Work Text:
Kirigiri sat in her room, fiddling with the object in her gloved hands. This key had the ability to enter any room in a school that was crawling with dark secrets and mysteries waiting to be solved. The detective had so many riddles to solve and secrets to discover in investigation, yet her thoughts seemed to trail on an emotional side of things than logical. Perhaps it was the late hour of the night and the fatigue on her mind that caused the logic to cloud her thoughts, but she kept thinking about only one person, Celestia Ludenberg.
She tried to shake off the thought of her, but it refused to stay. She thought of every quality of the deceased gambler, the way her raven hair moved as she did, the way the light seemed to illuminate her pale skin (oh, how she would have loved to see it under the silver luminescence of the moon), how elegantly she walked and spoke, the last soft touch of her hands interlocked with Kirigiri’s as she gave her the key to Alter Ego before her death. She shut her eyes and savored the thought momentarily. However, they soon changed into horrible images and sounds of crackling flames growing higher and higher, engulfing everything in their reach, sirens blaring their discordant, twisted screeches, the bright red of the firetruck and the loud crash that sealed Celestia’s fate forever. She shuddered at the thought of such a horrible death, even for someone who had committed an act as foul as her murders. Things like death usually had no effect on her, yet she found herself unsettled by the passing of Celestia. It had happened a week ago at the least, why was she still upset by it?
Kirigiri fell back onto her pink blankets, her long, lavender hair sprawled out all over the place as she did. She was far too focused on Celes now, yet the gracious angel of sleep would not grant her the mercy of claiming her as its own. She rose from her bed once more and slipped on her boots. She had to do something that would fix this ache that seemed to have made a home in her chest. She walked down the dormitory hallway and looked at the doorplates on the doors she’d passed until she found the one she was looking for. She’d passed by the rooms of Naegi, Oowada, Togami, Maizono, Enoshima, Fukawa, and Fujisaki before she found her destination. She took out the key and unlocked the door of Celestia’s room. She took a deep breath and entered hesitantly, wondering if this would be a disgrace to her memory.
There it was. It looked pristine, but it was all still there. All of her belongings were in that room, untouched since she was last in there. It was as if she was still living, and in a way she was. This room was the very essence of Celestia Ludenberg and the idea of her was living and breathing in that room. The room was decorated with red roses, made of fabric and plastic so that their false beauty would be immortal. Her sheets were ebony and soft and more of the crimson flowers sat at the foot of her bed. Kirigiri sat gently on the bed, which still carried the scent of her lingering rose perfume. It was as if she was only down the hall, and she was to enter the room again at any second.
Elegant Gothic Lolita dresses were displayed on mannequins, never to be worn again by their owner. She observed them briefly, taking in their fine details. They were obviously for different times and occasions than her usual apparel, which was probably why they were never worn by her. She noticed something rather odd to see in a bedroom as well. There was a black coffin against the wall, next to her bathroom door. Kirigiri apprehensively opened the lid of the coffin and looked at the contents inside. There were sixteen little puppets styled to look like each of the students. Celes had obviously made them herself, the stitching patterns of the puppets matched the ones on the displayed dresses.
Kirigiri picked up the one that looked like herself and the one that looked like Celes and smiled and she played with the two marionettes, imagining the gambler doing the same thing and enjoying herself. After a minute or so, she placed them back inside their morbid container and shut the lid. The next thing that drew her attention was a magnificent, jeweled crown that glimmered and twinkled like the brightest galaxies. Celestia was definitely wealthy, if she was able to afford something as extravagant as that. The detective then turned around to look at the ebony table and chair. She sat down on the pink cushion and looked at the things sitting atop of the table. A vase filled with more fake roses, a white lace doily and a piece of paper and quill. She let out a soft chuckle. Of course the girl would have written with a quill, she was a Romantic who was in love with the past. The paper seemed to have writing on it, an unfinished work that would never be completed. She picked it up and read its contents.
"What makes a rose a rose? Is it defined by its soft, crimson petals?
Or perhaps its sweet scent makes it something real and alive.
However, its meaning is not defined by its name, nor am I.
I am a rose, delicate and soft to the touch.
Yet you seem to have the beauty of a garden, composed of many different parts.
Infinitely more complex than a single flower, more balanced and grown.
Composed of lavender and violets, lilacs and irises.
Beauty can be found in the subtle differences of monochrome.
The winds that rustle the leaves are more articulate than the dewdrops on a rose’s petals.
They speak lighter and with knowledge of foreign places.
You shall forever be my"
Kirigiri looked at the unfinished poem in astonishment. The words were beautiful and filled with delicate emotion. Celestia was articulate, yes, but the detective had never expected her to write like that. She wrote about someone. There was a student here that had managed to pique the girl’s interest enough to cause her to write. She found more sheets of paper inside of the bookcase the crown rested upon. There were more of her writings, more poems containing the same romantic air as the first one. Yet, the more she talked about this mystery person, the more it became clear.
“And like the echoes of a child that seem to cut through the fog
The sight of your stoic countenance seems to bring me confusing clarity.”
The writings of the kanji couldn’t have just coincidentally been identical to her name. All of these poems had been about her. Celes had fallen in love with her during these weeks of entrapment. Kirigiri felt a quick rush of joy that soon transformed into a poignant despair that grabbed at her chest like the claws of a hungry beast trying to trap its next meal.
Kirigiri never cried. She refused to allow herself to because she knew that if she started to weep, it would never cease. Yet, she felt her eyes sting with salty tears and soon felt them roll down her face. Goddammit, she wasn’t supposed to fall apart like this. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She couldn’t gather the energy to leave the room. She simply crawled over to the black bed, wrapped herself in the raven sheets and comforter and sobbed as silently as she could, her violet eyes shining with the wetness of the tears.
Kirigiri allowed herself to just cry. She just lied there and weeped until she fell asleep, focusing on the last lingering scent of rose perfume.