before sliced just above her head. She heard splintering and cracking of stone and wood behind her. A huff of disapproval growled into her ears. The person with the deep voice was almost directly in front of her now. The aura surrounding this person reeked of blood and death. She could sense an overwhelming and suffocating amount of power. This had to be a demon before her, not a human. She sucked in a sharp breath that was more smoke than oxygen. This was surely her last moment.

The arm above her head was suddenly seized upon by the demon’s jaws. She could feel the piercing and long canines start to tear the flesh and rip the muscle away. A gasp ripped out of her lungs at the sudden violence, but she couldn’t find the air or brain power to form a scream.

There was a sick noise of chomping and chewing just above her as she felt her wrist begin to gush warm liquid down her white sleeves. But suddenly there was an even sicker, retching and hacking sound coming from above her. She could feel more warm liquid rain down from above her, seeping into her hair and speckling her garments.

“What the fuck is this?” it asked in complete disgust. A final spit landed wetly at her feet. “I’ve never eaten a miko with such a rotten taste before.”

He’d eaten other maidens like her before. Pretty regularly from the sound of it. Her eyes squeezed shut in terror as a gigantic hand latched onto her face and began hoisting her up into the air as if she weighed nothing. Her whole body fell limp and went numb in the demon’s grip. A smirk appeared on the demon’s face at the victorious feeling of her giving up. This was it. She was going to die at the hands of a miko-eating demon.

“What, no screams?” it taunted. “They usually scream. Your sisters did.”

Even if she could open her mouth to scream, the palm of the demon’s hand crushed into her face so roughly that she was sure her jaw would snap if it didn’t hurry up and kill her.

Much to the demon’s surprise, the hand holding the miko’s face in the air began to burn. The tattooed flesh around his hand began to bubble and ooze like it was boiling from her touch. He hadn’t anticipated this. He threw her down on instinct, perhaps a bit too roughly, as she crashed into the ground several feet away. He inspected his palm. It was turning a sickening shade of inky purple-black and seared in agony. No matter, he brushed off, four-eyed gaze shifting back to the wounded prey in front of him. Focusing a small amount of revered cursed energy into his hand should fix it up instantly.

Except it didn’t.

It was like the necrotic looking infection was repelling his reversed cursed energy.

“What did you do?” he spat in her direction, becoming uncharacteristically confused. His hand burned in pain, pain that he hadn’t felt in an extraordinarily long amount of time. What on earth was this technique? He had to know.

Back on the ground, her head was spinning and ears rang and throbbed even more than before. She could hear the voice of the demon a few feet away. It sounded angry and demanding, but her brain felt like mush and couldn’t comprehend the words being spoken to her.

He could feel a small amount of cursed energy coming from the miko before him that he hadn’t picked up on earlier. Within a split second, his white haired servant was behind her in an instant, grasping her up by the hair.

“Answer my lord’s questions, girl,” they demanded.

She was far too overwhelmed by dizziness and pain to fully register her surroundings as her head was violently ripped up by the hair. A blistering cold eked its way from her hair to her scalp. Small ice crystals started to form where the servant’s hand grasped.

The demon made a noise of annoyance. She was this weak and managed to injure him in a way he hadn’t encountered before? Unacceptable. He had half a mind to cleave her body into twain right then and there, but his morbid curiosity was dying to know her technique and how it worked. His four eyed gaze looked down at her face as he drew nearer to her. Her eyes were struggling to stay open in a half-lidded stupor. Long black eyelashes blocking his view from seeing the delicious terror he so desperately wanted to see in her eyes.

One of his four hands that wasn’t screaming in pain found its way to her forehead cautiously, removing a thick strand of hair that had stuck to the blood on her cheek. Underneath he saw something that yet again, caught him off guard. A wound on her cheek was slowly stitching its own flesh back together. He reached carefully down at the bloody sleeve and lifted it slightly. The skin he ripped into moments earlier was being slowly mended before his eyes. Reversed cursed technique? This weakling is able to use this as well? But something felt wrong with his analysis. He wasn’t accounting for something or was missing some crucial information. It wasn’t adding up. He watched both hands on his right side become more infected before his eyes. The fingertips that briefly grazed her skin to draw the hair from her face began searing up with the same inky-black pain.

“Do not touch the skin,” he cautioned his servant. “It appears this one has some sort of technique.”

He gazed upon his now necrotic fingertips and the other hand that she had affected. He tried once more to use his own reversed curse energy to heal it, but it was like the extremities touched by her skin had been severed from the use of his own cursed energy. His eyes returned once more to the girl but found that she was limp and unresponsive in the servant’s grip, but her chest still heaved up and down. Barely. She’d passed out.

How irritating.

“Bring her with us.”

~~~

She awoke with a start much later as freezing cold water was poured over her pounding head. She tried to move her hands up to block more of the water from hitting her face, but she felt resistance. There was a rattling of metal and a strange weight and tight ache on her wrists. Her wrists were bound together in thick manacles with a heavy chain that was attached to the ground, keeping her forced into a kneeling position. Her knees rested on an unfamiliar wood. The floor from the shrine and temple where she spent her days was smooth with wear. The wood she felt beneath her hakama felt uneven and splintery, old and seldom-trodden upon.

“My lord wishes to speak with you,” a voice spoke clear and distinct above her. She surmised this must be the person that had poured the water over her. “Move to strike or resist and I will not hesitate to make you regret it.”

Her head hung low, not bothering to look up at the captor who she heard shuffling almost silently closer to grab and unlock the chain that bound her to the ground. She made no sudden movements, as instructed by the nimble figure before her. A tug from the chains jerked her upwards. She stumbled briefly and fumbled around her feet trying to regain her balance. Her head felt like she was underwater and upside down.

“Follow,” the voice before instructed her, tugging lightly at the chains.

She began walking silently a couple of paces behind the figure holding her chains. She tripped at the shoji doorway, caught off guard at the sudden change of height in her steps where the recesses for the sliding doors jut out slightly from the ground. She fell to the ground with a hard landing on her right knee. The chain handler pulled her back up in an instant, making a small noise of annoyance.

“Do not look at the king unless specifically asked. Do not speak until you are given permission,” the servant began instructing. “Address him with proper respect.”

No more words were shared between the two as the long walk to meet the demon king continued. She took the silence to race in her thoughts for a suitable reason to be alive right now. She couldn’t think of a single explanation why the demon from before had kept her alive, much less a captive in chains. It didn’t make any sense. She wondered if she should feel grateful to find the breath lifting her chest up and down, but quickly conjectured being spared may be a worse fate than death.

Finally, after minutes of walking around a maze-like building, the servant stopped, catching her by surprise. She stumbled again at the sudden stop and took a necessary step back to catch her balance which pulled slightly against the chains. Head still hung low and gaze ever-fixed on the floor, she heard the opening creak of heavy wooden doors and the gust of wind and dust from the shift in air.

Another gentle pull of the chains beckons her into the seemingly expansive room from how echoey the pair of footsteps are in her ears. The doors close behind her with another draft breezing through her hair. She’s led into the center of the dark room.

The servant already begins lowering a knee and tugs down on the chains upon seeing the girl doesn’t follow their lead.

“Bow,” they demand.

Instantly, her knees and forehead fall to the floor. Her palms find the freezing cold stone and she brings her forehead until it kisses the tops of her fingers laid on the ground. She doesn’t move from her deep bow and the chains aren’t pulled for her to rise, so she stays folded before the king. There’s a sickening smell in the air of dust, decay, and something she could only guess was what death smelled like. She startles slightly as she feels a heavy object tossed in front of her and several other smaller, almost dice-sized objects tossed after it.

The same deep and menacing growl of a voice rings into her terrified ears, “Do you recognize these?” From what she could hear, it sounded like the voice a couple of strides away, but up higher. The voice echoed chillingly in the air, sending a cold shiver down her spine.

Four eyes watch as her head slightly peaks up from her prostrated pose to take a look at what he had just thrown in front of her. She does something odd, she grasps out in front of her and finds the heaviest and biggest one first. Hesitantly, her fingers run over the surface, finding a cold and cylindrical shape, but surprisingly pliant. Her fingers continued towards the ends of the cylinder, finding a soft and cushiony surface on one side and a harder, more firm side. The ends are split off into five different segments. The other end of the cylinder ended abruptly in a clean cut. She found a squishy and soft end with two protruding rods sticking out. Suddenly, a large shudder racks her body. She was holding an arm. More specifically, an arm severed just below the elbow . She tosses it from her grasp and the demon hears her eke out a small gasp.

When she doesn’t answer, he smirks slightly, pleased with her obedience. “Answer, miko.”

“It’s a h-hand, my lord,” she supplies. “A large severed hand.”

“And the others?” he prods further.

She searches quickly and finds a small object on the ground beside the large severed hand and takes it in her grasp, feeling around. It has the same pliant and cool nature of the hand and she can now recognize bones sticking out from one end of the object. She can feel what appears to be sharp fingernails or claws on one end and she gasps again and throws it back to the floor.

“Fingertips, my lord.”

“And to whom do they belong too?”

She stays silent for a beat before finding her voice once more, unsure how to answer the question. “I’m not sure, my lord.”

“Guess, then. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

She tries to wrack her brain for an answer quickly, but can’t find any idea. “I do not know to whom they belong, my lord.”

“Insolence,” he hisses menacingly, “will not be tolerated.”

“I speak the truth, my lord,” she whispers. “I do not know to whom they belong.”

“Speak up,” he growled angrily.

She raises her voice and repeats herself louder.

There was a short period of silence before he barked out, “Sit up. Look at me, you foolish mortal.”

She slowly raises her head out of the prostrated state and sits back on her knees, but still finds her gaze resting upon the floor.

“I said look at me!” He bangs something loudly, earning a jolt of fear from the girl.

Slowly, his four eyes find the girl trying to meet his gaze. At first, he is even more annoyed, thinking that fear is what is slowing the following of his orders, but as his eyes study her face with her eyes open for the first time, he finds her unable to reach his gaze. Her milky white eyes wander about in terror, searching for the correct direction and angle. A large and disgustingly textured scar painted over half of her face, covering most of her left cheek, forehead, and the skin around her eyes. He hadn’t bothered to notice it before.

The demon pauses before bursting into a hearty laugh, jolting the poor blind miko in a jump of surprise before him again.

“I see,” he surmises, the humor of his words not lost on him. “You speak the truth then. You are blind.”

“Yes, my lord.” She nods, head hanging low once more.

He gets up from his horrifically ornate throne of bones and walks down the steps to get closer. He only called her to his throne room for a spectacle. No need for that with a blind miko. His words would have to be sufficient enough to intimidate her into divulging her prowess.

“Tell me about your technique,” he demands. “How did you inflict such wounds upon me? Wounds that I cannot heal with reversed curse energy.”

She stays silent for a moment, blinking in confusion at his words. “They are yours?” she starts it as a whisper, but quickly tries to change her volume so it comes out more of a choke than words, so she repeats it quickly and more clearly. “The hand and fingertips?”

She didn’t remember severing body parts from the demon in front her. She was even more surprised that he thought she had somehow wounded him from their brief encounter.

“Yes,” he continues impatiently. “But worry not, I grew them back. But I must say, it was quite painful, your technique. I have not felt that kind of pain in ages.”

“I’m… I’m not sure I understand, my lord,” she fumbles, brows furrowing with each passing second her confusion grows.

“Your sorcery,” he presses further. “Tell me about your technique and this can all be concluded. I am quite curious to hear how a miko, a blind and worthless miko like you, ended up with such an interesting power.”

“Sorcery?” she squeaks out, almost afraid of the word. “I’m not a… a witch, my lord. I do not have the powers that you speak of.”

“You dare call the king a liar?” spits an icy voice to her side that she recognizes as the one that woke her up and led her to this room in chains.

“Silence, Uraume,” the demon commands his servant instantly. “Miko, are you saying that you have no knowledge of cursed spirits, sorcery, jujutsu or anything of the sort? Even though you are able to use reversed cursed energy to heal yourself?”

“I do not know any of what you speak of, my lord,” she replies, going back down into the deep bow with her forehead nearly touching the floor. “Please believe me.”

She spoke the truth, he knew that much was certain. She was too simple and weak to try to lie to him. The demon king put a freshly regenerated hand to his chin and pondered his next move. He hadn’t anticipated any of this. He needed time to think.

“Get her out of my sight,” he motioned to Uraume, walking back towards his throne.

“Yes, Master Sukuna,” they addressed back, giving a deep bow to their lord.

A new wave of deep-seated panic washed over the prostrated miko. Had he not believed her? But before her mind could race with more thoughts, she was being pulled up by the chains and escorted out of the throne room.

The King of Curses found himself at a loss as his feet wandered into the library room at the other end of his temple. All of his research and knowledge of jujutsu had him racking his brain for answers. Reversed curse energy was one of the most complex and difficult things for even an experienced sorcerer to master. It took hours of concentration and focus and failures to attempt successfully. So why did this miko seem to know how to do it innately? So much so, she hadn’t even known she was doing it! And her technique, whatever it was, had severed him from using his own cursed energy to heal the painful necrotic flesh. The infection slowly traveled up his arm and the veins in his wrist grew enraged and black in color. He severed it off without another thought. Thankfully, he was able to regrow the limb back with no adverse effects, same with his fingers on the other hand.

He brought his four limbs into view of his eyes, remembering the unbearable sting of the technique in his palms after he grabbed her face. He was more annoyed than anything that she had turned out to be clueless of sorcery and jujutsu. He wanted answers to his questions, now.

The tips of one of the newly grown fingers searched the leather spines and gritty parchment scrolls lining the shelves, looking for a specific text, hoping a shred of sense could be garnered from his growing uncertainty. If he wasn’t such a learned man, lover of knowledge and sorcery, normally he wouldn’t have bothered to learn about the techniques of weaklings, but his insatiable curiosity demanded to know more, to find out all the secrets hiding behind the pathetic, milky, scarred eyes of the blind miko in his custody. He began formulating a plan and experiments he could trial to figure out and document the specifics of her jujutsu.

But, alas, she had no knowledge of sorcery or cursed energy. Most of his usual plans were dashed on the rocks because of her special circumstances. His first thought was to shove a text explaining sorcery and basics of cursed energy in front of her nose, but he quickly remembered that wouldn’t work. Even if she had sight, he doubted her literacy.

No, he’d have to do this the long and tedious way to get his answers.

~~~

After being thrown to the floor harshly and the chains reattached to a lock, she sat in silence, resting on her knees, completely overwhelmed by confusion. Nothing was making sense in her head. Somehow, not only was she still alive, but also she had irreparably damaged the demon in some unknown and powerful way that he had to severed off his own arm and fingertips to fight the blight inflicted upon them. He had explained that it was no matter; he regrew the severed extremities just fine. How was that possible?

Suddenly, she remembered the searing pain of canines assaulting her wrist where he had torn her flesh. Her hand rushed to trace the spot where it happened. Searching fingers dipped into the blood-stiffened previously white sleeve of her kosode. Surprisingly, she found smooth, but differently textured skin instead of blood or scab. This only added to her confusion and bewilderment. Surely, she hadn’t been passed out for months or however long it took for deep wounds to turn to scar. The same hand found itself running along her cheek where it had been split from the gravel. There wasn’t even a new scar except for the familiar dimpled and uneven blotch plastered on her face from long ago. Her fingers searched the other side of her face where her normal skin laid, wondering if she had misremembered which side of her face had been wounded. But there was simply no sign of the recent gash.

He spoke the truth, too, she conceded. How had she not noticed that her shoulder that was screaming in pain earlier hadn’t even squeaked in any indication of discomfort. She had healed herself with some unknown power and damaged the demon with another. Maybe she was a witch after all.

Her unusually heavy hands fell limp onto her knees, the awkward metal digging painfully into her legs, but she didn’t seem to mind. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, lost in thought.

Suddenly pulled from her thoughts after hours of contemplation and meditation, the sounds of a shoji door opening slowly graced her ears. Her head shot up in anticipation. A muffled pair of crouched legs draped in cloth shuffled into the room and set something down on the wood floor. The object slowly slid closer to her reach. The same shuffling sounds and the shoji door slid closed. The person, whoever it was, didn’t explain themselves or offer any clue as to what they had put in front of her. Curiously, she began hesitantly fumbling her hands in front of her knees, searching for something on the floor. She grasped at the edge of a wooden tray and searched for something on top. A small, warm bowl with chopsticks placed over the rim. She accidently knocked off the chopsticks with her searching, but quickly picked them up before they could roll onto the floor. Picking up the bowl in her other hand, she brought it close to her nose. The smell of rice and waft of steamy moisture tickled her nose. In a moment of weakness, she began eagerly devouring the bowl of rice, plunging the chopsticks in the sticky warmth and bringing it back to her freezing lips. The warm chunk of rice slipped easily and slowly down her esophagus, warming the back of her throat and insides as it traveled lower into her stomach.

After she finished, albeit a little too quickly for her stomach’s sake, she placed the chopsticks back on the rim of the bowl and placed it back on the wooden tray at her knees. She clapped her hands together softly and muttered a quick prayer of thanks for the food. She was still unused to the weight of the manacles at her wrists and the jingle of the chains as she moved.

Hours pass. The wooden tray and bowl were removed wordlessly not soon after it had arrived. She just sat on her knees, still as a statue, lost in her thoughts and praying to her kami for guidance.

A rougher sliding of the shoji door in front of her sends a surprised and sudden jerk of her head up in the direction of the sound.

“My lord has made his decision,” Uraume’s thin voice says. “He wishes to see you.”

The feather-light footsteps of the servant come close and they begin to unlock the chains from the floor. A familiar tug on the chains has her struggling to stand up. Her legs had fallen asleep and gone numb underneath. Uraume’s tug on the chains becomes harsher with impatience. They practically drag her out of the room and down the hallways of the temple. A familiar path, it seems, to that of the previous route to the throne room. Her legs finally stop screaming with pins and needles about the same time as the two wordlessly enter the throne room. A repeat of the previous time happens: Uraume leads her to the center of the room and bows. This time, they don’t have to beckon her to bow after and she falls to her knees instinctively into a deep bow with her face close to the floor.

“Uraume tells me that you haven’t been struggling to escape your chains or screaming for help.”

This time, his voice is closer to her. The King of Curses stands above her, peering down menacingly at the girl. He hears her throat swallow air and spit harshly, but she doesn’t respond.

“Rise,” he commands.

She raises her head in submission to his words. A wicked and toothy grin curls itself across his face. A sense of pride washing over him. His eyes devoured the expression on her face. She was trying to appear fairly calm and collected, despite her current situation.

“Bow,” he continues. He watches her face twitch and contort slightly in a fleeting second of confusion before complying with his orders without another question. “Rise.” Her face slowly rose, eyebrows still stuck together in confusion. “Bow!” Her face once again returns to the floor. He booms a thick string of laughter. “So obedient! Are you nothing more than a tatami mat for me to walk all over?”

She feels the weight of something heavy descend on the back of her head. The King of Curses’ foot steps directly onto the miko’s head. He begins pressing her head further into the ground, slowly adding more and more weight to the girl's head. Yet, she doesn’t protest. A small gasp and muffled cry of pain escapes from her stifled mouth. Her skull tries its best to hold its shape at the barrage of weight from underneath his foot, but it’s quickly running out of strength. Tears pool into her eyes and fall silently into the cold stone floor that's pressing small rocks and dust into her face. Just before she’s sure he’s going to crush her skull under his foot, he removes it.

He bellows another sick cacophony of laughter from deep within his gut. “This is a first, Uraume, is it not?” he beams over at the white haired servant. “Why do you not fight? I have never experienced my prey coming already broken and whipped into obedience without having to break them myself.”

The helpless maiden reeling in pain doesn’t move or speak before him.

“Have you no self-preservation? Where are the screams, the begging I’ve seen from every other unfortunate and pitiful mortal?”

She stays silent and still as a frightened mouse. A mouse, he thought, that’s what she reminded him of.

“It matters not,” he continued. “However refreshing, I do miss the screaming of terrified women...” He’ll have to sate his desires later, he supposed. “Rise,” he says for the last time and she complies once more. He can see the pain in her milky eyes and the shiny streams of wetness on her cheeks. “Fascinating,” he muses, coming closer to her. “So the blind little mouse can cry?”

Despite the pain in her head and the tears falling from her eyes, her face firmly remained stoney and stoic.

He’d almost forgotten why he requested her presence, finding her so amusing to toy with.

“You have two choices before you,” he explains. “I can kill you here and be rid of your pathetic existence, or remain living in my service while I discover the secrets of your unusual cursed technique. Tell me, which will you choose?”

A small dry gulp. “Which would you prefer, my lord?” the mouse squeaks to the hungry cat.

He is stunned into silence. He hadn’t anticipated this answer. After the shock washes over him, a small chuckle breaks his silence.

“You ask for my opinion?” he asks, captivated by her audacity. He crouches before her so that he is level with her distant eyes that gazed past him. “How intriguing. Explain.”

She struggles to form words for a second. “If you find use in someone like me, my lord, then I will serve you,” she begins, “but if I will be a burden, then I will accept death.”

He ponders her words for a moment, four eyes burning into her image. His tongue found itself licking his lips at the sight of such a pliable form within arms grasp. He has to restrain himself from trying to grab her and wondering if he could make her scream under his claws.

“Very well,” he accepts her answer, backing away before the temptation overtakes his better interest. “I desire to learn more about your cursed energy. At least, until you begin to bore me. I take it, that is your answer then?”

“I will remain in your service until you bore of me, my lord,” she repeats, bowing her head to the floor once more.

There was a long period of silence. The girl was biting her tongue on the inside, hoping that this was a pleasing enough answer to her new master.

“Very well. Take her to the back with the others. Unlock her chains,” the deep voice sounded. “Find her some work to do.”

Others? There were more people than just the demon and his faithful servant?

Uraume wordlessly escorts her back out of the throne room and they take a different path than back to the previous room she was held in. More winding paths and many confusing turns later, she finds her socked feet greet the texture of softer tatami mats than the regular hardwood floor or stone she experienced in the other parts of the temple. There is a rattling of the chains and suddenly both of the manacles around her aching wrists fall to the ground with a muffled thud. Instinctively, she begins massaging the space where the manacles’ iron grip indented into her skin.

“You will stay in here for now and begin work in the morning,” Uraume says, pushing her further into the room. “Find her suitable clothes and a futon.”

She hears the quick shuffling of feet in the room. The door closes behind her and she is left standing in front of the shoji door, unsure where to step next. There’s a soft warm breeze circulating around the room. Footsteps approach.

“Here, you can wear this,” a girlish voice whispers.

There’s about a dozen other shrine maidens for the temple living in the room. It's lined with futons and there’s a sunken hearth, an irori, in the middle of the room with some logs burning on it. The ages of the miko range from about thirty years to the youngest who only just turned fifteen. Most of them are already laying down in the futons under various blankets, but three of them had gotten up to help out the newcomer. The youngest girl, fifteen, had approached the newest member at the door holding a set of clothes she fished out of a pile of folded laundry. There was a white undergarment and a peculiar warped version of a normal shrine maiden’s uniform. Instead of a white kosode with red hakama, the kosode was red and the hakama were pitch black.

“Take it,” the girl insisted, wondering why the newcomer wasn’t grabbing the clothes she was holding out.

An unsure hand reached blindly in front of her, searching for what she was supposed to take. The younger girl looked up curiously to meet the gaze of the newcomer.

“Oh, excuse me,” she said, immediately realizing her mistake.

The girl made a motion to grab the wandering hand, but it was snatched away quickly.

“There’s something wrong with my skin. Do not touch me,” she said calmly, not trying to scare the girl.

The younger girl gulped at her admission and resigned to setting the clothes in the other girl’s hands when she made motion to accept the clothes, careful not to brush the skin of her hands.

The other two girls who had gotten up when the shoji doors had opened had arranged a futon on the end of the room and gathered some spare blankets for the new girl to sleep under.

“We are scheduled to bathe tomorrow evening, but if you want to wash the blood off your face now, we have a bucket of water,” the youngest said.

She brought a hand to her face, shifting the bundle of clothes under her other arm. “There’s blood on my face?” she asked. She had forgotten about that.

“Here, let me get it for you,” the younger offered, footsteps rushing away.

The girls kneeled on the tatami mats after the younger had returned with the water bucket and a spare wash cloth. The younger got close to her face after soaking the rag in the water and ringing it out. She paid attention so that her skin wouldn’t touch the skin on the girl’s face as she dabbed and tugged at gently with the washcloth. The refreshingly cool water cleaned off the dirt, blood, sweat, and tears off her face. The young girl took special care when dabbing and tugging on the scarred skin blotching her face, fearing it may sting for some reason.

“There.”

“Thank you.”

“Let me guide you to your futon,” the younger offered, taking up the girl’s free, clothed upper arm. They walked in pace to the end of the row of futons. “You’ll sleep here.”

“Thank you,” she said, dropping to her knees to set down the pile of clothes at the end of the futon.

“My name is Sakura,” the younger girl explained. “What’s your name?”

“Matsumae,” she replied, smiling warmly. “Thank you for showing me kindness, Sakura.”

Sakura tried to dodge the praise, embarrassed. “No, it’s nothing. We all try to help each other out here.”

“How many others?” Matsumae asked quietly.

“Thirteen, at the moment,” she said. “Well, fourteen now, with you. But sometimes it’s less. Sometimes it’s more. Depends on the master’s mood.”

“And what is it that we’re here for?”

Sakura hesitated. “Well, mostly we take care of everything in the temple or entertain him until…. the master decides…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I understand.”

“He picks up souvenirs from different villages and keeps us all here like cattle or whores until he decides to eat us,” an older girl’s voice from across the room hisses bitterly. The girl huffs and rolls over in the small futon.

“Be quiet, Sachiko. Don’t scare her,” the oldest woman said sternly. “Why don’t we all get some much needed sleep? It’s no use talking about it at this hour.”

“Get some sleep, Matsumae,” Sakura whispered.

But no miko in the room ever really slept soundly, even with the warm irori heating the room and comfortable blankets. They were all marked for death sooner or later. Helpless lambs trapped in a hungry wolf den.

Author's Note:

(Masterlist)

Words to know: miko: shrine maiden kami: the deities, divinities, spirits, mythological, spiritual, or natural phenomena, or holy powers that are venerated in the Shinto religion hakama: a traditional japanese trousers kosode: an everyday garment usually made of white or, very rarely, plain red silk irori: a traditional Japanese sunken hearth tatami: a type of mat used as a flooring material in traditional Japanese-style rooms shoji: a door, window or room divider used in traditional Japanese architecture, consisting of translucent (or transparent) sheets on a lattice frame

All I can think about it this goddam story. It haunts me at night with scenes, unrelenting until I give up on trying to sleep and have to write even more words. It's been like 4 days, guys. I'm so fucking tried yall. Please. Help me.

Anyyyyway. I've done all these fun graphics in canva and have a little moodboard up for this story, if that entices you at all. But seriously, no pressure!

Thanks for reading this far! Comments and kudos/likes are always appreciated and I will try to reply to all that I can. Feel free to ask any questions in the comments below! xoxoxo

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