Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Far below the earth, there is a place where the broken, the cruel and the despised come to rest. Far below the earth, under cold stone and over a colder river, there is a bridge rightly forgotten, tended to by its prisoner.

Noon has come to the underground, and to the forgotten bridge that leads deeper into it. A playful term among Hell's inhabitants, one of a number of descriptions for the paths that wandering spirits take through the air above, casting their light across the cavern walls, like a procession of distant stars. Life here has little in common with the surface, but there are countless old habits to ape the memories of the sunlit world.

The fugitive does not and could not have known that, of course; if she does, she would not have cared. She walks unsteadily down dark, uneven rocks, on a slippery, treacherous path down from the surface, muttering oaths under her breath all the while; any louder, after all, and someone might find her.

She can barely see the path ahead of her, let alone find herself generous enough to call it a path in the first place. The souvenirs of recent battles cling to her, all she had time to bring from her life above. Cuts, bruises, soot and mud, light burns and creaking bones. The pain still lingers, a few marks for each of the many that hunted her, but she pushes it out of her mind for now. This is her chance of escaping, of finding a place – however miserable – that can keep those who hounded her at arm's length.

...That doesn't mean she has to like it, and her complaints still pour out into the stale air, quiet and bitter, as sharp as her tongue, as if she hopes to cut a hole in the stone around her with spite alone. There's no harm in trying.

The stone fails to budge.

Slowly, she makes her way down the rough cave floor – one that has only bothered to roll out a carpet of slime and moss for her arrival – until it finally opens out into an equally dismal sight, at least to her eyes. The ceiling lifts, and ahead she sees strange, pale, unnatural lights, which still fail to reach the top of the cavern. Just how far below the earth has she come? Her eyes have yet to adjust – though a youkai might see at night well enough, most could at least count on the stars and moon to help them - and what little light the walls have to offer is a sickly glow coming from... some sort of plant?

No, plants do not move, none that she knows of. She chooses, for now, not to speculate further. The scratches on her face are met with a cool, damp mist, one that might even be pleasant if it felt any less clammy. There must be a river below, if only from the sound, but she can neither see it, nor does she want to. There is barely any light here, and yet she has already seen too much of this place. Small wonder that it was once a place of punishment.

Traversing the river is what remains of a bridge of wood and stone. It is the colour of time, the rot setting in here and there, held together by rusted metal and chipped stone, decorated with the odd gouge or flaking piece of paint. A far more generous soul than her might have claimed that it is red. Certainly, once upon a time, that had clearly been the intent.

She only notices the figure leaning against the railings once she is no more than a few steps away, and it takes all of her self-control not to show her alarm. It – she, the fugitive corrected herself after getting her bearings – stands on the bridge, bedraggled and unkempt, in stark contrast with the rest of the surroundings, which were spotless, in spite of any other flaws.

Gaunt, in a word. She has the air of a scarecrow about her, with matted straw-coloured hair, layers of dust and some grime clinging to a shabby old dress in an unfamiliar style. She wears an exhausted expression, with dark rings under her eyes: Bright, piercing green eyes that hold an almost unnerving gleam in the half-light of the underground.

“I thought you might never make it this far, at the rate you were moving,” the figure remarks drily. A strange voice. Not native, certainly, though she tries. Not recognisably from elsewhere, either. More than anything, it puts the visitor – is that what she is, now, having come too deep underground to be followed? - in mind of someone who has spoken so little in so long that she has almost forgotten how to, and the very sounds are unfamiliar to her.

“You were watching?” She blurts out, incredulous. “If you saw how much trouble those steps were giving me, you could've-”

“Yes, I imagine so.” Her tone is like glass, as smooth and even as it is lacking any warmth. “And who might you be, dragging yourself all the way into what's left of hell? Has it become a fashionable destination, perhaps?”

“What's it to you?” Already annoyed, but then, that is nothing unusual.

“A matter of some base courtesy, mostly. Miss Seija Kijin, I presume?”

The amanojaku sputters, caught off guard, brushing a lock of red and black hair out of her eyes, now positively venomous. “You already know who I am?”

“I'm afraid so. Who doesn't, at this point? News travels... eventually, even down here.” She waits a moment, then close to a minute as Seija's furious tirade and river of obscenity washes over her. How pleasing it must be, she finds herself thinking, to have her name known far and wide. Better to be unforgotten, if one's reputation is to be vile already. “...Parsee Mizuhashi, since you were so kind as to ask,” she adds eventually. “Your creativity is commendable, incidentally, if not something I find myself eager to hear again.”

“Same story every place I go. I'd be damn proud of myself any other day, but right now... I guess I better keep moving,” she answers, a certain weariness setting into her voice. Is it real, or a convenient way to garner some support? She isn't quite sure herself, only that this week has already been quite long enough.

“To the palace of Gensokyo's only remaining satori? Or would you prefer a city of oni?”

“You telling me I'm trapped?”

“Hardly. For all that you might have heard, hell does not judge; if it once did, then those days are past it. We tend to take it on trust that anyone who finds themselves here has their reasons. Death or otherwise. You'll find questions of one's past scarcer than sunlight, down here.”

Seija looks around slowly, warily, taking in the surroundings as well as she can. “...Then I'm stuck right here at this bridge, aren't I?” Parsee manages a vaguely courteous twitch of the lips, rather less than a smile, and does nothing to contradict her. It is no sort of home, but at times like this, it might be shelter enough. There is power of sorts in generosity. It is comforting, in a way, to come across someone as desperate as the amanojaku, as... dependent. There are so few ways for a youkai of no significance, bound to an inconsequential bridge to feel as though she is something other than utterly helpless.

She would like to believe herself capable of some higher motive, but today, it would seem, is not the day she would convince herself. Nor would this be her first choice of lodger, but... she will suffice. Just enough noise to give her some quiet, some peace of mind.

“D'you come with this place or what?”

“Despite my best efforts over the years, yes.”

“Shame. I guess camping out at some run-down bridge wasn't bad enough already. You got a name, lady?”

“As I already told you-”

“'M calling you Green. Easier to remember.”

“...And I would argue,” Parsee answers with a sigh, “if I thought it would make any difference.”

Chapter Text

“...Got to be some way out of this place. I can't just be stuck down here until they forget about me. How long am I supposed to hide in this cave?" Seija has been stuck underground for some time, after all, in her self-imposed exile. Even now, there is no escape in sight, no sign of release.

That time has been – so far – five hours since she passed the entrance of the cave, but it's the principle of the thing that matters, in her mind.

“Yes, yes, trapped underground with no hope of seeing the sun. I can hardly imagine your plight.” An annoyed grunt from the guest – in as much as such a word can be used from Seija – and a brisk shake of the head.

“You going to be like that the whole time?”

“I considered some sympathy, but I wouldn't want to cause offense.” Hearing this, Seija nods slowly, in a grudging concession. At least this strange, sullen woman has a good read on her, for better or worse. Mostly worse, surely. The realisation comes to her a moment later.

“...You can't leave?” The bridgekeeper pales slightly at this. Already, an indiscretion. She has let too much slip. Every word, everything she says of herself, every glimpse of emotion – hope, anger, grief or envy – shows a little hole in her armour. She knows this, of course. She could have been more careful, but it's much too late now. The visitor would know, then, that she has her weaknesses, and all too many of them at that. The price of carelessness.

“No,” she answers, with a rare honesty that leaves a foul, bitter taste in her mouth. “No, I cannot. More than that, I don't care to discuss.” Nothing more than a shrug of disinterest from Seija. That much is fortunate, then.

A little while passes in silence. Somewhere above, something shuffles about before being caught by the cavern's many small, shadowy predators, with a muffled squeak that echoes across the damp stone. Then, there is only the steady drip of water, and distant sounds of life drifting up from the city far below. This time, at least, Parsee finds herself in the company of someone with as little apparent patience for revelry as herself.

“What do you even have down here, anyway?” Seija asks eventually. "You're not one of those weird youkai who don't need to eat, are you? I'm not in the mood for starving.” This time, Parsee is quite pleased to answer her bluntly.

“Rats. The small, blind fish that swim in the river. Every thursday, I gather up a few mushrooms, as well.”

“Every- how can you tell?”

“There are ways and there are means,” she answers confidently, still completely stone-faced. Surely there is no point in a visitor without a joke or two at their expense? ...Still, Seija is quite right. It wouldn't be right for her guest to go hungry for long; there are rules, after all. That they find themselves at the derelict bridge to hell is no grounds for neglecting hospitality.

“Now then, I suppose it's time I set out.” As far as she is permitted to go, at least. The closest thing she has to a semblance of a home lies under the bridge, near the water. Some furniture pushed to the margins, a bedroll and a simple, unimpressive rowboat. A scant few keepsakes and possessions, too, kept out of sight. While the amanojaku watches, she slowly pushes the boat out to water, before stepping in, in a motion practiced altogether too many times.

“They make boats down here? Or did you get that from upstairs?”

“Much like the few furnishings this bridge has, I made it myself. I have time here, if nothing else; I do a little work with my hands helps to pass the years. I shouldn't be gone long.”

“No, no. I'm coming with you.”

“I'm perfectly capable of-”

“Well I'm not in a hurry to sit here for as long as it takes you, just sitting and staring at a rotting bridge. Got room for two in that thing?” Parsee looks over her shoulder and shrugs. There is space enough for three, at least; not because she had expected company when making it, but out of trying to use all the material she had when she first set out to carve the boat years ago. A few moments more, and the two set down the river: A path which abruptly takes a turn into a tunnel.

Cold. Damp. Dark. The underground writ large, in a sense, if it wasn't so claustrophobic. Though by no means unusually tall, Seija finds herself bowing her head and still feeling the occasional brush of stone against her back for almost a minute. Nothing she would notice ordinarily, if not for all the scratches and burns that already made their home there earlier that week.

“One moment, please. ...There.” The tunnel opens out into the underground's familiar vastness, curious little lights glittering along the distant ceiling, and far below. A quick glance down is met with a sudden wave of vertigo, and the black-haired youkai quickly looks away, her head spinning. ...There. An island in the distance. That should make for something a little less disorienting to focus on. She has only a moment to find her bearings, pointedly looking away from the massive shapes shifting somewhere in the dark water, before she hears the low groan of shifting rock far above.

“My, what impeccable timing,” is all Parsee says, in a tone so dry as to make any possibility of sarcasm completely unreadable. “Starfall in a moment, better to watch than explain. Pass me the wicker basket in the back, if you will, and find something to cover your head with. One of the oars should do.”

Another creak and a rumble follows, and then, all around the boat – just as much as inside it – it begins to rain. Pieces of the ceiling, all that glitters and a great deal that does not, strike water and wood alike. Pieces of what might be gems, odd husks and carapaces, granite and thin slivers of blunted metal. The many lights of the cavern, save for those that fly out of the way, all fall from the ceiling, splashing murky water everywhere. A few land on Parsee, but she doesn't particularly seem to notice, or if she does, she shows no sign of it, holding out her basket to catch what she can.

“That should be the last of it,” she says with a slight sigh of relief after the hail dies down, almost a minute later.

“That was supposed to be stars?”

“Something of a local custom. The name's stuck, I'm afraid. A quicker, easier and more harrowing alternative to mining, if you're determined enough to be pragmatic about the whole affair.”

“You know what doesn't fall on you back on the surface?” The horned youkai mutters irritably. “The goddamn sky.”

“Is that right? I'm afraid I've quite forgotten.”

“And I'm meant to get used to it?”

“Heavens, no. By all means, complain to your heart's content. I wouldn't expect it to help, if I were you.” She passes a fishing rod – already baited with something not entirely unlike a worm - to Seija after putting the basket away, filled with both what might be precious and what is undoubtedly not.

“Am I supposed to-”

“No, but I imagine you would prefer it to staring out at the lake until I finish.”

“...Yeah, alright. You got me there.”

Whatever the massive, writhing shapes at the bottom of the lake may be, they show no interest in moving higher, to the amanojaku's relief, though she might never admit it. The waters are gentle, placid and, judging by the growing pile next to Parsee – the less said of the strange things she was dredging up, the better – apparently bountiful. A few minutes pass in the closest thing to amicable silence that the two might allow, but eventually Parsee breaks the quiet.

“...Just why are you hiding down here to begin with? I heard about the unpleasant business with that floating castle eventually, of course, but that was a little while ago, wasn't it?” A little wince from Seija, then. A sore point? The thought alone is immediately reassuring to the bridge princess, after her mistake earlier. Some small weakness to latch onto, then, if it came to that; just knowing of one brought her a little peace. ...Certainly, no one asks too many questions here, but between Parsee's position and Seija's reputation, exceptions can be made.

“Revolution doesn't exactly make you popular, you know.”

“Of course, of course. A maligned idealist, I'm sure. I assume their patience for you ran out eventually?”

“...Sure, that's about right. Ran me out of town. Even tried to break the spellcard rules against me. Idiots, really. Two can play at that, you know? Like trying to fleece a card sharp. D'you have cards in whatever foreign cave you're-”

“Persia, and yes, but I rather doubt you would recognise the rules.”

“Well, anyway, turns out they've still got enough muscle at the end of the day that I have to stay out of sight for a bit. Figured no one would care if I come down here for a bit.”

“And as usual, the despised are swept tidily away into this corner of Gensokyo, out of sight and out of mind. How strangely familiar.” Parsee's remark garners an almost suspicious squinting look from Seija, as she tugs absent-mindedly at the line.

“What, that's it? Just 'fair enough, seen it before'? From the little I'd heard about you, I thought you were going to be 'oh, woe am I' and ranting about how much you envy me for whatever you can think of. Holding off till you've got a good cue, is that it?”

“...My pettiness is rather exaggerated, you'll find, and my reputation unkind. Surely you can relate?”

A little shrug, and a flick of her wrist to bring up her latest catch: Empty air. With a grunt of annoyance, she casts the line back into the water. “Guess so. ...So why'd you take me in, anyway? No one else did. I thought anyone who'd have me would be... y'know.”

“Yes?”

“Well, nicer, mostly. Friendlier, that sort of thing. What's going on with you?”

Because a moment of knowing I can be better than you – you or anyone at all – through my offer is worth all the risk you can bring to my door. Because I need the sound of another voice to finally make the bridge quiet again. Because you could take what you wanted to begin with, helpless as I am, and I can only try to give it away with some dignity.

And besides, hospitality meant all the world back in the old country.

Unpalatable shreds of honesty race through her thoughts as she scrabbles for a suitable lie. Try as she might, even in her more blatant lies – the ones she kept to herself for fear no one else would believe them – she couldn't pin the blame on anything as simple as kindness.

“It's like finding a kitten abandoned at the side of the road,” the bridgekeeper answers, a finger to her chin and a thoughtful frown on her face. “I suppose I should consider that I may have a soft spot for miserable, bedraggled, unsightly things.” Not so much as a flicker in her expression, for all of that.

“...Are you always this annoying?”

“When given the opportunity, certainly. For now, I think it's time we went back. This should be quite enough for a day or two.” The boat turns, ever so ponderously, and begins to coast towards the same tunnel it entered through.

“Persia?”

“One of the first to arrive in Japan from there, if I'm not mistaken. By way of Ayutthaya, as was the typical path at the time.”

The crackling bonfire, fed with near-petrified twigs and some curiously flammable, long-lasting moss-like substance, casts a bare minimum of warmth over the two, and a flickering orange-red light. Only Seija shivers. Something aquatic and mercifully unidentifiable is mounted on a number of skewers, gently roasting over the flames, while the two bite into their portions, the guest showing no small amount of skepticism at first.

Periodically, for decorum's sake, they move back to the granite chairs and table rather than crouching by the fire or sitting on the bare earth. It's some of the little furniture this place has, and as with so much of what she had to her name, Parsee had made it herself over the years. Somehow, every little flaw and imperfection in her work seemed terribly, humiliatingly clear with someone else present.

“Then that'd make you... hunnerd, two, three...” She holds up four fingers and then shakes her head. “...Eesh. Well, 'least you've got your charming pers- Ah, hell, I don't know what to tell you, Green. You might be a lost cause.”

“How fortunate, then,” comes the reply – it might have been flinty, were it particularly any colder than her usual unreadable tone - “that I find myself in similar company.”

“Yeah, lucky you.” She takes another bite and grimaces. “Gah, this one's... blech. I tell you, you should get some good, honest food rather than... whatever this is. Heard you get traders down here now and then, try a quick grab-and-wring next time one comes by. Good eating on one of those, you know?”

“I'm afraid that's rather out of the question. I can't do anything of the sort.”

“You won't.”

“...It's an academic difference, surely,” comes Parsee's strained reply.

“Seen eyes like that before, you know. Only they're usually on someone younger than you.”

“If this is about the colour again,” she answers wearily, “I can promise you I've heard enough jokes to last me for-”

“Come on, you know better than that. Look around you! This place is a mess. You live in a cave and keep everything you've got under a rotted bridge! Even then, you've got to keep it clean, spotless, perfect. 'Cause you gotta have something, right? If you don't have standards you're just an animal. You won't grab anyone off the bridge, either, 'cause you're not a monster, are you?”

“...Is there a point to all this raving of yours?”

“You've been a youkai for a damn sight longer than I have. You've been down here longer than I've been alive! But oh, you're still human, yes ma'am. You've got your fangs and claws – even if they're too small to be good for anything – but you won't even act the part! 'Cause you might live under a bridge and have big ol' glowing eyes, but you're better than them – than all those other youkai – is that it? Because you've been human, and you can't bring yourself to let it go.”

“...Not in so many words. I wouldn't aspire to superiority.” Of course not. It is beyond her, except as a comforting seconds-long delusion. Envy walks hand in hand with inferiority, she could never be otherwise. ...Humanity. The youkai has a point, of course, but surely she can be excused for a little indulgence, when she has so few keepsakes to her name?

“Not while anyone can hear?”

A long sigh, as the skewer is calmly laid back into the fire, half-eaten, with an air of exhausted resignation. If only this was even close to her most trying encounter that week. She looks at the amanojaku's face – grinning confidently, all but crowing in triumph – and slowly shakes her head.

“You're a particularly uncomfortable sort of company, aren't you? What exactly was the point of all this?”

“Eh.” Seija shrugs, suddenly noncommittal. “Thought it might be the little push it takes to make you crack. I've seen rocks less calm than you, you know?” That, at least, is something to be pleased with. She has seen nothing yet, and that is all but cause for celebration.

“Well, I'm afraid you've failed,” Parsee replies, her tone matter of fact again, flat and quite far from the momentary slip of a minute ago.

“Yep, looks it.”

“...Are you quite finished?”

“For now.”

“...Good.” And always, there is an order to occasions like this, a certain way to treat a guest. “Tea?” She offers after a moment. Seija meets her with a nod and a look of mild surprise. Presumably, she expected nothing of the sort down here, and rightly so.

“Don't think I'll ever get used to this place,” she mumbles eventually.

“With enough time, anything is possible.”

“...So you'd call this a home? This place, with all its wriggling, glowing stuff, the falling rocks and sticking little blind things from the lake in the fire?”

“Certainly not,” she concedes after a moment. “A prison where I happen to live, at most.”

“I'm sick of it after a couple hours. You call this living?”

“In polite company, at least.”

“Never really thought of myself as polite.”

Quiet, for a while. Eventually, the whistle of the claywork kettle cuts in, only to be quickly silenced, its contents poured out into two cups to produce what is, if not strictly tea, then at least water that something has been steeped in.

“Yes, it is rather dismal, isn't it?”

Too much to say, of course. But it was a weight off her shoulders in some small, strange way.

Chapter Text

The bridge is quiet again, now. Terribly so. Seija left not long ago, apparently suddenly eager to explore the surroundings. Whether to escape Parsee's company after only half a day or in the hope of finding a place more palatable than the decaying bridge, she hadn't said, though she hinted – and rather heavily at that – that there was a little of each at play.

Which leaves Parsee alone at the bridge. Again.

...Good riddance, when all is said and done, even if it's only for a little while. Who does she think she is? The sheer nerve, the depth of ingratitude is almost beyond anything Parsee can understand or believe. Not to her stay here, of course, or her demeanour towards the bridgekeeper herself. Brusque discourtesy is only what she has come to expect of surfacers, and... for that matter, most of those from the underground, as well. A group, she has to remind herself, that she does not belong to. No, she counts herself among those of the surface, among the humans there, no matter how displaced and changed she might be.

Still, who can stand in the sunlit world above, and willingly leave it? Who would abandon it over... over something as simple as a threat, a hunt called against them? Does she have so little idea of what she is leaving behind? Surely not, if she complains endlessly of the underground's eccentricities and inconveniences after spending no more than the better part of a day below ground.

Above all, it is a choice, for her. Seija had a choice and made it without a moment's thought. That alone is enough to make her blood boil. The amanojaku has no idea what she was allowed to so easily throw away, what she had that some longed for so dearly, and that, whether by her fault or not, is simply unforgivable.

So says the green-eyed monster, and Parsee simply sighs. She might give in, at times, to the thoughts that burned inside her. Anger, envy, hatred, all having made their home in her heart long ago. It can't be helped, only kept at bay for a little while before it returns. There, she is willing to resign herself to it somewhat, but... the line has to be drawn somewhere. No matter how much it poisons her mind, these thoughts have to be kept to herself.

The moment she shows a flicker of anger, the slightest sign of envy, she will have lost. Lost control, lost face, lost any shred of strength and stability in the face of those who goad her on. It would be another sign, another little weakness that can be used against her. After all, who, in all her years, has done otherwise, given a chance to hurt her or lash out? ...One or two, no more. Out of lack of ability or means, no doubt.

Her thoughts are interrupted, perhaps mercifully, by footsteps. Ones she can hardly mistake for anything else: Loud, fast clacks of wood striking stone, approaching in great strides that all but shake the ground. By the time she turns around – that same din has always been so convenient for clearing away any hope of thinking clearly – she knows exactly who she will see there, towering over her.

“Good...” She takes a glance up at the lights of the cave, enough – between that and her own fatigue – to venture a guess, “...evening, Yuugi. Can I help you?” Of course she can't, there is nothing she could ever do that the oni would not be able to do herself. That is besides the point; it's a little formality she has built up over the years. If anything, this is practically familiar: For the first hundred years she was simply 'Miss Hoshiguma', to the deva's increasing exasperation.

“Huh? Oh, nah. Just thought I'd check on you, that's all! Been a while, yeah? Wanted to see how you're getting on.” She claps one hand down on Parsee's shoulder with exaggerated care, the way someone else might handle a particularly fragile and precious piece of china. Really, the sheer caution in the feather-light touch is almost insulting... but she has had time enough, at least, to know that her old friend – is that what Yuugi is? - means no harm by it.

“As well as can be expected. I happened to be present at a particularly generous starfall, earlier.”

“Didn't hurt yourself none, did you?” Well, of course that would be her first thought. As if she is some dainty, brittle thing who would come apart if exposed to so much as a stiff breeze. ...She isn't entirely wrong, of course, as much of an exaggeration as that would be. Still, there's no call for a reminder every time they meet.

“Six ribs and the bulk of my spine, all in a day's work,” she responds flatly, only to see the immediate horror in the oni's expression. As if she can't recover from that much, given time. “...If that were true, Yuugi, I would not be standing right now. I'm quite well, as usual.”

“..Whew. Shouldn't scare me like that, Parsee. Thought you might-” She trails off, apparently having thought better of it, ending with an incoherent mumble. After a long look at her – and the wooden box she carries effortlessly in one hand – the bridgekeeper eventually speaks up.

“And I suppose you chose today by complete coincidence?”

“Well, uh...” Most would barely recognise Yuugi at the bridge, compared to her usual boisterous self. Here, she is always fumbling, nervous, a far cry from how she would ordinarily act. Something about Parsee has always put her ill at ease; uncomfortable, or just uncertain? Certainly, she never seems to know quite what to say. 'Awkward' is the last word anyone would use to describe her, but here, somehow, she seems out of her depth.

“Alright, alright. I heard you got a visitor. And... she's banged up pretty bad, is that right?” The deva sets down the box in her hand, opening it. Medical supplies. Yuugi breaks into her usual broad grin, exceptionally pleased with herself. “Kid seemed like she could be hurt, with all the stuff that went on upstairs. Thought I'd round up whatever I could get to patch her up! Yamame was a real big help there, too. Only don't tell Seija- I mean, it's not from me, alright? She wouldn't like that.”

A long look, from blank eyes that give too little away. “I was under the impression that oni didn't lie.”

“I don't!” Yuugi answers, immediately defensive. “It's... I'm not... that's why you're the one giving this to her, see? It's not from me.”

“This rather puts you in perspective, I must say.” Yuugi isn't the sort to tiptoe around every little thing. It must be exhausting, surely, for her to act like this. “Are you this careful with me as well?” The thought is gratifying in a way – that she would go to such lengths – but irritating, too, because her friend finds it necessary and, of course, because she is right.

“...Lot of hard questions today, huh?”

Parsee shrugs, brushing the question away with a quick motion of her hands. That is answer enough for her; no need to press the point further. Briefly, she is impressed by the sheer efficiency of hell's rumour mill. Then again, no doubt Seija's descent had hardly been discreet. She doesn't seem the sort. “I would tell you that she's sure to appreciate the help, but I've spent a few hours in her illustrious company, and I'm quite certain we both know better than that. Still, I'll see to it that this doesn't go to waste.”

“Alright! Thanks, Parsee. Couldn't do it without you.” Of course she could, but it's nice enough to hear, all the same. “Anything I can do for you while you're here?” She asks the same every time; enough to make Parsee wonder, at times, if she ever expects to be taken up on it. Accept a favour, and then what? Leave herself indebted? Surely not; she knew better than that if nothing else. That Yuugi can hardly take advantage of that was irrelevant. The deva doesn't have a scrap of guile in her, after all. By choice, and clearly so; she is certainly bright enough for it.

“That won't be necessary, I think. In fact...” She makes her way below the bridge, soon returning with a trio of paper lanterns, painted in a bright red shade that is barely more than a memory on the bridge around them. In one deft motion, she drops them into the oni's hands, with no more than a quick nod. “These are for you,” she finishes.

“Huh, I was just looking for a couple new ones like this. Thanks! You make them yourself?” She nods, faintly embarrassed; the craftsmanship is average, at best. The paint, uneven. All things she is keenly aware of, no doubt more than Yuugi by far. “How'd you know I needed 'em, though?” That, at least, draws a dry chuckle out of Parsee.

“An educated guess, really. I don't expect anything fragile to last too long around you; it's a wonder I was in time, come to that. I thought I would be much too late.”

“Hah! Yeah, fair enough. Still, it's a big help, you know.” What a curious feeling, seeing that smile. When they first met, Yuugi had little time for her. Rightly so, no doubt. The oni, by and large, despise deception, secrets, and the sullen things that hide in the darker corners of the underground, hateful and out of sight. What patience could they have for her, then? And yet, over the years, something changed, and Yuugi has become a constant visitor to the bridge. It won't last, of course. Everyone leaves eventually. Still, for as long as it holds...

“Why do you keep coming here?” She hadn't meant to ask, but somehow the question came out by itself, spilling into an awkward silence, presided over by a pensive look on the deva's face, looming some distance above.

“...I don't get it. What do you mean?”

“No one else comes here, and with good reason, except to pass from one side to the other. You avoided this spot yourself. Why now?” The question comes about every now and then. Always, she would receive an answer. Even a truthful one, but not the answer. Perhaps one day, she thinks to herself, Yuugi would run out of options and tell her the reason behind it all. And then, most likely, she would not believe it for a moment.

“This again, huh? Well... I hardly ever see a problem I can't solve by putting it through a few walls. Guess I like a challenge.” It isn't a lie, of course. Parsee is a complicated sort of puzzle, and no oni would shy away from a challenge. What else is she supposed to tell her friend? That it was pity? That there was some genuine fondness there, despite all the odds? Nothing that the sullen bridgekeeper would ever accept, certainly. At worst it would be taken for an insult.

A small nod. She accepts it for now, whether she believes it or not. Of course she did. It is a typical oni's answer, sure to be believable. That it is true certainly doesn't hurt at all, of course. Still, the truth alone is far from enough to get through her sheer suspicion, some days.

“I, ah... I should probably get going, huh? She'll throw a fit if I'm here when she turns up; good thing I caught you while she was away.”

“Left for a walk, as I recall. I'll be quite surprised if she returns with no cause for complaint.”

“Sounds about right. I'll just be on my way, then; sorry to cut and run, but I'll make sure I come back again some time soon, alright? ...Bet I won't need to go far, though! Little old me in all my drab colours? I'll blend right in, she won't see a thing.” Her loud laugh quickly disappears into the bridge's heavy silence, punctuated by a light sigh from Parsee. As usual.

“Hey,” Yuugi begins, suddenly unusually grave. “...Be careful around her, alright? Maybe they can't help it. Maybe it's just how they are. I've met a few like her, though. Amanojaku, I mean. Haven't seen much of her, but from what I've heard she's not any different at the end of the day, and...” She shakes her head slowly, at a loss for words, or at least, words that her friend might accept.

“Look, just... please be careful.”

For all that, somehow, Parsee seems more amused than anything, giving only a little shrug. “I don't trust her one bit more than you or anyone else, Yuugi. I'm sure there's no cause for concern.” She knows. Of course she knows; there was only so much she could expect of the bridge princess, after... after whatever it was that had broken her so many years ago. The reminder can sting sometimes, all the same. Still, she's right, hopefully. Too cautious, too suspicious to give Seija any handhold.

“I, uh...I'll see you around, Parsee. Take care, now.” With those words left awkwardly hanging in the air, she turns around, making her way back towards the city below.

Chapter Text

Today was not meant to be a quiet day at the old bridge. Small mercies, really; a reprieve for which Parsee is quite grateful. She had been expecting to hear this ever since the first flakes of snow fell to the ground, around fifteen minutes past, by her reckoning. A gentle snowfall reaching some distance around the bridge, though not quite as far as the city below.

Ah, there it is. The hurried slapping of straw sandals against cold stone, a run ending in someone gasping for breath a little way behind her.

“Green! Green, it's snowing.” Bewildered outrage suits her, it seems, or else the bridge princess finds it amusing, at least.

“So it would seem.”

“Don't 'so it would seem' me, what in hell is wrong with this place?”

“Precisely. How very astute of you.” The shivering youkai sighs and slumps against a creaking railing, a thin coating of snow sliding off her. Better to give up than try to get Parsee to act any differently, or so she assumes to herself, wearing a thoroughly weary, defeated expression.

“It's midsummer,” she continues eventually, in a despondent grumble. “Why-”

“I once heard it was something involving water vapour and spirits near the cavern ceiling. Make what you will of that.” Now, who had told her that? It was quite some time ago, and she can scarcely remember.

“I wasn't talking about that. Why do I have to get snowed on in July? I was freezing out there!”

“Why? ...Well, given where we are, it seems rather uncouth to speculate. A question better left to a judge, surely?” Seija finds just enough energy to roll her eyes, practically draped over the creaking piece of old wood, without even bothering to muster a reply. A few moments later, Parsee stands at her side, frowning slightly.

“...In any case, we'd best get you under the bridge, I think. I hadn't realised quite how averse to the cold you are; we tend to grow used to it, down here.” The bridge provides a meagre sort of shelter, with no wind to shield against. It keeps the snow out, at least, though the space under it is cluttered with what little the bridge princess owns, both what she has made and a scant few keepsakes. The place has more of a look of a waterside shed than a home.

“Y'know, you've had a couple centuries, haven't you? And you're handy enough with wood or stone or whatever you get, I'm seeing that. Enough to make something stay up. You ever think about a house, maybe? Let me tell you, I've seen it work out a whole lot better than living under a bridge with all your stuff.”

A long stare is the only answer Parsee gives at first. There must be something behind it, surely; if only it were easier to tell just what it is. “...This is not my home,” she says eventually, “and I will not dignify a prison with my resignation. That is all there is to it.” Apparently, this is enough to satisfy Seija, or if not, then she is immediately distracted: Noticing the battered mattress on the ground – separated from the rock by an old straw mat – she promptly collapses onto it with a sigh of relief.

“...Well, you're certainly efficient.”

“Lay off, 'm tired. Long day and too much walking.”

“You could fly... but no, I can hardly blame you for that. I prefer not to myself, given the choice. These caves never quite felt right for it. At any rate, I've come by some bandages and the like that should deal with the worst of the pain and injuries, if you'll just hold still.”

“Ah, just let me bleed. 'S too much hassle anyway, we can do it once I've had some sleep.”

“As you wish. Do get some rest, then. I'll... make my own arrangements.” Dragging a few blankets over, she deposits them by the side of the bed, before walking away.

She has never particularly expected to have much in the way of visitors at the bridge, and certainly not anyone staying for the night – though given Seija's predicament, this has the air of a long-term arrangement – so accommodations are sparse to say the least. After all, they're barely adequate for one. It might trouble her, if she were in the habit of sleeping much to begin with. Night – that is to say, whenever she would otherwise sleep – brings an unfortunate dilemma to her: Silence and the unwelcome company it brings once noise no longer blots her out... or old memories relived in her dreams. It does not stay a choice forever, but for as long as she can, she prefers to stay awake.

Even then, it's a bitter sort of choice.

“Incredible. I don't know how you do it, Parsee.” The voice is a familiar one. Cold, sharp, like ice cutting through the air. A voice that passes straight into the mind without stopping to consult her ears. All too used to scorn, disdain, and disbelief at the new depths she sinks to daily. Above all, it was terribly, hauntingly familiar, a voice she would have done almost anything to shut away.

Her own.

Before her stands her own mirror image, a shimmering green outline with eyes that burn far brighter than her own. The very same one that has hounded her since her early days below the earth. At times a voice pushing back against each of her thoughts, and when she finds herself alone, her constant companion atop the bridge. The green-eyed monster, ever-present and inescapable.

She has not expected anything less today, of course.

“Did you actually take in that creature – not only a fugitive from the surface, but too vile for the underground, too? Something even lower than you? ...But then, that's your only reason, isn't it? Finding someone you can finally look down on.”

“My reasons,” she answers tersely, “are my own. I hardly see how it concerns you.”

“Can't you? I thought you could at least be trusted to see what is plainly obvious, but I see putting that much faith in you was a mistake. 'Guardian of the bridge' indeed. As if neglecting it – letting it decay and crumble in spite of your duty here – isn't enough, now you mean to turn it into some sort of shelter for every loathsome youkai you can find? Did you somehow decide that you've yet to disgrace yourself enough for one lifetime?”

“...You said yourself that I am a guardian of the bridge. Meant to protect those crossing it. What would you call this?” Her voice trembles slightly, uncertain, as she always was for these meetings. Already beginning to crack.

“A pointless indulgence. Surely you can see that she is hardly some traveller crossing the bridge? ...Not that it matters, of course. You could never do anything by yourself, could you?”

“Just what do you mean by that?”

“Accepting the deva's help only to pass it off as your own work? Sometimes I wonder if you could even survive a day without taking something from her. How can you bear the life of a parasite so easily, I wonder?”

This time, there is no answer, only silence. She looks to the ceiling above, which is now missing its false stars. The bridge, as bare and worn down as ever, bathed in a faint green light. The river, its black water revealing nothing. The earth and stone, snow already melting off them. All fail to give her even the smallest distraction from the voice beside her.

“And for all that, you can't help but hate her, can you? Despise her for her power, her joy, her boundless energy, every moment of kindness she shows no matter how small, and the strength of heart that you find so far beyond yourself. Everything she calls her own that you could never have. Is that all you can do, loathing those better than yourself? How long will it be before she finally tires of you? Surely you know she will eventually; they all leave sooner or later, you've seen proof enough of that.”

Names and faces bubble up in her thoughts, so many over the years, now long gone. Gone from the bridge, from her old home, from the port she had arrived in where her dreams were dashed. Each wanders away in turn, never to be seen again. She can no longer even pretend that she expected them to remain. When had she given up? ...Later. Far later than she should have. They will leave, now and always. That is the way of things.

Bickering turns to protests, to pleading, to silence. Minutes pass into hours. Each word blurs together into a familiar back-and-forth, a mantra she has beaten into her heart so many times before, and by the end, only broken whimpers answer the endless tirade. Until finally, after an interminable time, a second voice cuts through it all.

“Mornin', Green. Or... whatever it is. Someone come by the place? ...Couldn't make out much, but I thought I heard something earlier, when I woke up for a couple minutes.”

“You must have misheard. The underground has no end of strange sounds,” she answers, in a cautious, hurried dismissal.

“Eh? Alright. ...Were you up all night? Or all- well, you know what I mean.”

“Oh, yes. It's hardly worth noting. Ever since I came down here, I've found no need for sleep.”

“'S true for some youkai, but you? Is that why you've got a bed under the bridge, so you can stand around never sleeping? For someone without a single true word in you – far as I can tell, anyway, and I'd like to think I can make a solid guess - you're a pretty bad liar sometimes, Green, you know that?”

“...I suppose I should have thought this out more carefully,” she concedes eventually, heaving a sigh.

“Huh?” Somehow, Seija looks perplexed, if amused, and not the least bit troubled. “No, I was just saying, is all. Could stand to learn a bit. You need to lie to me or whatever, that's on you. Couple secrets keeps a person honest, or... something like it. You get the idea. Wouldn't trust anyone who can tell me everything they're thinking, anyway.”

This time, Parsee meets her with a bewildered stare of her own – still carrying the harried look that had come into her eyes some hours past – blinking and staring. A moment later, she nods, and staggers forward slightly, leaning on the railing, standing as if some sort of weight had suddenly slid off her shoulders.

“...Well, be that as it may,” she answers clumsily, too relieved to know what else to say, “now that you're awake, it's time we tended to your injuries before ignoring them any longer, I think.” There is relief there, certainly – that Seija has no interest in digging deeper through her secrets and misdirections – but a clear, cold fear too. Certainly, she is rattled enough to make it all too easy this time, but time and again, the amanojaku has seen through her far too easily for her liking. What would it come to if she allows this to continue?

No doubt she will find out, and so she puts that thought aside for now, grateful for the distraction ahead of her.

“A few poultices, some fungi that should – when brewed – do away with some of the pain and accelerate your recovery... and, of course, bandages. Fortunately, a cast won't be necessary." Dipping her fingers in a small tin of grey-green herbal paste, she reaches out to dab it across Seija's arm, a bandage roll held ready in her other hand. "I'll apply what you can't, and leave the rest for you to use at your discretio-"

A sharp gasp and a wince cut her off, followed by a furious bout of unfamiliar phrases from Seija. She could guess at the intent easily enough from the venom behind it, of course. My, but she's  creative. “C-careful, you have no idea how much that hurt,” she manages after a moment, calming herself. “Gonna tear my arm clean off if you're not more care-”

“Then that will serve as an important lesson not to anger an entire world at once. Now please, do try to hold still.”

Hours of tiresome, extensive work. Under the circumstances, she couldn't ask for anything better.

Chapter Text

Two days and two nights – or something close enough to it – have passed since Seija's arrival at the bridge. Not the forgotten bridge, by any measure; remembered still, merely abandoned. It is not enough time for any sort of familiarity, no, but it's enough for some of the novelty of the situation to fade away. The other face around the bridge – or for its lodger, the bridge itself – does not seem quite as strange any more, as bafflingly unfamiliar. There's something that might charitably be called a routine, or at least the beginnings of it. Life, such as it is, twists and turns, looking for a comfortable pattern to fall into.

Not for the first time in that week, it's a pattern broken with something as simple as a pair of footsteps. Far above, by the sound of it, but simple echoes carry far in the underground, and age-old paranoia has given them both sharp ears. It might have passed without incident, if not for the harried look that came into Seija's eyes.

“Hear that, Green?”

“My, you seem excited,” the bridgekeeper remarks, in her usual even tone.

“Yeah, yeah, spare me. You hear that little click after every few steps? I recognise that. Spear against the ground.”

“A friend of yours?”

“Got burns that'd say otherwise. Some from her, some from that monk she works with. Some tiger youkai from the temple, 'avatar of Bishamonten', like she keeps harping on about all the time.”

“Duly noted. And what would bring her down here, I wonder? Certainly, it strikes me as a strange choice for a pilgrimage.”

“Ever seen any of the paintings they get up there? Tapestries of Bishamonten? Wall to wall pictures of the big man himself trampling amanojaku. Bad enough if it's symbolic like they keep saying, all that 'punish the wicked' and 'drive out temptation' talk, but they really take it to heart, out for blood like you wouldn't believe. Probably sent her down here to smoke me out.”

“I see. And your plan?” Calm and level, infuriatingly so for the fugitive youkai, who – as ever – makes no attempt to hide the irritation in her voice.

“I don't know about you, but I'm leaving.”

“...For a trek across the underground before being defeated by the weather, I assume?”

“That was one time.”

“And I suppose this will dissuade her from ever coming back?”

“...Fine. I'll find somewhere to hide. You deal with her.” It's an absurd request, a moment of spite. The bridgekeeper is weaker than her, after all, and no fighter. Even on her most optimistic days, she would never expect anything but an empty retort of it.

“As you wish. Take the boat, paddle to the tunnel, and take one of the cloths under the bridge to hide yourself under. I will do what I can to dissuade her.”

For a second, there is only dumbfounded silence. Seija stares blankly at her, blinking a few times, before shaking her head. She must have misheard, surely. It's all too unfamiliar, too strange and outlandish.

“...You serious?”

“Against my better judgement, yes. I suggest you leave now, before she arrives.” Parsee must have misunderstood something. Misread her. That, at least, makes some sense. It wouldn't be the first time, of course, that someone stood up for her, not knowing who or what she is. Give someone the wrong impression, just for a little while. Long enough to cover for her. A convenient shield. The easiest trick in the book. That's it, then; she finally improved enough to do this without even trying. Is it so easy, or is Parsee that gullible?

With a sigh of relief, and no small amount of pride, she makes her way to the boat, the better to push herself out of sight. The bridgekeeper waits quietly, staring out into the distance.

“You stand at the bridge to hell. Explain yourself and you may be granted passage. Name and purpose?” It's a ritual from another time, when these caves meant something, when the bridge had not yet rotted away entirely. Now, the words couldn't be more pointless, except to add an air of authority to that feeble, gaunt frame of hers. And yet, it\s a tradition, just as the bridge is, just as she is. She cannot abandon it so easily.

“Shou Toramaru, of the Myouren temple.” The voice is clipped, formal, a little deeper than she might have expected. The monk – or priestess? - stands a head taller than her, crowned with an orange lotus that stands level with a gleaming speartip. Wrapped in red and orange robes, complete with some sort of over-long sash that matches the tiger pattern of her hair.

How perfectly unnecessary, she finds herself thinking, looking at the disciple's splashes of yellow and black. In the other hand, she holds an approximation of a pagoda, its centre replaced with a gleaming jewel of some sort. Even from a few steps away, Parsee can easily sense the power of it, radiating from the gem and gold-painted wood in waves of suffocating, nauseating warmth.

“Avatar of Bishamonten,” she adds after a moment.

“Vaisravana.”

“...What?”

“It's rather unseemly for one of his own disciples to butcher his name so crudely, wouldn't you agree?”

She does not answer, but for a little twitch of her left eye, the smallest hint of irritation. “I've come to root out a youkai wanted on the surface. Seija Kijin, an amanojaku. Have you heard of her?”

“Certainly. Who hasn't, at this point? She's made quite the name for herself.”

“Then you understand why she needs to be found. We have reports that she may have escaped down here. As a disciple of Bishamonten...” Ah, she really hasn't listened at all. A shame. “...It's my duty to track her down, so that she can be brought to justice on the surface. Have you seen her?”

“I'm afraid not, and as the keeper of the only path into hell, I would say that few can give you a more conclusive answer. Your time searching would no doubt be better spent elsewhere.” A skeptical look from the invader, a slight squint of her golden eyes. It isn't quite the stare one might give to prey. No doubt that has been trained out of her. The way one would eye some sort of con artist, then, eyes brimming with suspicion?

“...With all due respect,” she begins, as though a surfacer would ever truly waste their respect on the creatures below the earth, “I see several ways to swim and fly around the bridge. Some, she could probably take without even being seen. Besides that, surely you sleep sometimes? I still need to explore the caves and see for myself.”

“Then a few scattered reports, I presume, mean more to you than the capabilities of Hell's keeper,” a little grandstanding, but she can hardly resist the title, “...and the eyes of all the oni and spirits in hell, who would despise one such as her? The intelligence of a mind-reader? I assure you, they are no more amenable to the thought of her presence here than surfacers.”

“I... of course that will be considered, but I'm afraid I still need to check personally.” Strained courtesy in her every word, pulled taut to breaking point. Good. She does so dislike those of the world above, when they come stomping down here with their brash demands, every word backed by an unseen threat, with so little notion of what they have - things that the residents of this place can scarcely dream of - even before any further gain. This is sacred ground for the foul and detested, a place of sanctuary for them: Of this, time and again, the surfacers know nothing.

“Then I must decline. I see no reason to let you disrupt the peace when your concerns do not affect the underground in any way.”

“Peace?” This time, she sounds outright incredulous. Of course she does. Perhaps she expects it to only be an excuse; in that, she is half right, at least.

“I suppose you think it impossible, then, to have peace in a city of spirits and oni? ...I have little regard for them, but lawless as this place may be, it has its own quiet, its own life, its own unique order. One which would not, I should think, be improved by some sort of bloodlust-driven hunt through its caverns.” She offers the closest she could manage to a smile, then; a slight, condescending twitch of the lips. Could Shou make it out in the cavern's dim light? Well, it hardly mattered.

The disciple is beginning to let her calm slip away. Good. It's a risky game to play, of course, angering a youkai of her strength – with a treasure of such power at her fingertips, too – but she can hardly resist. The would-be crusader deserves no less, even if it would end in harm to Parsee.

“...Regardless, I have to insist on this. I am here on the authority of Bishamonten, and my mission is vitally important. I can't afford to turn back here, Miss Mizuhashi, surely you understand that?” Surely you understand? Of course. Of course she does. Understanding is the burden of the guardian, surely, not the one who comes marching through these caves with zeal in their eyes and spear held high. What is there for them to know? ...And this emissary from above has heard of her, evidently. How gratifying.

“Miss... Toramaru, was it? I intend no disrespect, nor do I mean to disparage the authority on which you conduct this search.” There is no anger in her voice, no hatred or spite, only a certain something that makes the temperature of the already-chilly cavern air plummet. It brings the stone walls ever closer, deadens every sound but her voice, dims what little light there is, until there is barely anything to see at all, only a vague forbidding sensation, a clear feeling that she is not welcome here.

A moment later, Shou shakes her head, and all returns to normal. Surely she has imagined it?

“Still, surely,” Parsee continues, “you have some inkling of my... circumstances, shall we say? And you would know, too, of what it has led to. I am chained to this place, guarding a decaying husk of a bridge that has long since lost any sort of meaning it might have had. I will most likely be here until the end of my days. I believe you are here for some sort of... divine justice, if I'm not mistaken? Championing a god who purports to bring rightful punishment to the guilty, or something to that effect.”

Shou might expect an attack, if there is so much as a single other sign of it, but the bedraggled guardian with her piercing eyes does not so much as raise a hand. Only the sheer venom creeping into her stare suggests otherwise.

“You seem a shrewd sort, so I'll not insult your intelligence with a piecemeal explanation. Instead, I invite you to consider what I might think of such things, of gods and their thoughts on just dues. What I might see of them from so far below the earth. Surely you can paint a picture or two, just as easily as you would speak of justice. The divine justice that sees an eternal, cursed prisoner made of an innocent woman, that lets the guilty go free, that would fill the hells with those the sunlit world find merely inconvenient." Endless visions, all too familiar, all too painful, surface in Parsee's mind one after another. She cannot draw on the fire they gave her and leave them buried at the same time, but each one still brings a sharp pang of agony as it forces her memory to admit its existence.

“...Now, no doubt your cause is just,” she concedes eventually, “your heart pure, and your motives nothing if not laudable. That, I'm afraid, is precisely the problem.”

“...What?” Finally, the confused, irate disciple stops to question her, shaking her head in bewilderment at the apparent compliment as much as the nonsensical objection after that tirade.

“Hell is a place for the wicked. A home for sinners. A prison for the despised. You? You have no place here. I suggest you return the way you came. Immediately. You might try to trample me underfoot, of course, as with any other wicked beast who would cross your path, but I can't imagine it being much more than a waste of your time and mine.”

Grudgingly, Shou shuffles slightly in place, making to depart, muttering something about finding another route; anything to escape this strangely belligerent guardian. Is all of hell to be like her? Hopefully not.

“...And if you are to somehow find her in hell as you so confidently suppose,” the cracked, spiteful voice continues, “then I – were I a betting woman - would wager that you would would barely escape in one piece. One look at your form tells me enough of your skill; I can only assume the spear in your hands is a decoration at best, and one you're liable to injure yourself with, at that. Are you so sure you're equal to the task?”

The avatar freezes, shaking slightly. Ah, a sensitive topic? Perfect, she thought as much. After all, it would be nothing if not shameful for an avatar of a war god to be so inept with any true weapon, though this is only a lucky guess with how little Parsee knows of warfare herself. Pride, then, if only for what her title stands for despite her failure to fulfill it. Pride is her failing, and from visions of pride disappointed comes envy for one's superiors. A hole in her armour, trivial to work with. Parsee can't help but feel some grim satisfaction even as the spearpoint is leveled against her.

“If you're so eager to see for yourself,” the zealot's voice answers, trembling slightly in her effort to keep her anger contained, “then-” only the dry, disdainful laugh of the bridgekeeper cuts her off, echoing off the distant stone, a sound as rare as it is harsh and cruel.

“Ah, there we have it!” She exclaims with a rare, excited edge to her voice. “That touch of righteous fury. Would you like to lash out, perhaps? Wouldn't that be fitting? A blow struck by the greatest disciple of the man who followed in the wake of serenity and learned nothing. A belligerent drunkard excused only because he struck down what was wicked and debauched in the world, all that was a reflection of his violent self. What use would his master have, I wonder, for a god of war at Buddha's side, for wrathful, petty, crude Vaisravana? What explanation could there be but a lotus's grace and kindness?”

The hand holding the spear shakes unsteadily now, and though by all rights she should be relieved, something in her pushes her to goad the intruder further. To leave some lasting wound for her sheer temerity.

“Go on, then. It would be so easy, only a single strike. Am I not wicked? Am I not vile? Do it, then, in all your petty, brutish anger. Oh, what a splendid act of devotion it would be! Who could possibly judge you?” Anger flares behind those golden eyes, and then, slowly but surely, the spear is raised, pointed up again, away from Parsee in a desperate gesture of restraint. Her next words are quiet, hoarse and strained.

“...Why? What do you want from me?” Why, indeed? A typical question; she should have assumed as much. The exact same lack of understanding Parsee has come to expect, that blank, uncomprehending look of pained anger.

“Look around you,” she answers eventually. “Do you see where you stand? A place of punishment once, of exile, a pit created only so that its inhabitants might suffer. I see it in your eyes already. Could you bear to linger here?” A pause, and another burning stare. She knows the risks, of course. She might have prayed, were she willing to give any of the gods the satisfaction of it.

“I think not,” she concludes eventually, without any answer. “If what you say is true, then you have driven her here. She has descended willingly - though under duress - to a place made to inflict misery, a place where the dead outnumber the living, where only those the surface world has found unpalatable would dwell, where sinners are burned by the mountain so that you may prosper by their pyre, a place where life can scarcely survive. She has come here, to the company of the oni, whose hatred for her is greater than even what the world above has for her. You have forced her hand, her every step, if you are convinced that she is here.”

“If you saw what she did, then-”

“What she did means nothing. Hell is no place to judge those who have already found their way here. You would speak of punishment? You come to my prison, with cold iron in one hand and sacred fire in the other, your way lit only by your own self-righteousness, to tell me she has not suffered enough?” Her hand shoots out suddenly, closing around the disciple's neck in a tight grip. All the force she can pour into it is still pitifully weak in comparison, something Shou could easily shake off, and yet she does not resist yet.

“You would do this at this time, in this place? How dare you? By what right?”

The zealot draws a slow, shuddering breath to calm herself, breaking free of Parsee's grip, only to very slowly shake her head. “...You can't have met her, then,” she says eventually, “if you would go so far to defend her.”

“We've spoken a few times in the past. Frankly, I have no patience for her, nor do I see how that matters.” A long, flat, incredulous stare follows, eyes filled with disbelief. She would do this for a stranger, and one she dislikes at that? Finally Shou sighs, turning away. “...Then I will have to find her somewhere else.” The clack of wood on stone echoes through the caverns, as she begins her ascent to the surface once again.

Strength. Resolve. Determination. Courage. Sheer, burning spite. These are the things that, the moment the disciple is out of sight, leave Parsee immediately. She is left trembling as her knees buckle under her, and she barely manages to grab onto the railing, the rotted wood splintering slightly in her grip. Is that blood dripping from her palm now, out of the gashes left by those little shards? She feels nothing and cares even less, but watches with a strange, detached fascination.

Almost an hour would pass before she finds her voice again, and calls Seija from her hiding place.

"Guess I was wrong about you. Tougher than you look, huh, Green? Didn't think you could take someone like her."

“Hmm?” She had recovered enough, at least, to sound almost casual by her standards. She cannot let Seija see how shaken she is, not up close, if nothing else. “Oh, no. Had I cause, I could probably inconvenience her for a good two or three seconds, and no more.”

“...Y'know, I've seen a lot of big talk in my time, but I don't usually see someone bluffing with no hand at all. Might be a first. You could've been hurt.”

“Your concern is noted.” And once more, the icy deadpan that marks so many of her words.

“I wasn't- It's just kind of a stupid thing to do, alright?”

"Given the tension between the surface and here, I rather doubt she would have dared to make a move."

"Well yeah, but you never know with those fanatic types, could've just skewered you for a bit of the old pious glory." If she feared that, Parsee thinks to herself, it is out of her own cowardice. An illogical fear that has no place in her heart. What is there to be afraid of, when she has nothing to lose but an eternal sentence in this miserable pit?

"Yes, yes. No doubt that would be the end of me, and what a great shame that would be." As if she has anything to leave behind. What a ridiculous claim. A small silence passes, where the amanojaku can either find no words, or simply finds them unnecessary. Nothing to lose and no weapon but spite. It's familiar to the smaller youkai, in a way; she sees something of her own in those cold green eyes.

“Gotta say, you surprised me. I didn't think you were the type to get all worked up over form and stuff.” This, at least, draws a light chuckle out of Parsee. Preposterous; what reason does she have to study weaponry? The domain of commoners, brutes and soldiers. ...And in any case, the one brute she had come to know preferred her bare hands. Understandably so.

“Miss Kijin, it took an act of will for me to tell a spear apart from a bow, but I have heard rumours about her. This place builds a certain unease in visitors; something I can build on, should I be willing to risk anything based on hearsay. I found a hole in her guard and pried it apart. I should like to think my knowledge of pieces of pointed metal has nothing to do with that.”

“Yeah? 'S a real good trick to learn. Old favourite for us both, I'll bet.” Well, she wouldn't normally admit to that, but she was feeling particularly open today. “...Hey, Green. Think your hand's bleeding. Left one.”

“...Ah, just let me bleed. It's too much hassle anyway,” she replies, without skipping a beat. “And in any case, I'm terribly tired. Now then, I think I'm in the mood for some tea. Miss Kijin, if you would be so kind-”

“Make your own damn tea. Screaming your head off at some cat doesn't mean you get to order me around. Can that 'Miss Kijin' talk, too. Just 'Seija' will do, getting tired of you acting so stuffy.”

“...Ah, of course. I do forget myself, sometimes; I'm terribly sorry. As for your name... well, perhaps you'll earn that some day.” A blink, a squint and a stare from the baffled amanojaku. She would risk her life – whether out of personal grudges or not – but shy away from something as simple as a first name? Still, it's a disbelief that she can't hold onto for too long, not when the sentiment is so familiar.

She needs the distance, of course. That wall between herself and the world. What would either of them do without it?

Chapter Text

The question nags at her for days after the emissary of the surface – Seija's hunter – had visited the bridge. She has answered it already, rationalised it away, and yet it still stays, apparently not willing to give her any rest. Why? She isn't in the habit of being... protected, if that is what it is, by anyone. The bridge princess, she has to grudgingly admit, is a shrewd sort of youkai, and though almost as helpless as a human – all the stranger, then, that she had risked herself for anyone – it seems unlikely even to her that Parsee would blindly trust someone like her. Certainly, she seems to barely tolerate the amanojaku for the most part.

Why, then? The question is confusing, infuriating, almost nauseating. She is fortunate, she knows that – as much as she could be under the circumstances – but that she even has reason to ask felt deeply, inexplicably wrong. She isn't about to admit to any debt over this, that much is certain. Is that what this strange, surly recluse has in mind?

Perhaps fortunately, her thoughts are interrupted by a few unfamiliar sounds from above, on the bridge itself. Before long, she makes her way there, curiosity getting the better of her. What is that shape, lying on the stone arch of the bridge in some sort of ragged heap? ...Parsee. Of course. Even without the rings around her eyes, Seija knows enough not to be surprised. Not once since she arrived has she seen Parsee sleep, after all. Now, she is starting to understand why.

Nightmares, by the look of it. The huddled figure lies on the ground, trembling like a leaf in the wind, paler than even the unnatural shade that all these years below the earth have given her, sobbing ever so quietly now and then. She seems so small there, and fragile too, barely recognisable. What can she be seeing?

How excited she had once been to stand here, on this swaying deck. Homesickness – and not a little ordinary sickness, unused to sea as she was – finds itself overwhelmed by sheer joy for what is to come, and anticipation for the journey's end. Once. Now she knows all too well, of course, what she might expect of her life in that distant place, far from her home.

She leans over the side of the deck, to distract herself from these thoughts. She hears the gentle splash of water, nothing like the ocean, only the sound she hears from the river every day. She looks down at the water and sees... nothing. Of course, of course. There is never anything, not in all the times she has relived this moment, not in all the dreams she has gone through. The vessel sails on nothing at all, and as she looks up, her eyes meet emptiness, with neither sky nor sea. Always. Just as she finds the ship lit up by the same gloom she knows so well from her life below the earth.

It has been too long. Far too long. She only has a few foggy memories of those days by now, and what little she recalls is best forgotten.

She turns, then, to look at the silhouette standing and looking out at the sea alongside her. For all he said, all he did, there is never anyone there. She knows that, now. She sees only a shadow today. Small mercies.

Alone, then, on a journey with neither sea nor sky, and it has only just begun.

Seija stands on the bridge, looking down at the sleeping figure. She owes this sleeping youkai, of course. Owes her a great deal, that much she can't deny. That fact burns in her, sending its bitter smoke into her thoughts. Is it so strange to resent Parsee for that? So unbelievable that it would drive her to anger? Can anyone fault her for it?

Well, obviously. They always did. They would find a way if she did nothing but sit in an empty room, staring at a wall day after day. Why should their opinion matter to her, then?

If nothing else, there is an opportunity in this, and a secret. Parsee values her calm appearance, that much is easy to tell. It is no wonder at all, really, that she tries to hide this, if these nightmares come as often as Seija suspects. How useful could it be, then, to have seen her like this?

Well, time would see to that. Just what she needs after the past week: Something to put a little smile on her face.

She remembers the day, of course. Not the day her world had come apart, but only when she finally realised it had, many months later. It had to be today, didn't it? Not the happier days of the past – though with what she knows, she has no hope of those feeling the way they once did in any case – or even the days she had at home, at her true home in the old country. No, after all the centuries, this is what her erratic memory has to cling to like a drowning woman to flotsam. Not sunshine or birdsong, not a happier past or self-deluding dreams, but this. The days of her fall, endlessly repeating.

Her hands are shaking. Even though she already knows how this would play out. Even though she knows exactly what to expect, and has gone through so many nights set to these scenes playing behind her eyes. She would give the world to proceed with a sigh and a shake of her head. Would  gladly pay an arm or leg – or with her own changed eyes, vicious reminders that they were, with so little worth seeing underground – to place grim resignation in her heart.

In all these days and nights, it is not a choice she has ever been offered.

It is, in the end, all a question of what they saw. She saw her life as it was, for the first time. He saw... well, the less she thinks of that, the better. She sees it then, in the lightless midday of the house that no longer feels like her own. The outline of a face, framing a pair of eyes that locks with hers, just for a fleeting second.

That is what it came down to, when all is said and done. The moment in between all the words, the split second of quiet when their eyes met. She sees a stranger, and he sees no one at all. Rapid footsteps and a slammed door. Hers? By her? She almost hopes so. She remembers the street outside her once-house still, as she runs out. A beautiful day, though she might not recall sunlight, and a crowded Kyoto street. Not one of the many walking that road stops to so much as look at her. The world happily goes about its business, ignoring her completely.

It doesn't seem fair, somehow, this complete and blatant disregard for her misery. All she has now is one thought hammering away at her, a question with no answer in sight: What now?

Seija has made herself quite at home, by now, laying back on one of the stone chairs – having dragged it to the bridge – and wearing a lazy grin. The cold stone is a little uncomfortable, certainly, but under the circumstances she doesn't care too much. It really has been too long, and now she's... basking? Yes, basking, she decides, is a good enough word, if only because she can't be bothered to find a better one.

It's a feast to an amanojaku like her, and one she has been kept away from for far longer than she likes. Misery, grief, fear and loss. Hatred, too; in a perfect world, it would be directed at her, but this would do for now. Only when it all comes back to her does she finally realise how much she missed it all, how wrong it felt to go without this. There was a little while when she hoped Parsee's company would do well enough for this by itself, but the bridgekeeper holds it all back, hides it too well until it barely shows. Seija can tell, but that is all.

Once, she resented that calm, but now it hardly seems to matter. This is what she lived for, so much of what drove her every move. All those bubbling, hateful, frightened, despairing emotions that she can happily drink down all day: All the better when pointed at her, of course, but beggars can't be choosers, and to her it feels like the first drops of water after weeks in a desert. Wake her up? Now? As if.

What is that flash there? Something that comes for a split second at first, lingering now. Ah, yes. Betrayal. What an interesting dream this must be. She almost considers thanking Parsee, for a moment: That was quite the helpful reminder. She can't afford to lounge here all day, not when there's work to be done.

A hand reaches out, offering something. The first support she has received, after banging on that door in the middle of the rain-soaked night. Rain. Of course she would remember rain but not the sun, water beating down on her by night in sheets, the clouds entering just as the streets empty out for the evening. That biting cold only made worse by the November chill.

She has begged, she has pleaded, she has – in those days when it was a luxury she still allowed herself in the company of others, though now she knows it to have been a mistake – even wept, as she has all through that day and night. She would have thought to bargain, if she had anything to offer. Then comes what she so easily mistakes for salvation. An offer of help. Something held in that outstretched hand. An offer of her just dues, to sweep aside what can no longer be mended, and do right by her for once.

She snatches it away then, seizing the offer with a speed brought on by desperation. What would she not do for this promise? Why, looking back, did she believe another promise so readily? ...It is too late to dwell on that, now. She can only watch, time after time, as she sees her past self accept blindly, a helpless spectator of her own mistakes.

She is dreaming. She knows that, of course. She always does. Does that mean it is only a dream? Would that it were true. Memories, no more and no less, or what little she is allowed to keep as the centuries wear on. Grudges against those long dead and barely remembered. As much as she keeps an eye out, not once has she seen them here in hell. Whatever has chosen their fates and hers is no more than a farce, that much is certain. Is it her fault that she clings to these memories above all, that they still have a home in her thoughts? She can't help but wonder, at times.

Passed from the priest's hands to hers, she finds an iron crown. A crown and a torch. How did the crown find its way to her head? Has she put it there already? It is heavy, so heavy, she can barely look ahead. Scrabbling for a handhold now, with the Uji bridge looming above, she sees herself at the edge of a cliff. She shoves the torch into her teeth, eager for its light, as it burns at both ends. Even when its fires draw so close that it sears her skin. Soon. Surely, soon this would all be set right. That hand, still in sight; will it drag her away from these crumbling rocks? The hand pulls away, and as shock mingles with resignation, slowly but with awful certainty, she falls.

When the cold water engulfs her on every side, extinguishing the torch and flooding her lungs, it almost comes as a relief.

Betrayal. Well, that's a cruel word for what she's about to do, isn't it? Some might say that, even her, but then, she quite likes cruel words. Some of her best work has been done with nothing else. No time for reminiscing, all the same. Below the bridge, she has glimpsed something priceless.

Priceless both to Parsee and to herself, but for entirely different reasons.

Parsee is a puzzle, and one she has struggled with a good few times. Hatred comes when something is broken or taken away, she has long since learned that: Whether something physical, or time, joy, a life, trust, a promise... the possibilities are endless. How, then, is she meant to deal with Parsee, whose calm seems to shut off any chances of angering her with words, who seemed to have so little to lose?

The answer comes to her in a glint of starlight – well, not stars, now she's doing it too – off a piece of polished metal. A sword, sheathed but terribly sharp, kept in oddly near-perfect condition, despite the state of everything else around the bridge. Parsee is hardly a swordswoman by any reckoning, and yet, here it is, hidden away. Its quality is incredible, she can see that much even with her untrained eye – or failing that, it is at least a particularly beautiful sight, ornate sheath and all.

A precious keepsake of some sort, then, surely. It must mean the world to her; to lose it would cut deeply, and if she were to find the culprit... somehow, that is tempting too, even knowing the risks of angering the only one who would shelter her in these times. Wouldn't that be just another prize for her to claim?

Quickly, she takes it, stand and all, and clambers into the rowboat, making her way down the river. It would hurt to lose this, surely, to find it suddenly missing. When all is said and done, what more does Seija need? What else matters?

She would have told herself, if she needed a justification, that she can't help herself. She is quite sure, even, that this is as true as it is meaningless.

Her life tied to the Uji bridge – the one on the surface - was a short one. For that, she does not mourn. What was the catalyst? Had her hatred become too much for that river to bear? Was it the wounds she had sustained, her life's breath leaving her? Certainly, she is not dead, nor is she a spirit; the inconveniences of the living are enough of a reminder of that.

One day, not too long after, she had awoken here, with the spectre of a bridge, far below the earth, bordering hell and the sunlit world. She remembers breaking down, then, for the third time, and sobbing in that echoing cavern, on the all too silent bridge that still looked almost pristine then. She remembers, too, her wishes on that day. She is reminded of them daily, though never directly, only by the consequences, day and night, whenever she is alone and the quiet eats away at her thoughts, whenever her guard slips.

She had made a wish, then. For someone to keep her company, so that she is not so terribly alone in this place, someone who will bear even the monster she has become. For light, so that she can better see her prison, even if there is to be no way out. For darkness, so that no one will see what she is now, and that terrible colour her eyes have taken on, the mark of all her mistakes. She wished, too, to be alone: To be away from any who might break her or her trust again, to be used no more, to put the world between herself and those who might some day hurt her.

It was impossible. She contradicted herself at every turn, and even in her state on that day, she knew as much. On the other hand, she had lost everything thrice over, even what little she had as the vengeful creature of that bridge in Kyoto, if that can be called a loss at all. She thought it a cruel fate then, but just when she thought she could lose no more, even the sunlight was taken from her. She had nothing but her own life, and what cold comfort that was.

With so little left to her, what could she do but hope?

Somehow, against all chance, against all possibility, a voice answered on that day, outlined in a gentle emerald light. It casts no shadow, even against the light of the strange plants in this place, and the twinkling stone. The voice's every word is comforting, reassuring, a warm, gentle thing. It is... it's her own. How can it not be? What other voice would she trust, after all this?

“Of course,” says the voice of her mirror image, the voice of the green-eyed monster. “Anything for you.”

Chapter Text

It's a long day of quiet observation for Seija, both satisfying and frustrating. First, when Parsee wakes, she is pleased when the bridge princess eventually notices the absence of her little treasure, drinking in her host's irate confusion. It isn't her fault, she can't have possibly helped her nature, the need to betray and wound; if the bridgekeeper was a little quicker to anger, this could have all been avoided. ...All excuses she might use, if she felt the need, or the slightest twinge of guilt.

And then... that's it. No sudden conclusion, no burst of loathing or dismay, only that quiet, resigned calm she has come to associate with Parsee.

Is that all? Has she misjudged somehow, taken some worthless trifle? But if that is all it is, why keep it so hidden, so pristine? The uncertainty gnaws at her, dulling whatever triumph she might draw from it all, and at the end of the day, it's the voice a little over her head – with how little of a presence she has, it's easy to forget that the bridgekeeper is the taller of the two, even when standing face to face – that snaps her out of her foul mood.

“Miss Kijin. Can you spare a little while?” The same measured, even, slightly chilly voice she is growing to know well. Disappointing.

“I look like I'm doing anything right now?”

“Brooding, to the untrained eye. Walk with me a while, then.”

The walk turns out to be a short one, at first; a quick trip to the docked rowboat, down that same claustrophobic tunnel and into the vast inky lake beyond, before they land at the nearest of the islands. Well, the nearest among the bars of rocky earth large enough to be considered an islet, at least. They clamber out onto the grey earth – is it grey? Everything seems to have the same pallor down here – step by step. The first word between them only comes when they are some way along the near-featureless ground.

“Tell me, Miss Kijin,” Parsee asks eventually, as close to a casual tone as she could manage. “Have you ever learned how to use a sword?” A few surprised blinks and an incredulous shake of the head answer her.

“Do I look like the type?” Seija replies after a moment, sounding almost affronted.

“I prefer not to judge by appearances. Were you hoping to, say... pawn it off, then?”

Denial is the first instinct to come to the amanojaku, and it is just as quickly brushed aside. What would the point of that be? To come this close and deny herself the anger and hatred that she has worked so hard for? Nothing short of meaningless.

“Don't know what you're-” She quickly corrects herself. No. Nothing but the truth here, for once. Why waste this opportunity? “No. No, that wasn't it.” And even that only gets her a quiet sigh and a wry, almost amused look.

“What a colossal waste of time this must have been for you, then. I can only imagine what you were trying to accomplish.” A day of work, a week of planning and hoping, all evaporates in a careless little shrug. It really doesn't mean more than that to her, then. Is there anything that can get through to Parsee?

“You knew, didn't you? How? I thought you were asleep.”

“...Ah. So you saw, then.” A little twitch in her expression a twinge of fear and discomfort. Finally, something that left a mark. About time. It's starting to come together, now: The one thing Parsee might still have, treasure and guard. Her careful, calm composure. Anything to crack that image, then, would be worth holding onto.

“...It was an easy guess,” the bridge princess replies after some faltering. “It was in plain view, and I'm sure we both know I have nothing else remotely valuable to my name. Few others know of it, or would be interested, let alone nearby. That left you, and really, you seemed the sort. Why did you take it?”

“None of your damned business,” Seija answers, almost automatically.

“You'll find that damned business is practically the only sort I can deal in down here. I'm listening.”

...Maybe there's still something in this, something worth salvaging. It's a strange sort of trick she had learned over the years: Lies work well enough, but the truth is practically unmatched in spreading pain, in bringing out the sort of loathing she thrives on. That is what it would take, then. Something special to push Parsee over the edge. Slowly, Seija settles down on the rough ground.

“Siddown. Gonna be a while.”

“As you wish,” Parsee answers, sitting down opposite her. “Would you care to know what it is you stole, at least?” ...Well, learning a little more couldn't hurt, if it's being offered, though she doesn't quite have the patience for it.

“You look like you're going to talk no matter what I say. Go on and get it over with.”

“Higekiri,” Parsee begins after a second. “A rather eccentric name, certainly. A keepsake from a past visitor, to put it charitably. A good man, and a brave one, if not one well-disposed towards me. He came, I was told, to kill a vicious beast. He failed. In how many ways, I'm not yet certain, but I would like to believe that he had the wrong woman to begin with. Given that I spent the better part of a year with a mangled arm, I rather think he owes me what he left behind, if nothing else. I've kept it since then as a memento of sorts, if a useless one to me. You didn't touch the blade, did you?”

“Don't remember. Why?”

“Oh, nothing terribly important. I seem to remember hearing that it only cuts the wicked, or something to that effect.”

“That so? You going to tell me that's why I can't have it?”

“Heavens, no. None of us are saints down here, I should think. In any case, supposedly, only the worthy and pure-hearted can carry it at all; evidently, I was wrong about you.”

“...Seriously?” Now Seija stares at her, wide-eyed from disbelief.

“No, I've put the rumour to rest twice already. Personally. Still, fine blades attract rumours like flies to old meat. There's no helping it, I'm afraid.”

“Because if you're trying to say I'm-”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” ...Well. That's good, then. She has a reputation to keep, at least up until it turns inconvenient. A bit of a history to this sword, then. Idly, Seija can't help but wonder if it claimed more than an arm – since healed, as is the way of so many that are more or less than human – of a lonely third-rate youkai in its time.

“'S an amanojaku thing,” she explains eventually. Should she hesitate? Oh, someone else might, certainly, at the thought of airing out... it isn't a secret, exactly, but few know just how they live, and no one would take kindly to this. To her, it's her one chance at claiming something worthwhile, her ticket to a prize that got away from her once too often.

“It's a little like... empathy, I guess. Where we – amanojaku, I mean – depend on how everyone around us feels. They get mopey and broken down, or scared, or angry... you know, fear, misery, the nice warm glow from some good old-fashioned hate, all that puts a smile on my face, even better if it's got my name on it. I see someone getting all sappy and cheery, it makes me sick. Simple as that.”

“Nothing like empathy at all, in other words.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Leaning against the ground, she breaks into a grin as she looks Parsee over. “...So in other words, you're being had. Took me in and I'm just using you. Looking for an opening so I can hit you where it hurts; same as anyone else, except they're smart enough not to let me near 'em.” She tries to force some enthusiasm, some spite into her voice, finding it all falling disappointingly flat.

“That's what it means, being an amanojaku. Waiting, watching, until I finally get a chance to-”

“Yes, yes,” Parsee cuts her off with an irritable wave. “Vicious, pointless impulses, irresistible nature and so forth. Really, it all sounds quite familiar. If you were expecting to be hopelessly misunderstood, you've come to the wrong place.”

“...What, that's it?” Surprise allows disappointment to creep into Seija's voice for a moment, try as she might to keep it out.

“Was there supposed to be anything else?”

“Well, I was sort of hoping to get something out of you. Enough to make you angry, at least. I don't know. It drives me up the wall, the way you're always so calm.”

“Then I'm afraid I am, as ever, a poor sport.”

That's it, then. A little while passes in uncomfortable, defeated silence, with nothing but the distant splashes of the lake, broken by the things living under the black water, or the flecks of stone that fell into it once in a while. Nothing to distract her but the sight of Parsee sitting right in front of her. Somehow, nothing in the last few weeks has felt quite so futile.

“...So,” the exhausted contrarian asks eventually, “you too, huh?” Familiar. It can't be, of course; it's all too strange to most, unless, that is, Parsee is no different in her own way.

“Regrettably, yes.”

“You don't look the type.”

“I try not to be. Usually, I find that only makes matters worse when my restraint fails.”

“That supposed to make me nervous, Green?” Is that a little laugh she heard? As dry as dust and roughly as easily amused; it sounds like it could belong to the bridgekeeper, at least.

“No. I would hardly call it a promise, but I would rather believe, for now, that I can avoid it. ...And if you plan to lash out at me, Miss Kijin, then I wish you all the luck in the world: How would you hurt one who has nothing at all, I wonder? I should think it quite impossible.” It's a lie, of course. She told many lies, and this is no exception. The years have not left her inclined towards prayer, but she hopes Seija will never find the answer she knows only too well.

“So it's a race, then,” the amanojaku answers plainly, almost immediately.

“Pardon?”

“One of us is going to do something eventually, yeah?” She asks, with a little tilt of the head. “Question of who goes first.”

“Personally, I would rather make a little effort to avoid-” Parsee begins, only to be cut off.

“But it never helps.”

“...But it never helps,” the bridge princess agrees reluctantly. “As you wish, then; I don't suppose arguing will make a difference. ...Now,” she adds, picking herself up from the ground, “shall we return for some tea?”

“Pass. Horrible stuff, the way you make it. Tastes like grit and mildew.” Still, she takes a step or two towards the boat, a thoughtful look on her face. A little surprise in there too, and a slight frown mixing with something like stifled excitement.

“...Going to get burned pretty bad like this, you know.”

“Likewise. Will you be back, when that happens?” Why does she even ask? She knows the answer well enough: Everyone leaves this bridge eventually. Even with Yuugi, after all these years, surely it's a matter of time. One day she will come to her senses and realise this is no place for anyone. The vicious will not care for another, for a place that will give them nothing, and the kind deserve better. And yet, she asks all the same.

“...I'll try,” the amanojaku answers after a moment of thought. “I look like I got anything to lose?”

“Well then, I suppose that's all I can ask for.”

The question comes, as Seija assumed it would, during the boat ride, with an expectant look from Parsee. “I expect you to return it later, you realise. It's worth nothing to you in any case.”

“Over my-” The answer is all but automatic, a sort of reflexive spite that Parsee quickly cuts off.

“Well, that's hardly worth the effort. You might as well keep your prize, then.”

“...I'll get it later.”

When they return to the decrepit bridge, Seija is the first to talk, this time. It isn't as if there is anything else to do, between the rotted wood and desolate stone, with nothing but a city of oni in sight.

“You know... not every day I get to talk like that. Always liked to think it's about the... style of it. Getting it right, trying harder than you have to so you can pull a trick that isn't even in the book yet.”

“Artistry?”

“Yeah, that's the one. It's about the art. Sometimes, though... well, it's kinda nice not having to hold back, I have to say. Pushing all that secrecy stuff to one side and just letting go, not having to put on a show. I mean... don't get me wrong, it's a real pain the way nothing works on you, but I could get used to not needing to hide behind anything. It's, ah... it's pretty good, really, once in a while.” It isn't a lie, not really. Not completely. There is a certain sort of comfort – a sense of security, a freeing feeling – that is as new as it is welcome. If Parsee happens to think that this is the end of it, to the endless web of deceptions and betrayals...

Well, that makes this all the sweeter, doesn't it? Finally, she will have something to call a success out of all this, something to make the bridge princess lower her guard for once. She can't resist a smile, though the two might see something different in it. Before she knows it, oddly relaxed as she is, the question tumbles out of her, the one that has spread across her thoughts for days now.

“...Why'd you stop that tiger, anyway? I mean, I bet you feel pretty stupid for it now – and if you don't, you should – but why do that to begin with?” Why, indeed? The idea is almost unthinkable to her, of someone not only going out of their way but taking a risk to keep her safe. It's all so outrageous that if she were any less uncomfortable about the matter, she would have laughed endlessly.

“What shall I tell you?” Parsee first asks, more rhetorical than out of any real curiosity, though there's a hint of indecision in her voice. “That it was only the right thing to do? That it had nothing to do with you, and I was only taking a stand? That I needed an easy target, and that... zealot happened to provide one at the right time, or that I only did what I had to so that the bridge might have a little life to it for a day longer? ...Well, to be honest, I'm not quite sure myself, but I can tell you I've made more questionable choices in my days.”

There is no answer to offer at all, in the end. None they can both comfortably bear. Better, in that case, to lie in comfortable ambiguity, a choice of one theory out of many that would suit the story of an impassive monster and the strange, despised, vicious creature that came from the surface. It's a kindness of sorts to both of them, in Parsee's eyes, though a strange one. She likes to think she can feel the relief in them both.

“You certainly haven't earned it, but then, I've come to think that if help only came to the deserving...” How long has it been since that boisterous oni insisted on coming up to the bridge time and again, against all reason?

“...Then ours would be a very sorry lot indeed,” Parsee finishes after a moment's pause. “Does that answer your question?”

“So it was just a mistake?” A question, or a request? She knows the answer she could give, all the same, and she would oblige for both their sakes.

“I suppose you could say that, if you must. I would probably repeat it, if I had to; I've made worse mistakes.” She can see the wariness leaving Seija like air from a burst balloon, shoulders and head slumping forward slightly as tension and days of nervousness slowly bleed away.

“...Sure,” comes the answer eventually. “I think I can live with that.”

Chapter Text

“Are you... packing or something?” Well, small wonder that Seija is surprised. Parsee is, after all, not known for her lengthy excursions past the bridge.

“Oh, yes. Did I forget to mention that? I've been a little...” Thoughts of a piercing voice drift through her memory, little green words dancing about. Why don't you tell her? Drive her away, the sooner the better. You know it's only a matter of time.

“...Distracted today,” she finishes after a pause. “At any rate, I have business in the city below. Some day to day supplies to buy and so forth. I'll not be gone too long, I should think.”

Seija nods slightly, apparently content with this. The dull solitude of the bridge will, presumably, still be an improvement over entering the city, given its inhabitants. That fact sends a jolt of inspiration through the bridgekeeper. Walk there with no company but her own? No, no, that won't do at all.

“...In any case, I would appreciate it if you stayed here. The city is full of oni, and quite honestly I don't plan on having the day complicated by any trouble you might cause.” The irritated look in Seija's expression comes about almost instantly.

“So you think you can just hide me here like a dirty secret, is that it? Out of the way where no one has to see me? Well, I'm going with-” She stops suddenly, noticing Parsee's completely unfazed expression. Is she packing for two?

“Splendid. Whenever you're ready, then.” A moment of near-triumph is all that separates Seija from the realisation that she had never intended or wanted to go in the first place. With shoulders slumped, she follows after Parsee, sighing and dragging her feet. “'S not fair,” she grumbles, to no answer at all. “You know there's only one way I can answer when you do... that.”

She glances over at the empty bridge, then back to Parsee as they make their way towards the distant lights. “How're you planning on guarding that thing when we're both away?” Only a little shrug from the guardian.

“There are ways, and there are means.” Another self, a spell-made shell for the watchful green-eyed monster... no, no. She can't exactly give an honest answer, now more than ever.

“You ever actually need to stop someone coming through?”

“Exactly once in recent memory,” Parsee answers after a moment.

“How'd that work out?”

“She was a human, one Reimu Hakurei. You may have heard of her.” The explanation is met with a grimace from Seija, muttering something under her breath at the flood of unpleasant memories.

“You too, huh?”

“Unfortunately.” Really, there isn't a great deal more to say: Where plotters exist, a whirlwind of violence in red and white soon follows. The Hakurei shrine maiden, whether justified in her acts that day or not, is as avoidable and predictable to them as a volcano, a quake, a storm or some other one of fortune's destructive whims. She simply is, and not a great deal can ever be done about it.

The lights of the city twinkle in the dark caves ahead, lanterns and braziers aplenty. A spot of hell with more cheer and energy than all of heaven combined. A city filled with ranks of the dead, but livelier than even the village on the surface, or at least, so some had it; for Parsee, there was little way to be sure. A strange, curious sort of place, with crowds that left them both not a little uncomfortable.

“What're you buying anything with? You're dirt poor, far as I can see,” Seija asks after a while down the rocky path. The bridge princess looks up, grateful for the distraction, waving the leather pack in her left hand. This far from her prison, the pain begins to set in little by little: An ache, sometimes dull, sometimes sharp, that seeps into her bones and threatens to grow if she does not return. An inconvenience for now, an increasing discomfort, and a constant reminder that she should not stray from her post for long.

To questions, then. Those are simpler, mundane as this one is.

"Gems, for the most part. The harvest of the past few starfalls. I've little else to offer the markets, but this is enough to buy a little with now and then.”

“What do you have in there?” Ordinarily she might have a flash of greed in her eyes, but it's hard to muster the energy down here. What would she do with a handful of stones?

“Variations on quartz, by and large. There may have been an opal as well. Typical, really, for anywhere in hell. With luck, the contents of the bag will cover a modest amount of supplies.” As she finishes, she notices Seija's stare, entirely incredulous.

“...A 'modest amount'. You know you're haulin' in a sack of gems, yeah, Green?”

“Quite. And, if I may remind you, it showers down from the sk- the ceiling at regular intervals. Down here, their worth is small. On the surface, of course, this would be quite the fortune; much of the underground's wealth comes from trading these with visiting merchants. Naturally, there's a certain amount of restraint exercised, so as not to flood the world above with it and lower the price.”

Seija squints at her, not entirely convinced. “I've seen all those merchants from the surface come and go, why not just get a good price out of them? They're right there.”

“Oh, I did just that once,” Parsee replies with a little shrug. "A handful of spirits and youkai didn't take kindly to my breach of their rules. All told, I rather prefer being able to walk.” Seija answers with a brief nod, the matter closed for now. Uneven rock turns to cobblestone roads, brightly lit in orange and red from every side, and framed by rambling, untidy stone buildings, with touches of wood here and there. Small spots of luxury, this far below the earth.

The streets are, as ever, crowded with the endless processions of the living and dead. A festival of some sort is in progress, as ever, little more than an excuse for feasting and revelry. It will be a small miracle, in Parsee's experience, if anyone can recall the pretense for it. The sound of constant celebration – even in hell, even in exile, even in death – is the constant voice of the city, and as exhausting as the bridge princess finds it all, she has to admit that there wis a certain charm there.

“Always this noisy?” Seija asks eventually.

“I would almost be concerned if it stopped-” Parsee begins, only to look up at an oni - she recognises the face, but has no name to put to it - towering over the two of them, warily looking down at the amanojaku. “...Not to worry,” she explains with a dismissive wave. “Miss Kijin is here with me, and no doubt on her best behaviour. We'll be gone from here within a few hours, I'm sure.” Apparently satisfied with this, the oni slowly departs, still casting a glance back every now and then.

“'Best behaviour', is it?”

“I am, at times, given to optimism. Fortunately, it seems they're willing to tolerate you for now. To be honest, I wasn't quite certain myself.”

“'Tolerate'. Is that what it is?” Seija asks irritably. “And I'm supposed to feel lucky? Don't see anyone giving me a pat on the back for being gracious enough to tolerate all these fist-for-brains walls of muscle and shambling deaders. Where's my medal? ...Sick of this cave already.”

The complaints earn only a shrug of indifference from Parsee. “I hardly understand why you came here if you're so averse to the underground. Surely there are other amanojaku you could go to for shelter in your situation?”

What an odd look Seija gives her. Try as she might, she can't quite make sense of it before it's gone again. “Don't even know if there are any others around in Gensokyo. If there are, then what? You think we're any different towards each other? I've hardly ever met another amanojaku, and it's probably better that way. Don't go in for all that 'family' stuff and so on. Just me from the start, you know? Wonder how many die like that, sometimes, in their first couple of years; easy enough already, even before the whole world wants your head hung up over their door.”

Apparently oblivious to Parsee's stare, she taps at her cheek with one extended finger, thinking, reminiscing. “...Really, looking back, I'm kinda surprised I'm alive. Not many of us around, not that that's a big shocker. 'S just how things are, you know? No one to go to but your own self. Except maybe... what's-her-face. The tiny one with the long name. Probably not, actually, after... well, you know. Should've seen her at the end of it all, real good day's work. No going back there,” she notes with some pride.

“...A rather difficult life, then,” Parsee comments, after a few moments. “I can't think of many I would wish it on.” Her words draw a strange sort of reaction from Seija, a derisive laugh quickly dismissed, and soon the amanojaku spits at the ground.

“Hey, Green. Don't try any of that 'sympathy for the devil' stuff on me, you hear? I do fine without it. Don't make this weird. Just how it is, and we – amanojaku, I mean – all love it this way. Just about everyone hates me, I hate them right back, it's a grand old world. I'm doing just fine, wouldn't have it any other way.”

“All the same,” the bridge princess answers hesitantly, “it seems a little-”

“Parsee.” Seija's voice is almost sharp enough to cut through stone, for just one moment; enough to make the taller woman flinch back slightly in alarm, before catching herself.

“Y-yes, of course. I don't know what came over me.” The quick dismissal, it seems, is all it takes to calm Seija; after a moment, she continues on, the edge gone from her tone.

“So is that how it works with... you know, everyone else? You can just assume someone's going to look after you and pick up the pieces when it all comes crashing down?” She seems almost mystified by the thought; not, in a way, an entirely unfamiliar feeling for Parsee either.

“Traditionally, yes, in many cases. Obviously, I'm something of an exception, but I'm sure you could piece that much together yourself.”

“Least we can count on each other, huh?” She laughs, giving her best grin, sharpened teeth and all. Parsee's laughter joins hers, more of a low, restrained, hesitant chuckle. Seija likes to think it's a particularly good joke, even by her standards. She doesn't care for thinking of it as much else, right now.

A rare treat, today; the prospector saw something Parsee had missed, or else the old bejeweled youkai was feeling particularly generous: Either way, she walks away with more than she had expected, a pleasant and unusual turn of luck.

“What're you getting with that anyway, Green?”

“...Why do you insist on that name?” She replies, a little weariness creeping into her words.

“Even denser than you look, aren't you?” Seija tuts slightly, shaking her head as if in disbelief. “It's 'cause you hate it. What, was that so hard to figure out? ...Anyway, asked you a question.”

“Tea, I imagine, and something a little more palatable for you. Surface food. I don't generally drink any tea, except when I have company; my stores are rather low.” She only keeps what little she can afford – it being a minor luxury underground – to keep up appearances when guests appear, but she can hardly say that outright.

“Fair enough,” the amanojaku answers with a nod. “I'd want something stronger if I lived down here, too. Sake, then? Heard it's the only good thing that comes out of this place.”

“I don't drink, in fact; I find it disagrees with me. I keep to water.” All questions of decorum and habit-building aside, a few encounters with Yuugi have taught Parsee that she can hold very little indeed, and she has no particular wish to test her limits again.

“Wh- nothing?” Seija sputters in disbelief. “Swear on Ammy, Green, sometimes it's like you try to be miserable.”

“I don't see why that should be your concern.”

“It's not,” the shorter youkai quickly corrects her. “It's what I like about you, really. I mean, as much as someone can like anything about you.”

“Duly noted. ...Ammy?” It takes a moment, but she can hardly resist her baffled curiosity.

“Oh, uh...Ama-no-Sagume. Goddess? Spirit? Way back, not much of a popular lady. She... did alright by us – amanojaku, I mean – going by the stories. Way back, obviously, before my time, but you don't get many people like that.” Not quite reverence or awe, and far from piety, but a sort of quiet respect, rarity that it is among her people, towards the only one who has earned it in all these years.

“Never mind that,” Seija adds hurriedly. “May as well pick up a bottle or two while we're here, even if it's just for me. Got enough to throw that in, right, Green?”

“With any luck,” Parsee answers, not particularly inclined to argue with her guest's whims.

“...What do they even make it out of down here, anyway?” The question gets a shrug out of Parsee, at first.

"They tend fields near the cave mouth, where there's a little sun. I've heard stories of some sort of blessed strain of rice that grows underground – supposedly a gift from some harvest goddess or the other to the oni at their time of exile – but I can't say I've seen it anywhere. Something about mushroom liquor too, I believe. Really, I never cared enough to investigate. Straying too far from the bridge for something as simple as idle curiosity is-”

She cuts off, then, wincing as the nagging reminder makes its return. A throbbing pain in her temple, and the memory of an iron crown pressing down on her head with all its remembered weight. A weariness in her legs that fades only when she faces the direction of the bridge. Anything but subtle.

“...It can be a little trying,” she admits reluctantly. “Now, where were you planning to- ah.” Seija is already making her way through a lacquered wooden door, above which rests a sign: Floor 31.

Floor 31 is a shop with a certain sort of history. As the story – or legend, if one prefers – goes, it was the bottom floor of an impossibly massive cellar from some past castle, though whether it sank from the surface or originally stood in hell is a matter lost to the mists of time. Some terrible cataclysm had razed it to the ground and a good distance below, as often seems to happen to grand castles, and the bottommost floor alone survived, now converted into a shop by the resident ghost.

The story is as old as the store – that is to say, a few months – but the proprietor seems confident that it will stick given a few decades. 'A little history,' as he always insists, 'can do a place like this a world of good. Just you wait.'

Content to let Seija wander for now, she drifts between the shelves, picking out a sack of rice and a few other sundries, along with- no, no, that's quite out of her reach. Another time, then. Now, this... this is quite the pleasant surprise. Something that drifted in from over the barrier, perhaps. Tea, but not as the people here know it; something a little closer to proper tea, the way it's made in the old country. Of course, finding the milk to go with it out here would be practically an impossibility, but even without, it should be pleasantly nostalgic. With her few catches in hand, she makes her way towards the counter, and the jovial ghost manning it. The haggling, then, ends just as she has come to expect.

“Well, for you,” he begins, a bright smile spreading across his translucent face, “I wouldn't want to give you anything but a special price!” Only past experience tells her, in fact, that the 'special price' is almost twice what he demands of anyone else, for all his friendliness. Well, that can't be helped; she is not especially well-liked here, after all. Seija quietly passes her a bottle, and she adds it to the pile, taking care to thank the ghost behind the counter: Extortionate rates are no reason to abandon courtesy. With a nod to Seija, the two begin to leave the shop.

“Hey, Parsee! Didn't think I'd run into you out here! And, uh...” She trails off a little at the sight of Seija, to the bridge princess's surprise; it's a rare day indeed when Yuugi seems particularly averse to anyone's company, let alone the sight of them. Before Parsee can answer, she is quickly interrupted.

“Sure, that's just what I needed today. This city isn't bad enough, oh no, have to see another oni before I can get out.”

“Well,” Yuugi remarks, looking Seija over. Is that a look of fear in her for a moment, when she notices the red, star-adorned horn and realises who she is standing beside? ...Understandable. “She ain't hurt too bad, at least. No fixing the rest.”

“So, what now?” the amanojaku asks of the looming deva. “This the part where you rough me up for stepping into your part of the caves or something? I've seen what oni do to someone like me.” Somehow, it almost sounds like an invitation, as if she would be disappointed to be proven wrong.

“Eh? Wasn't planning on it. Haven't done wrong by me.”

“Oni turn down fights now, do they?” Yuugi laughs then, shaking her head.

“Hah! Nah, wouldn't be one.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you? You really think I can't-”

“I'm sayin' you came in looking worse than half of what the kasha drags in. I'm still a little surprised to see you walking around and looking all patched up, you know? Heard they really tore into you upstairs.”

Before the two can continue further, Parsee steps in between them, waving one hand as if to pry them apart. Yuugi might not exactly be aggressive, but everything is a clear-cut insult to someone looking for one. Apparently, the oni being able to snap her in half – at least, going by appearances – does nothing to dampen Seija's eagerness to start a fight.

“Yuugi,” she begins with all the stiffness in her voice that she can muster, “Seija Kijin. Miss Kijin, Yuugi Hoshiguma. I'm sure the two of you will get along perfectly well,” she insists, doing her best to seem adamantly oblivious.

“We've met,” Seija replies tersely, staring at the ground. Model behaviour, in her mind; she can afford Parsee a little favour, out of self-preservation if nothing else. “Y'know, all the oni I've met before would've jumped at me a whole lot sooner than this. What's your deal?”

A little shrug from the towering giant. “Older, I s'pose. Anyway, you can't be all bad, seems like Parsee likes you well enough.” The comment in turn gets a look of mild surprise from the bridgekeeper.

“Do I, now? It's news to me, certainly.”

“I mean, you let her stick around at your bridge for close to a month now, yeah? Gotta count for something.” At this, Parsee nods, a thoughtful frown on her face.

“Yes, I suppose it must. I can't say I've really thought about it,” she answers with a little shrug.

“Good enough in my book, then.” Seija turns to the bridgekeeper, wearing an astonished expression, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

“She can read?” the amanojaku asks in her best shocked voice.

“A good deal more than I can, truth be told; I've not had much opportunity to practice, down here.” Seija blinks a few times, caught off guard, and Yuugi takes the chance to slip a few words in.

“She's not giving you too much trouble, is she, Parsee?” The oni asks, concern evident in her voice, with a few sidelong glances at Seija. The little youkai is trouble by nature, after all; it's hard not to worry when she has spent several weeks in the company of what Yuugi considers... at least something like a close friend.

“A little. But then, it's entirely mutual at this point; I wouldn't be surprised if her patience ran out first.” Standing between the two, it's difficult not to notice a few similarities, different as they are in most respects. In particular, Parsee's eyes linger on the dull red eyes and horns that the two share – albeit rather different in shape- bringing certain old rumours to mind.

“Incidentally,” she begins, “I've heard something about a... relation of sorts between oni and amanojaku, and I must say, I'm curious. Yuugi, Miss Kijin, would either of you happen to know anything about-”

“No,” Seija answers immediately and irritably, as if the question is some sort of insult.

“Not really. Where'd you hear that?” The deva asks, and almost immediately, the little youkai standing by her shakes her head.

“I-I mean, yeah, of course we are. Stands to reason, doesn't it?” Inwardly, she curses herself, casting awkward glances between the other two. It's practically reflexive, as given to contradictions as she must always be, but this is a particularly bitter association to make by herself. Is that a pitying sigh from the oni?

“Duly noted, then; I appreciate the answer. Now, Yuugi, if you'll excuse me, I... well.” Parsee moves one hand up to her head, tapping at it; the pain is growing more inconvenient by the moment, like a hammer being driven against her temple time and again. She doesn't care for it at the best of times, and this is becoming rather excessive by now. Yuugi nods understandingly, waving her off.

“Alright, you do that. See you both 'round, then! Take care, now. I'll try and visit again, uh...” Her wandering eyes meet the amanojaku's glare. “Some... time?” She finishes awkwardly. Another little wave, and she walks away; she might have melted into the crowd, if she didn't loom over them so easily. With her gone, Seija turns towards Parsee.

“...We going, then? Had enough of this place for a lifetime.”

Parsee nods. “Not to worry, my visits here are a rare event in any case.” Her companion looks at her, then frowns slightly.

“...Let me know if you need to rest, you hear? You're not looking good, and... I mean, that's great, but I'm not in the mood to carry you all the way uphill if you pass out or something.” Is it showing that badly? Has she left so much openly visible? For a moment, irritation and worry cross Parsee's mind, but soon it drifts away.

What a strange irony. Seija is not to be trusted, of course, and if anything, even worse than herself; two facts which give her the confidence to act freely around someone almost as vile and helpless as what she sees in her own reflection. Then there is Yuugi; her very dislike for lies and cowardice drives Parsee to disguise her nature, in fear of driving the oni away. Here, on the other hand... Seija has seen through her in some small way, and strangely, she feels little resistance to that thought.

“I'm sure it won't be an issue. Now then, shall we be off?”

“About time. Let's get going.” Parsee looks up at the dim stone slopes, and nods. A long walk, but it won't be an unpleasant one. Together, they set off towards the bridge, leaving the lights and life of the city behind them.

Chapter Text

The rough stone pot fills almost to the halfway point with rice and water. Had she been too optimistic when she carved it out all those years ago, or well-prepared? Some of the tools she has around her were once made especially for the purpose, many years ago. A small indulgence every now and then, something half-remembered from home, though she would have forgotten it if not for the times she repeated this, both after crossing to Japan and once she descended to these caves.

Of course, she can only assume some of the details have left her over the years. Still, it's comfort food of sorts. Some bleary recollection tells her that this had once been for a special occasion. Well, surely a spiteful layabout is cause enough for celebration?

“Well, isn't that a sight?” Seija asks, wandering over. Come to think of it, where had she been before? Walking about the caves? “Don't think I've seen you do much more than just stick stuff over a fire since I came here.” She gives a little involuntary shudder, looking at the knife Parsee had used. Unnervingly sharp, stone or not.

“I don't usually have much that merits the effort,” Parsee replies, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. A little more oil- drat, she's run out. Not nearly enough. She had to settle for sesame oil over butter, too, and improvise or cut most of the herbs... really, it's barely recognisable in the end, but hopefully good enough.

“Well, I'm good for today. Found a human on the road earlier,” the amanojaku explains, perking up a little. “Only good thing about this place; if you do find one, it's so dark they'll never see you coming. Too easy, really.” Parsee purses her lips at this, shaking her head slightly.

“You know perfectly well that's no replacement for a square meal,” she replies. Is that a spot of blood on Seija's face? Knowing her, she probably left it there intentionally.

“It is a square meal. What, are you telling me you're too good for that or something?” At her words, the bridgekeeper hesitates slightly. She has caught a few stray humans in her time, of course, and the experience was... not disagreeable, at first. Still, the nagging guilt stays with her. Each time is a step away from who she used to be. When she found she could rely on... emotional alternatives instead, the choice became an obvious one.

Between hearts and minds or flesh and blood, she thinks it the lesser of two evils. There would be no nobility in the choice either way, she knows that, but... one is rather less unpleasant after the fact. Of course, it must seem odd to other youk- to youkai. Outsiders, she reminds herself. She is not like them, not quite.

“...At any rate,” she replies, after a long enough pause to get some strange looks from Seija, “I've made rather too much for one person at this point, so you might as well sit down. It's nearly ready, and I'm not enough of a glutton to eat through an entire special meal by myself. Do have a seat.”

She quickly takes a few cuts of smoked fish – the cooking helps a little to disguise the pallid, somewhat alien look they have – and lays them out on the rice. Which, well... she tried her best, at least. She glares at it, then casts an apologetic look at the amanojaku, shaking her head.

“Somehow, it's been long enough since I last made this for me to forget that all the rice in this country can easily pass for glue. It hasn't come out quite right.”

“So it's not like that back where you're from?” Seija asks, one eyebrow raised.

“To the best of my... admittedly poor recollection, no.” Really, she chooses the strange things to remember. “Not without adding a good deal of glue, at least.” Really, if she wanted... this, she could have boiled down a horse.

Quickly, Parsee sets the table with the two sets of chopsticks she has to her name, and a pair of fired clay plates. Hardly silverware and china, but it will do. Certainly, Seija is the last one to care or object, except out of sheer habit.

The black-haired youkai, meanwhile, looks over the meal, blinking a little in surprise. The rice has a good deal more oil and green to it than she is used to, certainly, and the tea is... brown? With specks of some strange spices floating in it. Less, she recalls from a previous complaint, than Parsee had wanted to mix in, and she said something about adding milk, too... well, small mercies, then. It takes a foreigner, she supposes, to take something like rice, tea and fish, and make it so completely unfamiliar.

Unfamiliar twice over, really. She wasn't expecting this sort of treatment from a dour recluse living under a bridge, either, but she has to admit that Parsee has been nothing if not – in her own awkward way – hospitable from the beginning. Something about a tradition, she said once.

“You know,” the amanojaku comments eventually, having first shoveled down a few mouthfuls. A youkai's appetite, as she well knows, is a difficult thing to put a stop to. “Never really thought about it, but 'Mizuhashi' isn't exactly a Persian name, is it?” The moment she thought of it, the question tugged at her curiosity, and now it draws an immediate if weary nod from Parsee.

“Married in, yes. The reason I came here from Persia to begin with,” her host answers.

“Wait, what?” Seija asks, looking quite shocked. “You? Hah! Someone's got a head for all the wrong plans.” She sips at her mug, before setting it down, now showing Parsee a broad grin. The bridgekeeper only nods in agreement. Even a broken clock was right twice a day, however accidentally.

“Heh. Mizuhashi,” Seija chuckles quietly. The bridge over the water. Well, doesn't that fit tidily? “That's pretty funny, don't you think? I mean, since you're-”

“The novelty wears thin after the first few hundred years,” comes the bridgekeeper's reply.

“Well, alright. What was it before, then?” It might be a sensitive topic for her host, but really, curiosity is most of what drives the question for once, not spite. Parsee shifts to a thoughtful expression mouthing a few names to herself. It isn't the first time she's mulled the question over, far from it, but this was all so long ago.

“It was... it was...” Finally, defeated, she offers Seija a sad, rather apologetic look and nothing more. Another small part of who she was, a little past recovering. Fortunately, Seija doesn't press the point, only breaking the uncomfortable silence after a few minutes, as she clears her plate.

“That was... weird,” the amanojaku comments eventually. “Must've come out all wrong. You used to eat this stuff?” She asks, apparently incredulous. Well, there isn't much point expecting any other response, anyone would know that. Parsee only shrugs, seeming oddly satisfied. The key, she has found some time ago, is in learning to read between the inevitably caustic lines.

“Seconds, then?”

“Yeah, I'll take all you've got,” Seija answers, from behind a grin. Enough for the bridge princess to be quite pleased with herself. “Only, uh... hold up. 'Fore I forget. Got something for you,” she adds, looking a little embarrassed as she reaches under her chair, taking out a tiny round package. A little bit of red lantern-paper wrapped around something smooth and cold. This close, she hears it even through the wrapping.

Tick.

It's beautiful, really. The polished case of shining brass. The carefully carved needles doling out each second. The numbers stand out starkly against the crystal, which eagerly reflects what little light there is here. Four in the morning. The chain of the pocket watch lies spooled at its side like the coils of some metallic, impossibly thin snake. Except-

Tick.

“Got it from town earlier. Saw it when we were there the other day,” Seija explains eagerly. Her voice seems so quiet, next to the deafening sound the watch lets out every second. “I thought you might like having something like the surface down here, you know? ..Time's the best I can manage. Do you like it?” She asks. Enthusiastic. Hopeful, but for what?

Tick.

It's an inconvenience, to those who have just come below. The time here is vague and indistinct, the hours blending together, with no night and day, no moon, and no sun save the one that has been made out of one of their own. The days melt into one another, and to some, that is intolerable. Perhaps it's a bother for those who live here, too; that would explain how Seija had found one.

Tick.

To her, it is a blessing. She is held here, no resident of these caves. There is a small mercy in not remembering what she has lost. In having no reminder of how long has passed down here since she lost it all. The small eternities that pass by in the blissful peace of someone else's voice that silences her heart, or the company of her own thoughts when white noise can no longer drown it out. And now, here it is. Each second, each minute, measured out in a sound that makes everything else seem insignificant. It is all she can do to show her ordinary calm expression. To stop herself from coming apart on the spot.

Tick.

“Only, ah... this is kinda embarrassing, you know?” Parsee hears over the din, making out snatches here and there. “But you took me in, looked after me, that sort of thing. No one else would do that. 'Oh, she's trouble, keep her out of here', they'd say. So, ah... gotta admit, I owe you one, but I can do this much while I'm down here. Thanks, Green.”

Tick.

A little shiver. “My, it's getting rather chilly in here,” she answers, playing it off with what could be a soft laugh or a little whimper. They aren't different enough for Seija to tell, or so she hopes. Seija. Surely she can tell how this feels? The words come back to her, now, from that walk they took on the lonely sandbar. You know, fear, misery, the nice warm glow from some good old-fashioned hate, all that puts a smile on my face, even better if it's got my name on it.

Tick.

...She knows. Surely she knows? She has to. Parsee sees the smile spreading across the amanojaku's face, now. Still, it might have been sincere. Does it matter now? She can hardly turn down something like this, of course. The bridgekeeper nods slowly, and... smiles? No, no. That is a little beyond her, and has been for so long now. All she can offer is an almost indiscernible twitch of the lips.

Tick.

“T-thank you. It's... lovely, really. You're too kind,” she manages, taking the watch in her hands, clumsily fumbling for a spot for it, and eventually giving up for the moment. It can't convince Seija, of course. If anyone can tell what she was feeling, it's an amanojaku. As an afterthought, she rubs her eyes a little, hoping that this much, at least, is convincing.

Tick.

“..But I'm afraid I'm a little tired, by now.” No, of course it's obvious. When had she ever admitted to this? “It's time I lay down for a little, I think, if you'll excuse me.” With another round of mumbled thanks, she discreetly places the watch on a stand not far from the table, walking away for now. It would be the first time she uses the mattress she brought from the city the other day. Certainly, she has no chance of sleeping, but she hopes, as she places her head against the lumpy, uneven pillow, that it will afford her some quiet.

Tick.

A shame her hopes don't seem to count for much.

Chapter Text

Days later, the incessant, relentless sound has yet to give her any peace. Parsee wanders the bridge, dark rings wrapped around her eyes, with a sound creeping in her ears that several layers of cloth and a good few steps do nothing to muffle. Is it quite so loud, or is she imagining it?

Tick.

She paces back and forth a few times, before slumping her shoulders in defeat. She needs... well, a break from this. From this ever so thoughtful gift that is slowly driving her out of her mind- no, no. The years have seen to that much already. Still, it's all getting to be too much.

Tick.

She needs a voice. As usual. Another voice to drown out the sound. Not her own, though it echoes against her thoughts, but another. White noise to give her some peace and quiet. Here, that means... The bridgekeeper breaks into a quiet sigh, all by herself. Seija. Of course. Something like a laugh, bitter and harsh, slips from her mouth for a few seconds. Seija . To comfort her through something the amanojaku has done herself, and gladly at that.

Tick.

What a pair they make, the two of them. Now, where has she gone off to? The bridge and either side of it are bare, and she can't very well go by footprints on hard stone. Is that a glimpse of red there, over by the ledge? She makes her way towards it little by little, hopeful, but a little wary too; she can always find Seija there, after all. Looking for her doesn't particularly make that a more appealing prospect.

Tick.

“Did something catch your eye?” Parsee asks, as she settles down to sit beside the distracted youkai. Seija has been sitting there on the little ledge for some time, by the look of it, staring at the lights of the city below. On some level, the bridge princess can't help but fret a little at the thought of sitting here, but their feet almost touch the ground in any case. It isn't too far down, nervous as she might be.

“More or less. Don't like that town up close, but it's the only thing worth looking at from here. Those lanterns aren't half bad. Got me wondering, though. You know much about this place?”

Parsee thinks for a little while, head tilted ever so slightly to one side. She is never inclined to boast, really, but she has picked up a good deal. On the other hand, it's probably less than most who have been underground for so long, chained as she is. Finally, she settles on an acceptable answer.

“More than I would like,” the bridgekeeper concedes eventually.

“Good enough. How'd they end up here, then? Did most of the youkai just live down here since forever ago or something?” She has curiosity and a guide of sorts to keep her entertained, for now. It will be as good a way as any to pass the time, with how little there is to do in this place.

“...No, not as such,” Parsee answers after some deliberation. “The oni were informally cast out en masse, if memory serves. As Yuugi tells it, tensions on the surface became rather too much to bear, and they found themselves an occupation of sorts down here. The satori sisters, too, left the sunlit world when it would no longer tolerate them. Many of the youkai here were banished, considered either too dangerous, vile or ill-tempered for the rest of Gensokyo. It's a city of exiles we have here, in the end. Or an entire cave of them. Of all those I've seen here, I can think of only two that belong in this place.”

Seija nods along slowly, with a thoughtful look, apparently mulling something over. “What about you?” She asks eventually.

“A-a story for another time,” Parsee manages uncertainly, caught off guard. No time at all, with any luck. Some prices are too high to pay even for another voice. The amanojaku shrugs, getting up to her feet and walking off. After a moment, Parsee follows, and the two walk towards the bridge once again.

“Looks to me like they did alright out of it,” Seija comments eventually, casting one more glance over her shoulder at the distant lights and crowded streets far below. An oasis of light and life dropped in the middle of cold stone. “Made a home for themselves down here, even in hell. It makes me think, really. Or wonder, at least.”

Puzzled, Parsee quirks an eyebrow at her, giving the woman a curious look. “About what, exactly?”

Another little shrug. “Well, they don't mind it down here, far as I can tell. Some of them even like this place. You've been down here... what, a couple hundred years? Longer than I've even been alive by a fair bit. After all that time, you're still... you know, you. All mopey and frowning, the whole 'woe is me' package after so long. How do you do it?”

Parsee tenses a little, walking stiffly to the bridge only to rest one hand on the railing, leaning against it for support, as if to catch her breath. “...We all have our own ways of dealing with crisis, I'm afraid. Theirs are not mine,” she manages tersely. Her words could not have been in more of a monotone if she wrote them down by hand.

“I mean,” Seija continues, unperturbed – is she really so oblivious, or has a casual question turned into an unexpected opening for Seija? - “I've been down here for what, a month? A couple weeks over? Hard to tell down here. Should've got one of those bits of wood with notches in it or something. Point is, though, I don't even have one year down here, and I'm getting used to the place already! Come on, I put up with it, don't I? You don't see me complaining day in and day out, all 'torturous prison' this and 'miserable existence' that. I got forced down here just the same as you, and I'm fine with it, more or less. What's your excuse, with all the time you've had?” They're not words Parsee has ever used, of course, but that doesn't matter now.

The bridgekeeper's white-knuckled grip on the railing tightens further. Splinters force themselves into her palm, cracking under the pressure of her hand, but if she even notices, then she no longer cares. Is that a trickle of red from her palm, covering the wood's faded coat of paint? It doesn't matter, not in the slightest.

“...Miss Kijin. That's quite enough.” If anything, that only seems to amuse the amanojaku further. Of course it does. There really is no way out.

“I bet it's the... what's it called, the curse? Heard about that, you know. It's not really your fault, is it?” She asks, voice dripping with sudden condescension. Does she mean it? Unlikely. Contempt is a prop like any other, and though she uses it well, it isn't hers. That doesn't matter, right now, not to either of them. “Jealous day in and day out, isn't that right? You just can't help it, can you? Even if you haven't had a reason in years, or centuries. When you get right down to it,” she says, jerking one thumb at her own face, “you can't even pretend you're any worse off than-”

“In all my years here,” Parsee interrupts, “not once have I felt even the slightest touch of jealousy. The fear, if you recall, the anger stemming from the thought that another might take what you have. Look around you,” she continues, taking the bridge in with a sweep of her arm. The desolate excuse for the prison that is no home of hers, the empty expanse of stone with some faltering attempts at life and comfort. “I have nothing. If you think you can steal it away from me, then you are more than welcome to whatever you may find.”

Even now, with fury creeping into her words, she does not shout. It is almost a whisper, one that carries all too easily through a place quieter than it was a moment ago. As if the brittle, cold anger in her voice has frightened all the other sounds away. She lifts her bloodied hands from the railing, all but peeling them off the wood, and takes a step towards Seija.

“You think you were forced down here? You told me your story, your endless excuses, built on nature and impulses,” Parsee continues. Fighting back her shock, the copper-eyed youkai tries to muster some indignation to put behind her bluster.

“Is that how this is going to be? You're going to try to pin this on what I am?” Seija asks. This time, the bridgekeeper's voice rises ever so slightly in answer.

“Only on what you decided to be. You are not the horns on your head. You are not the spite in your eyes. You are not the blood on your hands. You still had a choice.” How? How can she have something Parsee longs for so dearly, and not even notice it? The sheer ignorance burns in her thoughts, and it's all she can do to keep those green flames from showing.

“You enjoyed it, didn't you, every step of the way? You never regretted it for a moment when you burned the world around you. No false promises, no secrets or lies to live through. You could change the world in a day, you-” she cuts off for a moment. Something else she can never call her own. “You meant something. Even now, with your life crumbling down around you, one day, you will leave. How long, I wonder? Weeks? A month? Four hundred years? I've forgotten the warmth of the sun. I can't remember the feeling of the wind on my skin. I have only hearsay to believe on the colour of grass. I will never see any of it again, all because I dared to trust.”

Parsee waits, expecting an answer. Nothing comes, only a stare from those red eyes, like fired bricks or burnished copper. Is that fear she saw in them? Does it matter? She can only hold back the words for so long. The bridge is quieter now, aside from her words. Somewhere, she hears its faint voice, almost drowned out by her own furious tirade.

Tick.

“Now I am less than nothing, a monster, a story to frighten children,” she hesitates – it's a bitter truth to swallow even after this long - “Yes, I'll admit it, there's too little left of me that's still human. I am tied to a prison that's not only meaningless, but forgotten. I live the life of a beggar without a bowl, and I can expect nothing else for the rest of my long life. After this – after all this – you think it takes a curse?” When had her hands found their way to Seija's neck? Can it really be so easy to lift her up? The little amanojaku seems so small now, fragile and light, like a ragdoll.

“You think you have the right to reduce all this to an empty curse, a madwoman's delusions? You think I need eyes like mine to envy you?” For once, hatred burns behind those bright green eyes, not even for the one in front of Parsee, but for a person and a time long gone. “I would tear them out here and now if I thought it would make a difference!” She flings the amanojaku away now, a small distance across the bridge, where she slams into the parapets with a sharp crack and slumps into a heap, unable to stand up, whether through shock or injury.

“One day, you will see the sun again. I won't be free of this. Not so easily.” There is no anger left in her now, all drained away, only a resigned exhaustion. Collapsed a few steps away from her, wincing in pain, Seija somehow forces out a dry, halting laugh.

“...Hah. So that's what it takes. Never thought I'd see you snap like that; live and learn, I guess. Didn't think the one time I finally pull it off would be half by accident, either.” Looking down at her without the haze of grief and indignation, Parsee's eyes widen in surprise, then alarm as she crouches beside the stricken youkai.

“Sh. Shhhh.” Seija holds one finger in front of her lips, shaking her head slowly. “Simmer down, now. Doesn't suit you, flying off the handle like that. ...I mean, I like it and all – it's kinda fun, doing that to you - but what you did back there hurt like hell. J-just... give it a rest for now, you hear?” She sucks some air in through her teeth, wincing again and fidgeting in place.

“Are you-” Before Parsee can finish the question, she's cut off with a sharp nod as the amanojaku tries – with little success – to pull herself into a more upright sitting position, if nothing else.

“I've seen better days. I... ah, wow. Really did a number on me, huh? That's... sort of embarrassing. Caught me by surprise, but it still shouldn't be that easy.” A nervous, almost frantic look finds its way into Parsee's expression, a silent apology for what she has allowed herself to do only a minute ago.

“I'm-” Seija cuts her off again, holding up one open hand.

“Stop. Just stop right there, you hear?”

“But-”

“What's it going to be? 'Sorry I flew off the handle just like you always wanted'? Or maybe you were planning on 'sorry you're so rusty a two-bit excuse for a youkai could turn you into a ragdoll'? Come on, Green. It's a joke and you know it.” She reaches up to grab onto the railing, but her limp hand slides off it like water off oil, and she shakes her head stiffly. After a moment, she speaks again.

“Hey, Green. One thing.”

“...Yes?” The bridgekeeper can't quite keep her voice from trembling ever so slightly, relieving the pressure with a small sigh.

“Help me up, will you? I could go for lying down somewhere other than this, but I'm... not quite sure I can walk right now, and... heh, you know I'm pretty light, now. Wasn't a problem for you earlier.” Instead of answering, Parsee reaches out, and brings Seija to her feet, only to slowly carry the battered amanojaku in her arms, bringing her to the mattress to set her down.

The rest of the day passes by the green-eyed monster and the battered outcast without another word.

Chapter Text

“Going somewhere?” Seija's voice is a hoarse, ragged thing, reedy and a little high-pitched. It might be a sign of frailty, if she sounded any better at her best. As it is, this is all that is normal about the amanojaku, leaning up from the bed she still finds herself confined to for much of the day. She can leave, now, but each movement is a slow, torturous process. She succeeds, at least, in catching Parsee's attention.

“Ah? ...Oh, yes. I was going to see what I can find at Miss Kurodani's pharmacy. Hopefully something to treat you wi-”

“You serious? I didn't think you could actually get even worse at this.” Is that a laugh? Almost certainly not, but the strange barking wheeze of a sound was probably meant as one.

“...Pardon?” Parsee stops in her tracks, looking puzzled. Insults and seemingly almost random objections are to be expected, of course, but sometimes it can still leave her a little confused.

“You gotta commit to this sort of thing. Just yesterday, you bashed me against a railing so hard I can barely move, and now you're falling over yourself trying to get me fixed up? What do you even want? Got no point to it, when you do it like that. I get what you did, I'm not telling you off for that. Hurt like hell, but I get it. I just... you're taking it back? Why?”

Some days, she might call Seija's thoughts strange. Most other times – as is true today – the hypocrisy is far too clear to her to consider any such thing. Instead, she continues to pack, before straightening her back, turning away.

“I have my reasons,” she answers, if only for brevity's sake.

“It's not pity or something, is it?” They both know it isn't, of course, as much as the amanojaku might ask. A small advantage to Seija having the slightest of glimpses at her heart. Regret? Certainly, there is some of that as well, and shame, at allowing herself to lash out. She doesn't say a word of it, of course. It would take more to wring this truth out of her. Maybe she can spare another answer, less painful, less secret, but stranger.

“...Has it occurred to you that I don't want you to be hurt?” Another short, choked sound comes from Seija at that, something that might be a laugh.

“C'mon, Green, that's crazy talk. I mean, after all that? Of course you do! You'd have to. Anyone would.” She stops, then, growing quieter with every word, and finally sighs, shaking her head in dismay.

“...Alright, yeah, you got me there. First time for everything, I guess. And, ah... guess that goes both ways. I'm not going to-” Seija catches herself, looking up from her bed at the confused bridgekeeper, then down again, with a look in her eyes that might be disappointment, but only towards herself.

“...This is where I would tell you I'm not going to hurt you again. I'd be lying, and I think we both know that by now; call me crazy if you like, but I think I'd like to do a little more than that for you. So I'll try not to do it. It won't work. It'll happen again and again. That's not a promise, really. It's like rain in summer, snow in winter. Just how I am. ...But I'll try not to, all the same. You take all the fun out of it, somehow."

Somehow, the reassurance carries its own sort of sting. She nods, mumbles words of understanding and thanks, then turns away. There is a great deal to be taken care of, after all, and in any case they have both said far too much for the day. Quickly, Parsee makes her way to the lantern-lit city below.

Yamame's establishment – for all that she had said earlier, 'pharmacy' felt a little off – is... Parsee has searched for a term many times before, on her previous visits, ideally a suitably charitable one. 'Eccentric' would have to do. Patients lie on beds and pallets around the converted half of the spider's house. Bottles of strange remedies and captured pestilences line the shelves, and occasionally, one of them shivers ever so slightly.

Here and there lie relics and keepsakes, which she knows by now to be put in place, as Yamame had once put it, for 'atmosphere'. The odd skull, or jar of teeth, or a lantern shedding a sickly green light. Hanging over her desk is the spider's pride and joy, a rusted, bloodstained bonesaw. A prop, naturally; she does not so much as dabble in surgery, and would not suffer faulty tools in any case. The blood, on the other hand, is quite real, and in no short supply down here. Not long after Parsee steps in, she is greeted by Yamame's cheerful call.

“'Ey, Parsee! Hold on, Ah'll be there in jest one moment.” She hurdles a low desk in her rush across the room, bringing her face to face with the bridgekeeper, practically beaming as she always does. For all her enthusiasm – and the distant pained groans of some of the patients – this place is still quieter than the outside, a breath of fresh air. Well, a different sort of stale air, at least. There's only so much variety below ground.

“New patient, I take it?” Parsee asks, noticing the constant glances the spider casts over her shoulder, and receiving a nod in return.

“Got a knack fer whinin', that one. Tells me everything I use hurts too much, ain't mah fault if awl the safe medicine Ah've got stings like a needle in the eye, eh? Only tryin' to keep 'im in one piece. Came down here on account of not havin' the rattlers – Ah mean coins, no need fer that look – for the moonie doctor topside. All th' way down to hell! Well, Ah was feelin' mighty flattered, and there's somethin' about anyone with that much spirit in 'em who ain't drunk as an oni, ya know?”

Parsee nods along, a little dazed. It;s best not to interrupt Yamame's tangents, she has learned, and in any case she needs time to browse the shelves. Still, the tsuchigumo's accent, to her, always seems a good deal thicker than for most of the underground. On the other hand, the others never look as though they have a problem understanding it.

“What does he have that merits coming here, then?” She asks, doing her best to remain vaguely encouraging for now.

“Whisperin' Fever, far as Ah can tell. There's them as calls it Sinner's Lung, too. 'S a holy plague, it is; burns me right up jes' bein' in the same room, so it does. Gotta do it, though, hopper's oath or somethin'. Anyhow, this fever, it pulls 'em all out, see? Lies, bitter words, angry words, drags them up in a big ol' procession, and they burn up along the way, which is where ya get the fever from. If'n ya don't treat it right quick, it cores out the lungs an' makes the tongue fall right out! Awful business.”

Parsee is left caught somewhere between a squint and an astonished stare. “I don't... believe I've heard of such a thing before. Is this a recent development, Miss Kurodani?” That question is all it takes for the spider to break into a broad grin.

“Could say that!” She lowers her voice suddenly, leaning in with a conspiratorial look. “Made it up jes' now. Near as Ah can tell, 's Consumption, oughta have him on his feet in a couple days. I'm tryin' a little preventative medicine though, puttin' the fear of gods in 'em so as they don't get themselves hurt coming back down here. Well, gods or at least ol' Yaso; gotta take what I can get! Bit of fright never hurt anyone.” Parsee only nods along, too distracted to pay much attention after she had received her immediate answer.

“So,” Yamame continues, “anythin' ya need? Don't see you 'round here too often, and ya don't look hurt.” Rare among those of the city, she seems quite pleased – as usual – to see Parsee again. Always the case, from the first visit; enough, in fact, that the bridge princess had eventually asked after this, if only out of sheer bemusement. She coan still recall the answer she was given back then.

Ah'm no sorta stranger to this, y' gotta understand. Pretty near everyone what walks in here is some kinda sick, Ah don't judge 'em any the worse fer it.

“Some first aid material, for the most part,” she replies eventually. “For...” For what, exactly? A difficult word to choose, much more so with someone listening. “...For an acquaintance,” Parsee finishes, after a pause. “Something to accelerate recovery from an injury, and ideally dull the pain as much as possible.” Seija is a youkai, after all, and youkai heal quickly enough, but a helping hand is the least she can offer.

“Someone got you to look after 'em, did they? Hah! Ain't they a lucky one? Dint think Ah'd ever see the day! Ah got jest the thing, alright.” She picks a jar of some brick-red liquid off one of the shelves, depositing it in Parsee's hands with a flourish that nearly threatens to drop it on the stone floor.

“How much will that be?”

“Ya goin' to pay me in sticks, Parsee? Little splinters, couple bits o' granite, maybe half a rat? Naw, take whatcha need, an' before ya say anything about not takin' charity, this ain't it. Yer fixing up someone I can't spare the time to head over to, alright?” The answer brings a little frown to Parsee's face. Is she so predictable that Yamame can cut off her every objection before it even comes to that?

...Quite besides the point. If she keeps this up, surely Yamame will run herself out of business in a matter of weeks; perhaps it's only a hobby, an odd little hobby to prop up her collection of bottled diseases. None of the bridgekeeper's concern, at least.

She offers some quick thanks – barely in time – as the tsuchigumo sprints off with a quick wave, rushing away to meet a distant patient's call. Alone now, Parsee looks around, only for the label of a nearby bottle to catch her eye. A list of warnings. Handle with care, lethargy, weakness, a certain frailty, and so forth... but no true harm. Not that potent a poison at all. Barely one at all, almost harmless. Just enough for her to feel some sense of distant kinship with it, and no more. The words on the label swim out of sight, as that haunting, barbed reassurance returns to her thoughts.

...But I'll try not to, all the same. You take all the fun out of it, somehow.

How is that supposed to bring her any peace? It's all that keeps Seija here beyond necessity, surely; finding a font of misery and bitterness, however carefully guarded. Like a vault that can be smashed open with time and effort. Now that is gone. Soon, once the hunt on the surface dies down, there will be only silence, only her own voice and company, as the bridge is left empty and bare once again. Is this supposed to relieve her, when the only other voice in her dreary prison has no more reason to stay beyond what necessity demands? What can she offer now that will not be rightly despised? How can there be any comfort in knowing Seija has abandoned the only cause she might have for staying or returning, the moment she recovers and is rid of her pursuers?

The moment she recovers. Of course. The words exchanged on that lonely sandbar drift back to her, unbidden.

...Going to get burned pretty bad like this, you know.

Likewise. Will you be back, when that happens?

...I'll try. I look like I got anything to lose?

Promises. Reassurances. Can anything in the world possibly be so hard to believe? ...Painless. Practically harmless. The amanojaku knows full well who Parsee is, what she is. Can this really be any surprise?

You gotta commit to this sort of thing.

She reaches out with one arm, and a hand that trembles ever so slightly, egged on by remembered words. One finger wraps gingerly around the glass, then another. She takes it into her hands, then – a second bottle to join the first – cursing herself all the while. Later that day, a measure of each would find their way into Seija's drink.

A bitter medicine for them both, but sorely needed. She can bear this, bear anything but silence.

Chapter Text

Two days? Three days? Thanks to the pocket watch Seija had brought, the hours are a little easier to follow now, but in her near-bedridden state, the days blur together a little. Long enough, at least, for the amanojaku to recover slightly. The days pass in a comfortable, barely-perceived haze, drifting between bouts of sleep.

It's almost enough to blot out her irritation. Almost. Her recovery is proceeding well enough. The pain, thanks to the medicine Parsee brought her, is largely gone. Only a strange fatigue hangs over her now, on top of her injuries. Like a stifling blanket on both her body and her thoughts, pinning her down whenever she tries to move, keeping her held in place.

Somewhere above, Parsee is sleeping. The lack of movement could have given that away, of course. Or the sounds; the squirming, laboured breathing, whispers and mumbled words. Any of that would have done the trick for someone else. The grief and bitterness in the air makes for the only sign that Seija needs. A shame, really, that she can't be there to see it. Such a rare opportunity shouldn't be allowed to slip through her fingers, but here she is.

She can see. The cavern is dark, but for the distant, dull lights on the ceiling and the walls, and yet she can see. The realisation only begins to sink in then, cold and sharp, like a sliver of ice. No human could see down here without so much as a torch. No human could live in such conditions, hear every little rat's breath, stare down the darkness with piercing green eyes, or any of the countless other things she has done. One revelation after another intrudes upon her mind, uninvited and unwanted, too much to rationalise away with excuses.

Of course, of course. It explains too much.

A youkai, had they called it? A strange, terrible creature of the night, rightly despised, justly loathed. Monsters infinitely far from humanity. She had heard it many times, of course – heard tales and whispered warnings in her childhood - though they had a different name in her old home. She believed every word, and finds that nothing has changed now that she counts herself among their number. How long has this been true?

How much longer will she endure like this? How many years will she spend in this prison, so hopelessly changed?

The waking world intrudes on her dreams, ever so slightly, with a measure of time, doled out relentlessly even in her sleep.

Tick.

No anger now, only shock. Dismay. ...Shame? A rare choice, for Parsee. Enough to make Seija shift slightly on her mattress, looking up at the underside of the bridge with an intrigued expression, but no more. Even with this distance, she can practically taste the bridgekeeper's misery. It will have to do; anything else simply isn't worth the effort, with the strange weight she feels in her limbs.

She reaches out, at least, to grasp a wooden spoon, and the bottles Parsee had left for her. A mouthful of each, to be taken twice a day. Doctor's orders, as Seija had called it at the time. Insistent ones, too, but then, the two tinctures – disgusting or not – seem to keep the pain in check, if not her strange weariness. ...Helping the recovery? Well, so she has heard. Judging mended bones at a glance is, in the end, altogether too challenging for her liking.

...It's strange, the things this place does to a mind. First came resentment towards the caves. Then longing for the surface. Now? Now she can only recall the faint details of the sunlit world, seemingly so far away. A thing remembered in faint images, sometimes bleary, sometimes idealised, but never clear.

Not that it matters. She will go back some day.

She smiled. In spite of it all, she had tried. The smiling, ever-cordial, genial guardian spirit of the sunken bridge, not yet forgotten, or so she liked to think. She had kept the bitterness, the hatred, the sheer burning envy back day after day, raised bars in her heart to lock them all behind. What more? What further change can be made?

It worked, time and again, for just a little while. Something would happen every time, sometimes gradual, and often so sudden that she was left wondering just what had come to pass. There were times when she could think of no cause, and on other days, the few who had gathered at the bridge and returned to see her were cast aside in outbursts of the very worst she had to offer. Driven away by glimpses of the green-eyed monster hidden beneath her little act.

A smile is a terribly brittle thing. More fragile still when it is forced to begin with, a thin mask pulled taut over a weeping face. In the end, it was never more than a trap, as she realises one day. Something to lure in the unsuspecting, who might not realise what she is. It didn't work, of course. Not forever.

They all leave, sooner or later. They always have, and will again. Of that much, she is certain. The question comes out all by itself, and she is an audience to her own voice, surprised to hear herself daring to ask.

“Why? Why did you send them away? Couldn't you let me have this much?” It's her own voice that answers, with no others left here.

“Because I was meant to keep you safe. To keep you happy. Did you forget so much already?” A pause. Hesitation. The voice in her thoughts is quieter, when it continues. “You know what they would do to you, if they had a chance. ...I can't let you be hurt. I did this for you." Of course she did. How can anyone fault her for that?

She is to be alone, then. Alone here with no company but that of her own thoughts, her own mirror image, as the unbearably long years crawl past, second by second.

Tick.

“...Not fair. Just not fair,” Seija mutters to herself, with an irritated sigh. You take all the fun out of it, somehow. Two days past, she told Parsee just that, a sort of half-truth. So close to the bridgekeeper's tortured dreams, she can't help but smile. Why not? It's only natural. Misery brings her no less joy than it ever did.

Somehow, that doesn't feel right. Not as much as it used to. She wouldn't call it guilt – out of being outright unfamiliar with the feeling as much as anything else, as she will happily admit – but it feels... off, somehow. If only she even knew so much as who to resent for it; is Parsee at fault for it somehow, or is it her own work?

...Too confusing. Far too confusing. Better to bask in this comfortable warmth, and not think too much of it. If she can. Somehow, despite her best efforts, it nags at her still.

Warm. Dripping. Sweet? No, not quite, despite what all the other youkai had said at times. It is unlike anything she has ever had before. Blood scooped up by the cupped handful and poured into her mouth. Muscle and bone torn away in great clumps and gnawed between too-sharp teeth. How has she ever gone so long without this?

The bridge is quiet and dark, and travelers still come upon it at times. He was unwary, even reckless, to travel here without so much as a single guard. It is almost too easy to spring from the shadows, bounding forward in effortless strides and wringing his neck. Had he even had time to notice anything was amiss? Surely not; she can't resist a certain sense of pride in that.

Here he lies, then, the merchant's expensive clothing giving way to gore, splintered bone and exposed marrow, without so much as a shocked expression on his face as he lies on the cold stone of the cavern in all the small, convenient pieces she has reduced him to after the fact. Of course it is tempting. How can it not be?

He smelled like food, after all. She could only resist for so long.

The haze lifts from her eyes little by little, fading with each bite. Just enough to see what is in front of her. The face seems so familiar. Hasn't she heard a name once? Of course. They had met before. He was meant to be safe here, she had promised him that before. Now, what's left of him can barely be recognised, and her hands are covered in... in...

She feels sick to her stomach, staggering away with small, weak steps, her entire front still coated in drying blood. She needs to leave. Somewhere else, anywhere, as long as it will take her far away from this sight and smell. Stumbling, whimpering, tears of shock and disgust streaking down her face. Finally she finds the river, kneeling down by it, retching as her recent meal pours out into the dark water. Gone, now, but already she knows it will take far more than this to feel clean again.

Hours later, she remains by the river bank, curled into a ball, rocking back and forth, whispering a mantra to herself, like a buoy that might keep her from drowning if she grips it tightly enough.

“...Not me. This isn't me. I am still human. I am Parsee Mi-” No, that isn't right. She will not dignify the name that brought her so much pain with a mention at a time like this. There is another name, far more important, and just as far away.

“My name is... my name is Parsee...” She trails off, at a loss for words, struggling to remember. “Not me. This isn't me. I am still human. I... I am...” She reaches in the dark, fumbles for some scrap of her old life, something to anchor her in all this. A piece of who she once was. “I...” She finds nothing, and falls forward, hands on the rock, defeated. Why? It's a name, only a name, such a simple thing, such an essential part of her. How can she forget it?

“...It's better this way. It's not the first mistake you made, it won't be the last, but at least you left something behind. You can't go back; it can only hurt you, now. Just let it slip through your fingers. This is for the best.”

Cold comfort from her own voice, but she accepts it all the same. What else does she have, here and now? Nothing else, only a youkai's lot: Blood, cruelty, and an interminably long life. The passage of time will do nothing to solve this.

Tick.

Even Parsee has her limits, Seija knows that now, having reached them. ...She should feel prouder about that, surely, but somehow it rings a little hollow. What now? Why is she here? Despite having found the edge to finally push Parsee over, despite finally drawing out a sliver of hatred to warm herself by... here she is.

How?

Why?

It has always been a question of power, hasn't it? They both know that. Parsee is... is no one at all. Nothing. She can hardly send the amanojaku away. And yet, when the chance comes, when Seija is finally broken, caught off her guard, here she lies, not only cared for, but Parsee has even tried to apologise for doing just as Seija had hoped she would for so long, after being goaded into it.

At the end of it all, though the copper-eyed youkai is not to be trusted, knowing that Parsee is sleeping there is all the reminder she needs that the bridgekeeper has done just that all the same. After all, has she not allowed Seija to see her at her most vulnerable, something she has gone to such lengths to hide? Why would anyone bear with all this? Who could be so desperate that they would settle for the company of a-

The dark water catches her eye for a moment, and even in this half-light, she can see her own distorted reflection.

...Ah. Of course. Desperation is almost a way of life for them both, after all. And if they have each chosen someone just twisted enough – broken in just the right places – to understand... all the better. Besides, as broken as Parsee is, there's little she can do that wouldn't delight any amanojaku in some way.

“...Hate myself, some days,” Seija mutters to herself, heaving a resigned sigh. Somehow, she finds the strength to crawl forward, however sluggishly and reluctantly. Exhausting work, but a little easier past the first few motions, somehow.

“Stupid, stupid idea. ...Gotta do what I gotta do, I guess.”

There are ways, and there are means. So she has always told herself. At long last, she has had enough. She will be free, one way or another.
Defiance burns bright, and as with so many flames, it is short-lived indeed.

First she had tried to march towards the surface. Her legs had given out first, her lungs second, and finally her consciousness. Time and again, she finds herself back at the bridge, feeling nothing but burning agony in her body, berated by her emerald double. It is an idea beyond her station. Beyond her place. She cannot try to leave this place, it is simply not done. The risks are too great, the curse too potent. It will take a miracle to break such a thing, and to what end, then? To return to the surface that had wronged her so many times, the place from which all her misery stems?

These are the lectures that sink into her mind little by little, and in time she comes to accept her place on the bridge as an inevitability. No matter. There are other ways to escape. By water, air or stone, she will leave this place.

A youkai's body is resilient indeed, difficult to destroy and equally challenging to harm for long. Pain cuts as deeply as ever, but somehow she will endure, time after time. She will never be quick enough to finish the deed before... intervention.

First comes water. Even after so long, she can feel the iron crown upon her head. Feel the torch blazing so close to her cheeks. Water soothes all of this, carrying iron away and salving ancient burns. She closes her eyes, and lets the river block out sights she never wished to see in the first place. It steals her breath, but use does she have for it? What is there to say here, who will she ever speak to? What might have been the end of the green-eyed monster is almost relaxing, until she is pulled away, coughing and sputtering violently.

One day, she climbs the tallest ledge in the underworld that she could find, only to leap off it, entrusting her body to air. She never has the heart to watch the fall, or look to the sharpened stalagmites below, and so to this day she does not know what came to be. Only that she lives still, that she awoke on the bridge with only pain as a reminder of her plans. Someone had taken her away, and brought her here. Her other self. Of course.

Then comes stone. The whittling knife, as she calls it now. It was not always made for such things, much as she might like to pretend. It had but one target, at first. One she aims for with clumsy, fumbling slashes and stabs that she can barely control through the sharp sting that burns through her nerves, and her own trembling, nervous hands. Black stone is soon painted red with heart's blood, but she does not have long to see it before a hand extends again to snatch it away from her.

Always, always, she is saved by an outstretched arm in shimmering green. How? Has she not imagined this phantom? Is the green-eyed monster realer than she has ever believed, have her thoughts somehow taken on physical form? Or is she simply a coward, saving herself each time, and deluding herself into believing it is the work of another?

This time, it does not come, but when she walks towards the first step, the comforting embrace of the river, the hand that reaches out towards her is different. A long, slender arm reaching out from white sleeves, ending in a lightly calloused hand.

Ti-

The pocket watch is in ruins, shattered with a few quick shots from her palm; today, Seija can't quite muster the strength to do even this much with her bare hands. Dashed against a rock a few times, too, for good measure. Little by little, she moves towards the sleeping bridgekeeper, tossing and turning with a tortured expression. Dragging herself forward, she finally finds herself next to Parsee, throwing one arm around the railing to pull herself into a sitting position, if only to look a little more presentable.

With her free hand, she reaches out, shaking the bridge princess ever so slightly, then a little more, with a frown that lies somewhere between impatience and... Concern? Is that what this is? Seija shakes her head, letting out a faintly disappointed sigh.

This is her chance. She knows that much, of course; it's painfully obvious. With Parsee unsuspecting, helpless, this is a golden opportunity to... to find some other way. Some way to aim for the heart, to take this nightmare into her hands and use it as well as she can. ...Instead, she does this. The first thing Parsee sees as she wakes is a grimace, not directed at her, but the amanojaku's own decisions.

“Hey. Hey, wake up. ...It's alright, now. You were dreaming, that's all.” A hoarse, ragged voice with a rough hand that wraps around Parsee's own, as Seija does her best impression of a comforting tone. Even she has to admit she could do better, but at least Parsee is awake. ...Slightly awake. Enough to sit up, then collapse forward against her. A little taken aback, Seija pats her on the back uncertainly.

“It's... quiet in here,” the bridge princess mumbles eventually, still sounding half-asleep. The comment has Seija scratching the back of her head in feigned embarrassment, with a small dip of her head. Enough to convince Parsee this time, fortunately.

“Think, uh... think I might've crushed it crawling over here. Real clumsy of me. Sorry about that, Green.” Lies come easily, of course – they always have – but somehow, a comforting white lie is strange and unfamiliar, a little more difficult. Still, it seems to pass well enough.

With a little nod in return, and a soft sigh, Parsee shifts slightly in place, making herself comfortable. ...Safe, somehow. Against all reason, all common sense, somehow it feels safe. Warm. Familiar, even, almost like when she once found herself in the comforting hold of someone else's arms, so long ago. It reminds her of-

But it doesn't have to. She closes her eyes and gives a weak shake of her head in denial. It doesn't have to.

“...Huh. Don't think I've ever seen you do that before.” Do what? ...Ah, when did that happen? The smile on her face comes as a shock to them both, though Parsee might be too tired to react a great deal.

“It's been... too long, yes. Thank you, Seija.” That brings on another strange look. Had she ever called the amanojaku by name before? No? As good a time as any, then.

“Well, it looks downright weird. Creepy, even. ...Should probably practice that till you can get it right or something, I'm not looking at that twice if I can help it.”

It doesn't take long before Seija begins to constantly fidget and shift in place, looking down at her with an uncertain expression. “...Want me to move, Green? I mean, I wasn't trying to... you know, I don't want to make this weird or anything.”

“A little longer?”

“...Alright.”

...It's not so bad, really. She can stand to stay this way for longer. Just a little while. Eventually, she tries to return Parsee's smile, but it's an awkward thing. A little forced, but that doesn't make it untrue. Not quite.

“Why?” The bridgekeeper speaks up next, with a simple question.

“You seemed sad, I guess.”

“Ah? ...I didn't know that bothered you.”

“It doesn't. Didn't tell you to stop or anything,” Seija answers, jumping onto the defensive almost immediately, reflexively. “...Good that you stopped, though. Just this once, yeah?” There's no answer. No need for one. Time passes quietly now, in minutes or hours of amicable, comfortable silence. How long had it been? Like so many other times since Seija came to these caves, they can only guess.

But then, that might be for the best.

“Hey, Gree- uh, Parsee, I should... probably get going now,” Seija mumbles eventually, looking away. Try as she might, there isn't quite a 'right' expression in all the world for something like this.

“Why?” A little disappointed, but mostly curious, by now. Good. Probably long enough, then.

“Well, you know... you're doing better. That's fine, I guess. Just... not good with that. _{Makes me feel a little sick.} Think I need to lie down for a bit.” Her voice drops to almost a whisper near the end, but Parsee catches it all the same. Good. She would hate to explain twice. Slowly, the bridge princess's eyes widen, and she backs away.

“A-ah, of course. ...I'm sorry. Please, get some rest, you really shouldn't have to even move so much. I'll be alright, I promise.”

“That right? Shame.” There it is. A little casual spite and derision, nothing quite so familiar and comforting after this... episode. Even if there's no real sincerity in it for once, as they both know well enough.

“Well, after you make that much of an effort...”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Seija answers hurriedly, trying her best to return below the bridge at a dignified pace that wouldn't lead to Parsee carrying her there again. “...Hey, Green?”

“Yes?”

“...Nothing. G'night.”

Chapter Text

“Seija?”

“Mmrfnrl.”

Late afternoon, the amanojaku decides, as she reluctantly forces herself into a sitting position on the bed. Not that she can see the sun, but she recognises that particular feeling of oversleeping to the point of exhaustion; something which never seems particularly fair to her. On the other hand, she has felt quite exhausted every day, lately. ...Probably off the mark, then. Probably not even a solid guess. Well, it doesn't matter.

“Smells... good, actually. Is that chicken?” Seija asks eventually, once the world swims back into focus and she catches the scent of something cooking not far away.

“Soup, yes. It's the sort of thing you should have, I think, while you're recovering. As good an excuse as any, no?”

“How did you even get chicken down he-” Seija stops, a wry, knowing sort of smile spreading across her face, more than a little smug. “Oh, no, no, don't tell me. 'There are ways, and there are means,' right? Same as always?” She takes the offered bowl in her hands, drinking down a mouthful.

“Yuugi brought it while you were sleeping, actually,” Parsee answers, looking particularly pleased with herself as Seija's face immediately falls. For a moment, the shocked youkai seems on the verge of spitting it out, before reconsidering.

“Brought it for you, right?”

“As far as I can tell, yes.” Well, not that Parsee has any particular idea, but it's best to give Seija the idea that she's taking something not intended for her, doubly so if it comes from an oni.

“...Yeah, alright, I'll take it,” Seija replies after some consideration, taking another little sip. Parsee scarcely touches her own bowl, peering cautiously at the amanojaku, as one might do when watching over a little bird, or some similarly fragile creature. “So what's the deal with you and that oni? I mean, I've heard things on the grapevine, that you two are-” She's cut off, then, not by protests, but by a rare, full laugh from Parsee.

“Oh, heavens, no. Nothing of the sort. The rumour mill is a rather creative beast, isn't it? I told Yuugi once, and she was... well, more flustered than amused, strangely enough. Full of surprises, some days. Really, I half assumed she was encouraging the story.” A little nod answers that explanation, and a faintly amused smirk. A short while passes before Parsee speaks up again, a little break to go through their meal.

“How are you feeling, Seija? Recovering, I hope?” She certainly seems to be enjoying the dish, at least; far be it for her to ever show that, but it's easy enough to tell.

“Tired as hel- as earth. That's mostly a topside thing, if I'm being fair. Pretty much on break ever since I came down here. But... yeah, tired. Doesn't hurt much, these days, but I've got nothing to do. Stuck with you day in and day out, too, which doesn't help any. ...Would probably be even more bored if you weren't here, though."

The insults are no more than the little pauses Parsee herself might take to catch her breath, something to make a long conversation bearable. Unlike the words on either side of them, they mean nothing, and the bridge princess has learned to treat them as such.

“Y'know what?” Seija begins as she finishes her bowl, setting it down. “Tell me a story, Green. Won't count on any good ones, but it's better than nothing, yeah? Something to listen to while I'm just lying here like a sack of rocks. Worst case, hearing you talk's gonna put me to sleep anyway. Go on, you got anything?” She peers up at Parsee; a difference in height that the bridgekeeper has yet to adjust to mentally even after all this, with how poorly the amanojaku's stature matches up to her usual bluster.

“Which would you like to hear, then,” she replies, every word coated in a playful, harmless sort of sarcasm, “of the thousands of stories I've no doubt heard in my time here?”

“Doesn't hurt to try. In that case, tell me, uh...” Seija thinks a while, before stumbling across an idea she finds acceptable, nodding to herself. “I've heard you go on about the 'old country' a couple times. Why don't you tell me about that? ...Yeah, that sounds good,” she adds, with another nod of approval. “What was it like there?”

At first, Parsee seems excited, or as much as she can be. The bridgekeeper searches and ransacks her memories for anything she might be able to share, encouraged by this sudden curiosity... and slowly, her face falls, disappointed.

“...I can't remember,” she answers eventually, in a low murmur. Has she forgotten, as she did so many other things, or did she cast the memories away in some misguided plan to leave herself with nothing to miss? “I'm sorry,” she adds, trying to mask the distressing realisation as nothing more than sheepish embarrassment.

“Figures,” Seija replies, with an airy wave of her hand. “You'd think I'm asking the moon or something, here. I guess that makes it my job, huh? Read some bits and pieces about the place, way back. No idea if it fits or it's from the right time at all, but it was in this book I saw way back, think it came through the barrier or something. Pretty boring, but I didn't have much else to do. Want me to see what I can remember?”

A nod, slow and hesitant, but definite. “Please,” comes the bridgekeeper's answer.

Seija settles back against the mattress, propping one elbow against the cave floor in a small show of wakefulness, with a particular lazy half-smile. The sort that seems to suggest she has no particular reason to do it, but – in the absence of anything better to do – will persevere for the sake of her own amusement.

“Well now, let's see... seem to recall some big old spacious buildings, white stone, I think, but you could hardly tell under the colours in those pictures. Damned gaudy things, all covered up in little lines and squiggly patterns. Blue and... think there was green and yellow, too? Lots of blue. You live in one of those?” The question is an empty one, a case of the blind leading the blind as far as the amanojaku is concerned, enough so that getting an actual answer to what she had considered conversational white noise surprises her.

“Oh, heavens, no. That sounds like... possibly a palace, but most likely something closer to the temples and shrines of this place.” Her home was somewhere close to the cusp of opulence, or so the bleary recollections tell her, but nothing like that. Seija, meanwhile, meets this news with a low whistle.

“That right? Little out of this place's budget, I'll bet. Tell you what, though, I can see why someone would want all the colour they can get in a place like that. All the places I saw were pretty brown, through and through. 'Least, on the pictures that book had.”

Another frown of concentration from Parsee, trying to coax a few more memories forth from what little the brief conversation had managed to dislodge. “It... depends on where you look, I believe; at least, it used to. I wouldn't know about today, of course. For all the heat, at least it was dry; summer shouldn't feel like walking through a wall of water.”

“Doesn't feel like much of anything down here,” Seija retorts, with a glance at the cavern ceiling.

“...Well, yes,” Parsee concedes. “Small mercies. Not that I ever coped with the heat too well. ...It's not much, but I can remember a few snatches. I would spend a good deal of time in my room upstairs – as was expected, certainly, but I had my own reasons too. The garden had a few fig trees, and a date palm as well; I remember one of each growing just outside the windows of my room, and in season...” She trails off for a moment, with a faint, sly sort of smile.

“Let's just say no one quite figured out how they disappeared off the tree so quickly.” ...It's funny, really, the things that stay around after all these years. No rhyme or reason to them. It gets a little grin out of Seija, though.

“And, uh... what's it called,” the amanojaku mumbles to herself for a moment. “...Right, pomegranates. Think I read about you having those too,” she says, with a hint of pride as she recalls this. Parsee only shrugs, with a little chuckle.

“For all the good it did. If you want to pick through hundreds of seeds, one at a time, be my guest; I can't imagine ever having the patience for it.” Of course, that was back when she could count on a decent meal, and didn't have all the time in the world to waste. Still, it's the principle of the thing, or so she likes to think.

“I miss it a little, now; more than I usually do,” Parsee admits, slowly, cautiously, as if any shred of honesty has to be very carefully rationed out. She looks away, with a little sigh, only to find that Seija is right in front of her again, face to face. How inconvenient.

“Yeah, well... not half bad here either, better than half of what you told me,” Seija insists, ever the contrarian. “Tell you what, I'll show you around some time. Might not even lead you into a ditch or something, if you're lucky. Plenty to see up there, if the sun doesn't have you looking like boiled shrimp inside an hour. Something to look forward to, yeah?”

“You do realise, surely, that-”

“I know, I know,” the exasperated youkai answers, with a blithe tone and a dismissive wave of her hand. “Curse, trapped here forever, can't leave on pain of pain, all that stuff. I get it, and what you haven't told me, I can probably guess from looking at you whenever you go down to the city or something. Point is, 'forever' is a damned long time, you ever think about that? ...Alright, you probably do, but that's not what I meant. You live – we live – in a big old leftovers bin for everything that shouldn't be happening, and you're telling me it can't be done? What makes you so sure?”

Her words fall on uncomfortable silence. Parsee watches her for a while, thoughtful but mute. The reply comes haltingly, with all the confidence that the bridgekeeper wishes she did not have.

“The exact same reason you mentioned, the 'leftovers bin for everything that shouldn't be happening', as you put it,” she explains, not in the pained sort of voice Seija might have expected, but in a careful, plain, matter-of-fact tone.

“We're fables, you and I, and all our world's a fairy tale. The sort human children grow up on; I don't know if you've ever heard them, yourself, but I'm sure you know the gist of them. It's been a very long time since I was told any, and I certainly don't remember much, but what I do has stayed with me. Enough, let's say, to provide a reminder even when I would rather forget. A few details that never wavered from tale to tale. There are rules. Do you understand? There are rules, in every single story of those days, the sort that I've become; some small and superficial, others long and abiding. Surely even you know how they end: The monsters never win. Not once. We can only do so much.” She finishes then, with strained calm, leaning against the back of her stone chair for some support, no matter how uncomfortable.

Seija listens throughout, calm and without interruption for once. Finally, sucking in air through her teeth, she winces and nods slowly. “That's, ah... huh. What am I supposed to say to that, Green? Can't say you're right – don't like agreeing with you or encouraging you – but if I say you're wrong, you'll start looking at me like I'm supposed to fix it for you somehow. ...And I'm not sure I can really argue anyway. Tell you what, then. I've already been doing all the work here so far anyway, why don't I tell you a story?”

More quiet. The amanojaku waits, sighs irritably, then shakes her head. “What, no applause?” She asks, blinking in feigned surprise. Then, clearing her throat – more of a whining cough than anything – she sits up in her bed, one elbow rested against the meager excuse of a pillow, looking into those bright green eyes. It's something to focus on in all this drab grey, at least. If it happens to make Parsee a little uneasy, well, so much the better, probably.

“A long time ago,” she begins, “there was a meadow. Waving gold grass, far as you like. Now, this meadow, there was something special about it. Every year, it would burn right up, and... well, you know about phoenixes, right? They get those where you're from? Heard about them since, at least?” A little nod, whichever Parsee might be answering, is enough to get Seija to continue.

“It was a little like that. The ashes would feed the new grasses, and they would spring straight back up, year after year. A spark to bring in new life; there's probably a poem in that, if you're the type. Every year, the spirits - the kami of the place, with their blackened robes and ash in their hair - would choose someone in winter, when the grass was dry and the air was chilly, and ask them to torch it so the meadow can grow again the next year. This year, one of them chose a traveler, seeing a special sort of virtue in the man. It was a rare thing, even back then. Call it fate, or maybe he was just a particularly decent guy, no telling what the kami think.”

She coughs once, twice, and Parsee hurriedly pats her on the back, offering her a glass of water which disappears down her throat in seconds.

“...Ah, that's better. Too much talking for one day, I swear. Gotta do what I gotta do, something like that. Where was I? Our man, he was a pious sort, only too happy to do what the spirits asked. So the fire spread, and spread, and it even took in the forest past the meadow, till it painted the sky like it was a screen of tar, even in the middle of the day. Spread to the fields, to the village nearby, all spindly sticks and old wooden walls. I tell you, you should've seen how those little thatch roofs burned. That was a nice, warm, bright night for the spirit of the meadow.”

A grin all but leaps onto Seija's face, making its home there, suspended between nostalgia and rekindled pride. “The next day, the villagers - what was left of them - found the traveler, who'd torched their livelihoods, their world, their homes, and everyone they knew, all for no good reason. They were angry, obviously. Who wouldn't be?”

Parsee blinks, staring in faint shock now, and a little alarm too, not sure what to make of this. “...I take it something went wrong, then. You tampered with the fire somehow? Or did something trouble the spirits on that day?” Seija only shrugs, giving her best innocent smile; not a very good one, but then, she wasn't at her best either.

“Who, me? I wouldn't dream of it. Nah, there's-” She stops suddenly, bursting out into premature laughter, slapping her knee and immediately wincing. A few seconds later, her focus comes back to her.

“...Maybe there's a magic meadow like that somewhere. I heard about it once, but all I know is that it wasn't that one. I'd like to think that this traveler, right at the end - when they were stringing him up, when he noticed me in the mob with my winning smile and a little wink - I'd like to think he finally got the joke. I thought it was pretty funny.” Not for the first time, Parsee stares in stunned silence... but this time, it lasts for all of a second or two until Seija lapses back into her near-cackling laughter, and Parsee joins her, barely more restrained.

What else can she do, really, with something so absurd?

She's fallen out of her chair by the end, sitting beside the amanojaku, lending an arm to- not to prop her up, nothing that Seija might ever see as condescending. No, it just happens to be there, and if her lingering guest – or is it patient, now? - chooses to use it, that can't be helped.

“Point is...” The black-haired youkai begins, long after her story has concluded, and the laughter has died down to nothing. “Point is, you're right, more or less. First time to everything. And you're wrong, that's no surprise. Moral of the story is, we don't win, but... we have our moments now and then. We've got our good days. It's the sort of thing that's worth holding out for.”

The bridge princess's smile is an awkward thing, a little forced, a little unnatural, a little out of place. Out of place, but out of practice, most of all. One day, Seija finds herself thinking, it might suit her, with all this work and all this time.

And what a shame that would be.

“...I don't know why you bother,” Parsee answers eventually, but she sounds a touch more relieved than usual, at least. It's a pleasant sort of surprise, however strange.

“Might be because I could tell you the same.”

“Seija? I'm not sure I caught that.” No, she wouldn't, would she? Not when it's the sort of thing that should neither be said or heard, for both their sakes. A strange mistake best kept out of the open. So Seija meets the bridgekeeper's fumbling attempt at a smile with one of her own, far more natural, if just a little sly and condescending; old habits are so hard to shake.

“...Yeah, 'course you didn't. Thanks, Green.”

If nothing else, they have their moments, now and then.

Chapter Text

In one day, Parsee has spoken to more of the underground – said more, even, to each person – than she usually does in a month. She couldn't very well forget that fact, not when just about everyone she meets seemed determined to remind her of it. One more reason to discourage her from ever repeating the exercise.

There is, of course, a reason. A reason, too, that made her particularly seek out visiting merchants from the surface, peddling their wares in exchange for gleaming stones and metals; company she finds even less comfortable than the others who call these caves home. The question, put simply, of the hunt. The hunt for Gensokyo's greatest – and, to her knowledge, only – fugitive.

Is it over? Has the amanojaku been captured? Has peace been restored to Gensokyo, or have they given up? These are the questions she poses to the merchants. With those of the city below, she is less cautious, less circumspect; they know well enough, after all, of Seija's circumstances. There is no secret to be kept there, by now.

By and large, the natives shrug; what would they know, and why should they care? Predictably, it's the visitors that bring her answers, but scattered and unreliable ones. Seija has been captured. She is lost. She is dead. She is imprisoned. Who has finally caught her? Some seem to recall the Hakurei shrine maiden, then shake their heads. No, they correct themselves, remembering her reputation, telling themselves that she would not make the effort. Perhaps the Moriya shrine maiden, then. Some even reassure Parsee that she need not concern herself; come what may, there is no chance of the surface's troubles spilling to the underground.

If there is one thing they agree on, it is that the hunt has long since ended. They give her the gift of sinking realisation, for her time. Realisation that Seija has no further cause to remain. No need to trouble herself with the dark caves and half-rotted bridge that have become her hideaway. Nothing in her heart that might keep her here. The thought strikes the bridgekeeper like snowfall: Soft, gentle, almost imperceptible, and mounting little by little into a crushing, suffocating, bone-chilling weight with every step she takes.

“Still looking, I'm afraid,” she reports the moment she returns to the bridge, heaving a sigh. Perhaps she should be grateful. She needs a mask when she returns, after all. A mournful expression and downcast voice to match the cruel news she brings. All things she has been given already. The act is almost too easy. She sets down her two bottles from town, one of medicine and another of something all too far from it, and seats herself beside the amanojaku.

Seija, for all this, answers with a shrug and a noncommittal grunt, only thinking to add words some time later. “Figures,” she claims. “They want blood. Stuck here forever, at this rate. You feeling alright, Green? Try and play it off like it's nothing all you like, I've seen what your trips from the bridge can do to you. You'd probably look pale or something if you didn't have that... cave look already.” That, at least, gets a little smile out of Parsee.

“I appreciate the concern, but I'm well enough-”

“Want me to fix that?” A quiet chuckle from the bridge princess. The exchange has become routine to them, almost every time Seija asks after her. A comfortable habit of sorts, one of many that they have formed in their time together. They won't last much longer, now. Routine one day, and a bitter memory the next.

“...So what's that supposed to be, anyway?” Seija's abrupt question and pointed finger interrupt Parsee's thoughts, bringing her attention to a curious light in the distance. A bridge across the air, painted in seven shades. “I mean, I know what it looks like,” the curious youkai continues, “but that can't be it down here.” Parsee looks for a little while, digging for a half-remembered conversation from years past.

“Just some mist and foxfire, I was once told,” she explains slowly. “Or if it's not spirits, then it might be some gems in the cave's ceiling today. Rather like a rainbow, or at least, what I remember of them.”

“Like a rainbow,” Seija retorts, “only worse.”

“Yes, well... we make do with what we have, down here.” She hadn't meant to, but their eyes meet, and after a moment, Seija bursts into laughter that she gingerly follows. They would have to do, as long as they're both trapped here. Fine company for the desperate.

They look away from the poor excuse of a rainbow eventually, and Seija – her rare attempt at standing and walking about catching up with her - suddenly stumbles, catching the crumbling railing in one hand with a little gasp of surprise. Parsee rushes over to her side, only to stop awkwardly midway, with hands meant to support the falling woman instead hanging aimless and limp in the air some distance away.

“Are you...?” She doesn't quite finish the question. It seems ridiculous over something so minor, but conditions being what they are, she can't help but worry.

“Heh, yeah,” the amanojaku answers confidently. “Still feeling a bit weak from the... what is it, poison?” She asks, perfectly nonchalant. “Thought it'd be easy to shake off, too. Pretty sad, huh?”

It only takes a second for shock to pass; the moment it is gone, Parsee's face falls. She stares in dumbfounded horror, mouthing a few answers that seem far too inadequate, ways to explain this away that fail before she can say the first word. Whatever thoughts she may be able to hold onto, laughter soon interrupts them.

“Should've seen the look on your face, Green. Worth it just for that!” Nothing. “Got, uh... got some questions, though, obviously.” Silence. For over a minute, not a word, until Seija breaks it up with a sigh. “Not about the poison. That's... you know, whatever.” Still nothing. “...I mean, I don't like it, but if you think that's the worst anyone's done to me...”

At least Parsee meets her eyes this time, even if it's with trembling hands and a fearful stare, like a frightened rabbit, cornered and alone. Seija looks at Parsee, shakes her head and sighs. It shouldn't be her job to fix this, to patch this up. A little trauma is well and good, but the joke is wearing thin.

“...Well, you've got another thing coming. Should've noticed earlier, anyway. Used something like this myself, once.” Another look at the bridge princess. Another weary sigh. “...I'm going to have to do the talking here, huh? Fine. Let me tell you something you're probably not expecting; that'll make it two for today, right?”

“...Yes?” Curiosity, finally, forces that single word out of Parsee.

“I trust you. I mean... not in the usual way, but I can trust you to be yourself, you know? ...And at the end of the day, you and me, we're vicious little things, but that's alright. Bit of common ground means I don't have to worry about what I do, yeah? ...It's not that I like this. I'm not crazy, I don't exactly get a spring in my step and a smile on my face out of getting poisoned. ...Not even the real good stuff, never mind something that's only meant to keep me tired out. It keeps us even, I say. Got a question, though; you think you can answer that, or are you just going to stand around being as quiet as a mouse all day?”

A small nod. It's an answer vague enough to be no answer at all, but Seija decides to follow the lead, if that's what it is. “Look, I can... how do I say this? I can tell when you're down or something. It's all the time, by the way, now that you let your guard down around me, but what I mean is I can tell when something sets you off. It's an amanojaku thing, and pretty handy, too. Only I can tell you get all worked up every time I talk about leaving. That's what I don't get. If you wanted to get back at me, there are better ways, ones that would actually hurt, but...”

She cuts off her own sigh in the middle, if only because it's become a habit, and settles for a sort of exasperated shrug instead. “...I get the feeling you just wanted to keep me here.” Without so much as a nod in answer, she settles for the lack of a denial. “Anyone else would want me gone. You understand that, don't you? There's a reason for that. A real good one. You might be crazy, but you're not stupid . Why am I still here? What's wrong with you?”

...Try as she might, she can't really make an accusation of it. There's not enough to hate, to rail against. At most, everything Parsee did to her is almost reassuring, a promise that try as Seija might, she can still consider them even. Like being written a cheque for aimless, pointless spite. It's the reason that sticks in her mind like a splinter. The thought that someone still wants her here, after seeing her for what she is.

It might be easier if Parsee would do something besides stare dejectedly at the floor.

“...Quiet here, huh?” That gets a slight twitch of the head, at least, almost imperceptible. “Real quiet.” A full nod. She places her arms – reaching up with some difficulty – around the bridgekeeper's shoulders. It isn't quiet, of course. So many of her problems begin with that fact. ...But as a convenient lie, it's close enough.

“I think I get it. Haven't got anyone else, is that right? And if you do, they're too good; not for you, but just to get some things, at least. So either it's too quiet here, or you can't really talk, is that it?” Reaching a little for a guess, but on the other hand, it's more familiar than she would like.

“And why are you here, Seija?” Finally, Parsee speaks up, her voice meek and uncertain, as curiosity wins out for now. If any of this has reassured her, then it's a small victory, barely noticeable, but she does tremble a little less, at least.

“Can't stand you some days,” The amanojaku answers, wincing a little at the answer and sucking air in through her teeth. It isn't fair, having this turned back on her. “Nothing works on you. I can give you my worst and you'll act like you don't even care. No one does that,” she explains, the frustration clear in her voice.

“...You don't sound disappointed.”

“Well... I can give you my worst and you'll act like you don't even care. No one does that,” Seija admits eventually, a little sheepish, her face making it clear that she would desperately prefer to get this over with and move on.

“It might be because you're the worst amanojaku I've ever seen,” Parsee retorts, some of the old, familiar edge returning to her voice as she grows a little more comfortable. An almost reassuring sharpness after her nervousness a moment ago. “You warned me before. You've tried to find some way to hurt me, I know that. You can't help it. Did you know it's always been the wrong answer so far? You haven't done anything yet.” The faintest of smiles, then. Why should Parsee want to throw this harmless visitor out, then, if for all her venom she can never leave a mark?

“...Are they really still looking for me, or was that part of keeping me down here?” Seija asks after some thought, pushing aside Parsee's point, and instead watching her curiously. Parsee keeps a good enough poker face to nearly impress Seija, but the effort to outright deny it just isn't there any more.

“Are you staying?” She asks instead.

“Think I'm going to miss this, when it's over,” the amanojaku answers in turn. “...Mostly you.” A pause follows, and the bridge princess receives a particularly disappointed stare. “...You're not laughing.”

“Was I supposed to?” Parsee asks, caught between pleasant surprise, the sinking feeling as she realises that this cannot last, and honest confusion.

“Come on, isn't that the funniest thing you've ever heard? You got me all sentimental! Me! Do you have any idea how ridiculous that is? How stupid that is? 'Oh, well, since you can't see your way to hating me properly, I guess I'm going to miss you when I ruin this like I've done to everything else.' I mean, who would even...” Her laughter, forced to begin with, dies down into the ragged, hoarse thing that is her unsteady breath, catching in her throat. Slowly, she looks away, her head turning with all the speed and ease of a lead weight.

Another thing to hate about these caves. Too damp, always too damp. There might not be any rain, but water drips down, steady and persistent, splashing down in little droplets at all the wrong times. A little collects on Seija's face now, finding its way there at the worst possible time, as her voice cracks and her hands grip the railing until they turn white.

“I... I guess it's not that funny, huh?”...Just a little water. Making its way to the wrong place when it should know better. That's all it is, nothing more, nothing less.

Parsee never says a word. Her turn, now, to set this right. It would be funny, any other time, the way they've learned to change so quickly when the other needs it. As if they take turns to play at being collected. Take turns at being the broken one. She puts one arm around Seija's back, with her hand coming to rest on the shoulder. It always worked on her in the past, at least, even when it shouldn't have. It gets Seija to look at her, at least, and eventually speak up.

“...Ah, look at us. Aren't we a pair? You see the mess we're getting into? What are we going to do with ourselves, Parsee?”

“I don't know about you, but I've made worse mistakes.” She could say more, of course. A great deal more, but that would give away too much. An honest word, spoken or heard, would hurt them both; like so many of their worst facets, they have that in common. Any kinder words would be cruel.

“You just wait and see. ...Now you've got me sounding like you, Green. I'm not really the 'happily ever after' type, though, never went in for all that. Well, I used to, till I got some sense in me. Works out for a bit, then someone always comes along and tears it all up, soon as I think everything's going to be alright. Someone always-” Her voice catches. "You're..." Seija raises a finger, barely trembling at all now, and points at her own damp face.

“You're looking at her. It's fun sometimes, you know? Turning everything into a cheap joke on anyone who trusted you, seeing the looks on their faces, watching it all burn down. A little like spoiling yourself any other way. Fun the first few times, then you find out why no one does it every day, but by then, you can't really make yourself stop. Don't get me wrong, I've done a lot I don't regret as much as I probably should, and I was laughing the whole way. Other times, though, it... well, it gets old. I get tired of being... me, sometimes. Real tired. Makes me wonder if I can find a way to quit it, one day.”

Parsee's grip tightens, and she leads the shaken woman some steps away, one arm held out. Not to support her, but if she happens to fall... well, she wouldn't go far. She helps Seija into one of the stone chairs, cushioned lightly with a ratty old blanket. “C'mon, Green, say something. You've been too quiet all day.” Funny. Of all the things to happen today, somehow, only that single complaint comes to mind now.

“You're forgetting something. I was hoping you would remember if I gave you time.”

“Well, if I was thinking straight we wouldn't be having this talk. Go on, spit it out, I'm not about to get it.”

“You've forgotten how stubborn I can be.”

“...Yeah, I guess I did. Don't you stop, now."

They settle against each other quietly, there in the half-light of her home. It's a broken, twisted thing they hold in their hands, too fragile to last forever. Too strange to ever even have the decency to end well. For at least one more day, maybe that's alright. It would be enough for them.

They make do down here, after all.

Chapter Text

There's a routine, after a while, to almost anything. Even nightmares. Sheer repetition brings a certain quality to it, almost like lucid dreaming: A realisation that she is dreaming, without any ability to control events. An observer looking on as the same familiar events unfold endlessly, watching through her own eyes as she goes through the same motions time and again.

It should make this easier, this endless reiteration of her own worst memories. Somehow, it never does. Familiarity breeds contempt, she supposes, and not comfort.

The nature of her nightmares, too, is predictable; a walk through the moments in her life that led up to this point, every event that drove her below the earth, and ground her down to the brittle thing she is today. Given that she's long since learned not to expect any better dreams, it's come to the point that even some variety is cause for mild excitement or relief, at least until the usual impact of her nightly terrors sets in; there is, after all, a reason she scarcely dares sleep.

That's not a thought most would have, she reflects. Not any sane person, but then, that would explain a great deal in itself.

She was almost disappointed when she finally went mad. ...Is that what she did? It must be. She's done things no one in their right mind would consider. She heard so many stories of the delighted, cackling, prancing madwoman of the woods - or some other place, but not a cave, never a cave - that she had gone into it all with expectations. At the very least, the consensus seemed to be that it would be a weight off her shoulders. Instead, all she sees from it these days was a mountain of doubt and her own scathing, relentlessly antagonistic company. It just doesn't seem fair.

Her experiences with fairness in her own life are fleeting, of course, but back then, she had at least dared to hope.

Today is different. Today, there is nothing; the outlines of the usual scenes flicker and disappear. Soon, she is standing on the bridge, alone. Alone as only she can be. It is the good fortune of others to have envy as, at most, their second nature. They have what she does not, and for that... what she thinks of them goes without saying.

For her, it is her first and whole nature; if there is a division, then it's only between what she grudgingly allows to bubble forth to the surface, and what she tries her best to hide away, shunting into its own visible form, a green-eyed monster of her own making. So she stands here, in the solitude only she can experience, pulled from her nightmares to stand on this bridge in her sleep and face none other than herself, lit up in brilliant green light.

“Hello, Parsee. I've come to talk.”

She might have asked why, if she felt the urge to waste time. She does not; not with the company she keeps here. She breathes out a weary sigh, and steps into the emerald glow that crawled out of her own heart, gripping the crumbling railing for support. She looks her mirror image in the eye. Those merciless, piercing eyes.

“This is about Seija, isn't it?” Again, she thinks to herself, recalling all the times that the very same topic had been raised in her dreaming hours lately.

“Then you know. Why is she still here, despite all my warnings?” Again this line of rhetoric, waiting, she can only imagine, for meek assent. For her to surrender and let this cruel reflection steer her life. They can trade words and retread tired old arguments endlessly, but today, Parsee finds herself with no patience for any of that. A different route, then.

“Let me ask you a question in turn, first-”

“I am not on trial here,” the green-eyed monster retorts, a note of irritation already entering its voice.

“Aren't you? We're one and the same, after all. I think I can venture a guess or two, but just so I can hear it in your own words, why does it matter so much to you that I send her away?” Parsee stares intently, trying to make out whatever she can in the shimmering apparition. Nothing, of course. She never has much luck peering into her own thoughts, and this is no different. The very same inscrutability she cultivates turns so easily against her.

“Has she not told you herself that she will do anything she can to hurt you? That only your misery keeps her tied here? You harbour a monster here, Parsee, and if you will not finish her, then she should be cast out. You are less than human, less than a youkai, a helpless creature that refused to die, and she is lower than even you. Do you understand what that means? Even the most pathetic things that crawl in this cave deserve better. She will leave you bleeding and weeping, because she knows nothing else. Surely you understand that much? Why would you allow her to-”

“Let me have this one indulgence. Just this one.”

“...Why?” The green-eyed monster asks, and Parsee sighs again. It was supposed to be something else. A scream of frustration or some sort of shout, possibly. It occurs to her, then, how much she would prefer to be angry now. Furious, even. It would be convenient, but she can't seem to find it in her; has she locked it all away in her other self? Instead, she only feels tired, terribly tired, and strangely determined. ...No, determination, to her, suggests a good cause. Call it a sort of exhausted stubbornness, then.

“She is enough, down here. She is better than silence. She is, in the end, twisted enough – we both are – that she understands what a decent person would not. Everything you warned me of, I first heard from her. ...If I am wrong, then I have been broken by worse than her already. Most of all, I trust your reasons less than her.”

“After all this time?” For once, it looks just a little surprised.

“Look at yourself. Look at what a show you make of despising me. The lengths you go to, just to drag me down into the mud. The sheer spite you show. Is it any wonder that I distrust you? Do you really think she can do so much harm, or are you only afraid of the chance that for a little while, I might be a little less cold, a little less alone at this bridge? Does losing control really frighten you that badly?”

She might not be angry, now, but she has a colder sort of edge to work with for that, and it serves just as well. Finally, for the first time, she has held her ground. By the light of what little pride she's scraped together, she expects to see... something in those shining green eyes opposite her own. Anger, hate, bitterness, anything like that. Some vindication, some sigh that she had won. Instead, the expression she sees there on the monster that wears her face is one she recognises all too well.

Lost. Hopeless. Heartbroken.

“...After all this time,” it repeats slowly. “Do you really believe that?”

“I do,” Parsee replies, suddenly wishing she could have said it a little more emphatically.

“I don't know what I expected from you,” the reflection replies, with a smile like glass: Cold, sharp, lifeless and all too fragile. “No, you're not wrong. I do hate you, of course. Why is that? Is it because I'm only here to tend to your every need, to protect you endlessly? Is it because you made me from all the worst you had to offer, everything you refused to call part of yourself? Or is it because you told me to do the impossible? To keep you company and never let anyone come close, to give you light to see by, but stop anyone from ever seeing what you've become. To keep the world from breaking you again, more than anything. To keep you from being hurt. Do you know why I'm here, Parsee?”

It occurs to her, briefly, that she should at least be spared from guilt towards splinters of her own thoughts. That only seems fair. Which, if nothing else, explains why it is not the case. She watches every move of that wavering apparition with anxious eyes, but the answer is obvious to her. Better to get it over with.

“Because I asked for this. Is that what you want to say?”

“...No. I am real; less than you, and more than I would like. Do you think a wish from a powerless, broken woman can change so much? That by hope alone you can change the world? ...If only. Don't you see? I am only a part of you kept apart. A fraction of your thoughts, without a body or a voice. I needed something to tie myself to before I could help you. Do you understand?”

Of course she does. Only now, when she no longer wants to understand. In the end, it's the sort of cruel fortune she can rely on more than anything. The answer settles in her thoughts like lead, a dark, heavy poison. What does she have? What can she possibly have with the power to give a life of its own to all her cruelest thoughts? The answer is obvious, as much as she dearly wishes it would not be.

Her own curse.

“You see now, then? It wants you to suffer. It wants you to stay down here forever. I've always been more than just a part of you, as much as I wish I wasn't. Do you know how it feels, struggling against it day and night, feeling it burn through me every time I try to help you – the only thing I can ever try to do – and knowing that it's all that lets me see another day? We're tied too closely, your curse and I; I don't know if either would last without the other.”

“...I could have done something,” Parsee replies, her voice weak as she falls back against the railings of the bridge. The rotted wood creaks slightly under her weight. Of all the times and places, all the ways to show herself some kindness and sympathy for once, she realises now that this might be the strangest of them all. The green-eyed monster shakes its head, denying her fumbling answer. “You could have told-”

“And what would that be worth, except hurting you? I would never dare, not when I can stop myself. Because as much as I might despise you, more than anything, I still want you to be safe. That goes without saying, doesn't it? In the end, Parsee, I can only be what you made me for, and I can only do what you allow. Remember that.”

She reaches out, and one unsteady hand meets another, holding on for support that cannot be had. “So please, now that you know everything you do... Stay safe. Put this behind you. Trust me.” It's a strange voice that can plead so sincerely while sounding so hateful, venom and fury bubbling just under the surface, while trying to guide her away from harm.

“...I do,” Parsee replies eventually, as she starts on the answer they both knew to expect. “...But I've made worse mistakes than this.” Another hand grips hers, more firmly now, and another voice rouses her, the sighs of her dream fading in favour of her own very similar... post, but not a home; even her dreams barely differ from her prison.

“...Hey, Green. Time to wake up. You were shaking again.” Ever since that first time, Parsee has allowed herself to rest just a little more. To let her guard down, knowing she can trust in Seija waking her before the nightmares run their course. It's worked out well enough, just so long as they can both run a course against their every instinct.

Really, it's a miracle that this hasn't failed them yet.

“...Ah. Thank you, Seija, I-”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Sit dow- sit up and have this,” the amanojaku answers, pressing a mug of cold water into the bridge princess's still somewhat limp hand. “I was going to splash it on your face or something, but if you're awake, you might as well not let it go to waste." She takes the glass gingerly, nearly dropping it, and taking a few cautious sips while the blurred world settles into focus.

“Y'know, I heard you muttering some stuff while you were sleeping.” Seija glances over at Parsee, already fidgeting nervously. “Yeah, alright, I might have stuck around for a couple minutes before I woke you up, made the best of it. Which reminds me, don't start crying or anything, had enough earlier, not really in the mood for that now. ...You don't look like you've seen a ghost when I bring that up or anything, so that's progress.” She stops for a moment, then adds “...you see many ghosts around here?”

“Not many, unless you count the wisps,” Parsee replies, a little relieved at the change in topic, however brief.

“Pff, like I've got standards that low. They're just lightshows, the lot of them. Anyway, uh... some kinda name, Japanese but I couldn't quite make it out. And... asking something. Sounded angry.” Old habits muttered in her sleep, even when the dreams themselves skip over it all. The day she left her new home and departed for the Uji bridge.

“...I suppose after you've seen me like this so many times,” Parsee answers, sounding a touch resigned, “I owe you an explanation, don't I?” As usual, she is dour and solemn as she can be, when Seija only laughs, shaking her head like the bridge princess had just suggested some sort of preposterous joke.

“Hah! Do you... do you really think...” her words are lost between gasps of laughter. Seija is an accomplished trickster, after so many years – or a liar, to use a less kind term – and so skilled that the near-cackling does not seem the least bit forced. Even Parsee buys into it. “You think I really want to hear about you? Come on, princess, get a grip and quit flattering yourself like that. 'S not healthy, letting things get to your head. But, uh... there was something else too.”

Parsee's attentive nod and quiet look gives her little to do except continue. “Something about how... you shouldn't trust me, pretty much. Going to get hurt, run while you can, that sort of thing.” Parsee all but flinches, and immediately, the weary youkai holds one hand out to stop any answer she might have.

“Now, that's a good thing. You're right, obviously. Means you get me. ...Doesn't mean you've gotta worry about it, though. I think I can change that.” Parsee's eyes widen, though whether in surprise, disbelief or something else is hard to say. The hope in her voice is hard to mistake, all the same, when the bridgekeeper next speaks up.

“How are you going to do that?” She thinks, for a moment, of telling Seija that there's no need; that there is no reason in the world for her to change herself, or to stop being what she is. That there is a place for the heartless and vicious. The absurdity of it all strikes her before the words leave her mouth.

“Easily!” Seija explains, quite confidently. “It's like what I told you about before. Regular thing for amanojaku. I see how something is – say, the way I am now – and I can't help wanting to change it somehow. Second nature. Lucky me, too, that's what I happen to do best.” She puts on her best smile, convincing and even endearing, but Parsee meets it with a sceptic's frown.

“Surely it's not that simple?” The green-eyed woman asks curiously, and Seija tries to answer – gives all she can to answer with a laugh, a smile, a joke or some sort of barb. One by one they die in her throat, until all she can give is a helpless little whimper as her shoulders sag, leaving her looking away.

“...No, but it would be nice, huh?”

“It would. Give it time, and we'll find a way around all this. And if not...”

“If not,” Seija finishes for her, “we're probably stupid and desperate enough to deal with the worst of all this anyway, is that right?” Parsee smiles and nods. She can't think of a less suitable way to react than that, but after considering all the right ways, it strikes her as the only one she can bear. So they spend a while there, staring out over the expanse of caves ahead of the bridge, in the silence they have learned to think of as comfortable. It's a quiet only disturbed, eventually, by the underground itself.

Seija points after a while with one extended finger to a distant spot in the caverns, a little lake – nothing so vast as the one she had been brought to early in her days here – that would not be visible at this distance if it were not for something lighting it up. The little stars of the underground, dislodged by something of the other, float or fall through the air, drifting each at their own speeds towards the water.

“See that? ...Come on, there's not much worth seeing out here, gotta keep an eye out for the little there is. You see it too?”

“...I'm not sure what you expect me to see, Seija.”

“Shooting stars, Green. Play along, will you? You're supposed to... I don't know. Gawk a bit and maybe make a wish. Still got a couple left if you want to-” The last of the stars, a moment later, dims beyond anything visible at this distance, falling under the lake's surface. The amanojaku lets out a long, weary sigh, shaking her head. Even the caves themselves can't be trusted to act appropriately, as it turns out.

“Well, mine is a little far-fetched,” Parsee says eventually. “I won't count on it. And you?”

“What do you think?” Seija asks, rolling her eyes. “Wished I could get out of here already. Sooner the better.”

“...Ah.”

“You're coming with me, obviously,” she adds, to the suddenly dejected bridge princess. “I'll show you around.”

“...How do you plan on doing that, exactly?”

“I figure it's like your stories,” Seija explains, with those grand, expansive, sweeping hand gestures that she finds so useful when she means absolutely nothing by them. “The ones with kidnapping a princess or something, those usually work out alright, don't they? ...Just as long as no one's following or going to get worked up over it,” she adds hurriedly. “Hell if I'm picking a fight with an oni for you.”

That, at least, gets a little chuckle out of Parsee. “Oh, what does it matter? None of those were much of a shooting star anyway.” Seija gives her a stern look atop a frown, not necessarily a correction but nebulous, exaggerated disapproval. A second later, she puts her arm around Parsee's shoulders, the frown melting away as she looks out at where the lake was a moment ago. Neither of them can see it, now.

“...Yeah, I know that. We make do, down here.”

Chapter Text

“Ready to go yet?” Seija's voice reaches across the bridge and echoes off the damp stone, while Parsee bustles about at the edge of the river, caught in the midst of preparations. Their plan is relatively new, a visit to the city below for the festival of the day, a sudden proposal made on a whim. Loud, bright, crowded, but here they are making plans to visit all the same. Why?

...The idea came to them, and that was that. Hardly a reason at all.

“A moment, please. We still need a mat to sit on – ah, this should do – and some water for the way... I'll be along any second now.” Parsee's voice answers her from somewhere under the bridge, hurrying back and forth between little last-minute errands. Idly, Seija finds herself wondering just what the festivities below are intended for today. Anyone's guess, most likely. The celebrations become their own reason after a while, with the oni. Just as well, really, since it allows them today to visit immediately without going so far as to actually check if anything is happening today.

“There, that should be everything. Ready to leave, Seija?”

“Since some time around yesterday, sure. You need me to-” Well, of course not, neither of them ever need anything. A quick correction, instead. She reaches out and grabs the rolled up straw mat Parsee keeps under one arm. “Here, give me that. You're carrying the rest.” She fumbles with the mat somewhat awkwardly, before setting off down the path. 'Path' is a little generous, as always, but by now, there's some familiarity to it all. She might resent that just for the implication, but it's convenient, at least, when finding her way over the dark, uneven rocks.

The city of the oni – really more of a town or even a village in size, try as they might to insist on calling it a city – is a sharp contrast in almost every way from the rest of the underground. The bright lights, certainly, and the warmer hues that paint the streets and every building. The sounds, with voices, music, laughter and footsteps, as well as the occasional crash of splintering furniture, drown out the dripping water and occasional wind or distant starfall that make up the voice of the caves. Warmth, too; the constant damp cold, oppressive but never what might be called severe like winter on the outside, is exchanged for the warmth of crowds and the crackling braziers that line every street.

Braziers on every last one of the streets, with wooden buildings on each side and partying oni and ghosts down the middle. It's the sort of fire hazard they might have done something about after the first few disasters, if any of them particularly cared. The older buildings are still built from stone; wood is a recent luxury, traded from the surface, burned to cinders time and again, and inexplicably considered worthwhile.

There's the smell too, Seija realises, as the two search for a place to sit, hopefully on the outskirts of all the festivities and noise; it won't do to get too close, after all. Yes, something easily missed on the first few visits. Fire, smoke, food, recently disturbed earth and gravel, a stark difference from the enormous expanse of nothing that fills the rest of the underground. An island in the lifeless caves.

The festivities are almost immediately overwhelming for the two, once they approach. “...Kinda loud here, huh? You want to go sit somewhere out of the way?” Seija suggests within moments, to a nod from Parsee. Noise is more the bridge princess's concern, and as for the amanojaku, the presence of oni is a rather stronger one, but not her most pressing problem.

“Gah, should've expected this. All in a real good mood, aren't they?” It's hardly surprising, and near-perpetual for oni in any case, but that doesn't help much with the building nausea. “You better find somewhere a bit further out, I'll catch up with you once I get something from one of the stalls. I'll get you a... no clue, actually, probably something on a stick, see what I can find,” she continues, settling for the most noncommittal guess she can give. Parsee agrees a moment later, and Seija breaks into a little chuckle.

“Terrible idea, huh? 'Oh, I know, we'll go out where there's lots of partying oni and bright lights and noise, won't that be something? Don't know why we thought of it, but we better make the best of it, yeah? I'll see you in a couple minutes, Parsee.” And with that, they part ways for a little while.

There's a reason they're both well aware of, though neither of them will admit it. Lies, both kind and cruel, both to themselves and to each other, make up the bedrock of their days together. Something special. Something just a little exceptional and memorable without being too outlandish, if a little ill-considered for the two. One outing together to remember in Seija's last days here. ...They both know it very well. All the more reason to pretend this is just another day.

She arrives at the outskirts of the city not long after that, with her little detour completed, settling down on the straw mat beside Parsee. It's not exactly comfortable, with uneven rock and little scraps of loose soil under the thin layer of straw, but it's better than nothing. True to her word, she's brought two skewers of... well, she's not quite sure. When questioned, the ghost running the stall – just what they need money for at all still nags at her – gave her a knowing wink in place of an actual answer. Best not to speculate, or so she reasons. Parsee takes it without any complaint; not surprising, considering what she's become accustomed to.

“...That's better. Quieter here, huh? If you look the other way and pretend real hard, it's almost like we're not here at all!” That gets a chuckle out of Parsee, even a little smile that lingers after her voice dies down.

“But you'll remember coming out here, won't you?”

“Well yeah, same way I'd remember being tossed on a pile of needles or boiled in a cauldron. You guys still do that, right?”

“Ah, but that's rather fitting for us, isn't it?” Parsee retorts, in what might be a playful tone if she had had anywhere near enough time to practice such a thing. “And no, I think it's steadily going out of fashion these days; at least, it seems to be around these parts. Now, if you'll just wait a little while, they should have a rather special sight to see soon enough.”

Seija nods slowly, her expression teetering back and forth between curiosity and mounting disbelief. “Yeah, about that. Earlier, when I was walking around, I thought I saw a few, uh...” She stops, briefly at a loss for words. “Are those really what I think they are?”

“Oh, yes,” Parsee answers immediately, unable to hide that little smirk that she slips on whenever she's about to reveal one of the underground's stranger quirks. To this day, Seija can't think of it as anything but the look she gives to tourists. Ridiculous, obviously; even if the underground does have tourists, Parsee would hardly be showing them around. Still, she manages to have a certain knowing tone for it, not quite smug. She manages to summon up a little enthusiasm for a place that, left to her own devices, she would hate without a second thought.

“Cannons. Well, launchers, really,” the bridgekeeper explains, “for the fireworks.” She lets that hang in the air without anything close to further elaboration, taking a moment to enjoy Seija's baffled stare. More than a moment, in fact, but she does eventually continue, after taking her time to savour the astonished confusion.

“Pointed away at the parts of the cave ceiling that no one lives near or will otherwise miss, naturally,” she adds, as if this explains it all.

“Doesn't that, uh...” Parsee stops her with a little nod.

“Cave-ins, now and then. Tremors and the odd sinkhole on the surface, I'm told. 'Should've given us some sky to work with if it bothers them so much,'” she adds, imitating Yuugi's voice. Poorly, but enough to make Seija laugh, at least.

“Ought to be a sight, at least,” the amanojaku comments after a while. “Wasn't expecting it to get that impressive out here. Probably rare, huh? Think I would've noticed if they did this any other time since I showed up. You come by often for this sort of thing?” Parsee thinks, then shrugs.

“Once or twice, possibly. I can't really remember. If I have, it's been a very long time indeed. ...Certainly never up close. And you?”

“Oh, yeah, plenty of times. You get in real close with the right act. But being... y'know,” the amanojaku gestures vaguely at herself, unvarnished and in plain view for once. “Just walking in and feeling pretty near safe? That's a first. I could- well, no. I can't get used to it. It's not half bad, though. Come on, better settle in, Green. Looks like the show's starting soon.”

“...Surely you can let that name go by now?” Parsee asks, with a faint frown. Routine enough not to bother her overmuch, by now, but it still sticks out just a bit. Seija only offers a little shrug.

“Hey, it's only a name. I don't have your crazy baggage about that, alright? I just think it's a nice colour, that's all.” Parsee turns, blinking a few times, staring like a deer in the headlights. She sighs without another word, putting one arm around Seija's shoulders and shaking her head, once she collects herself. ...But all the same, she can't stop a little smile from making its way through.

---

It's easy to forget how much colour the surface has, after getting used to the drab tones of the underground. Easy to forget how little light there is down here. The fireworks remind the two of both these things, by filling in the gap left behind, ever so briefly. They have their own colour, these enormous lights, but they bring out the glittering hues of the cave's ceiling, too. Briefly, Seija wonders why all the most beautiful parts of the underground are out of reach, along its walls and ceilings.

Then again, it would be a shame to have muddy footprints tramped over a bejeweled floor. The fireworks will do nicely for now, even if both she and Parsee miss most of them. Between the shockwaves and the sheer deafening noise reverberating off the cave walls to meet them, it's difficult not to flinch away or at least blink every time one of the fireworks detonates. ...Well, it's better than nothing.

Something is strange here, Seija soon realises. Different. A difference she eventually manages to narrow down from a vague feeling to... Parsee. Something has changed, something she hasn't noticed before, and can't quite put words to it now. The slight sense of discomfort crawling down her back is finally enough to clue the amanojaku in, but even then, it's so unbelievable that she takes a while to piece it together. She wonders, for a moment, if this is only the first time she has seen this, or the first time anyone has in all too many years.

Parsee is relaxed, for the first time. For the first time since Seija walked down those stone steps to the bridge, her guard is down and she's perfectly at ease, in a way which Seija gradually realises she has not seen even while Parsee was sleeping. A certain slackness of the shoulders, steady breathing and a calm, placid look in her eyes.

...There's something else, too. It's an easy enough matter for an amanojaku to read a heart. She almost can't help it, often enough. Something a little like empathy, as she once claimed, and nothing at all like it. It's nothing like reading a mind either, a thousand thoughts laid out to be scrutinised one by one. Closer to a window into an ocean; constantly spilling emotions that, as is their way, twist and change, reversed as in a mirror when they become her own thoughts. She can look closer, often, and make little changes, know just what to do, how to perfectly manipulate a soul, how to make them fall. It's still a clumsy, abstract thing; the cynical side of her – that is, all of her – would claim it to be far less useful than reading minds, like a certain resident of hell.

And with Parsee, the window has been so completely barred and boarded that she never even realised it was there. Not until now. She looks, of course. How can she resist?

There are many ways she might describe the things she sees. A blasted wasteland, all glass, jagged stone and barren rock. Something once-pristine, scoured and left lifeless and barren. An endless cruel, harsh landscape that seems to turn in on itself as much as it lashes out at any intruder, all watched over by a blindingly bright green sun, that would gladly burn itself down to nothing just to catch another in the flames.

In the end, none of this is what she saw. There are no words for looking into a heart, nothing in all the five senses that can compare, but this is a useful lie, close enough for an approximation. She manages to pull her thoughts away eventually, wide-eyed, only to realise Parsee is looking at her. How long was she gone? ...She should say something, she knows that much; a shame none of the words that come to her are the right ones.

“...Well, damn. Not much left for me to do, is there?” She could have said something better, surely. If only it came to her. At least Parsee doesn't seem to mind, nor does she seem particularly confused. She knows what Seija saw well enough.

“Why'd you let me see?” The amanojaku asks eventually, puzzled. It just isn't the smart thing to do, letting her guard down, letting Seija see anything. It's the sort of idea that quickly invites disaster. Parsee looks at her, thinks for a moment, and soon answers.

“I... well, it's hard to say. It felt safe? I think I can trust you by now, don't you?” It's a strange, awful thing Seija saw past that little window, but there's some warmth there, just a little. A hint that just for being shown and seen, it's a little less jagged and cold than before. Some small piece of comfort that hasn't been there long.

“Hell of a mistake,” she answers quietly.

“But it's the right one today, isn't it?”

“It might be. ...I'd like that, I think. Thanks, Parsee.” The fireworks are dying down by now, leaving them in the dark with a comfortable blanket of quiet night air. It's always night here, of course, but somehow it feels a little special now. There's something gentle and comfortable about the distant white noise of the festivities in the city behind them, about all they could say, but don't.

“You know,” Seija eventually says, with a slightly stilted laugh, “feels like I oughta tell you something too, some big secret or whatever so we're even, since you let me see that, but...” She spreads her palms, arms held out to either side of her, as if to present herself somehow, and shrugs. She stands there, the raggedy, spiteful monster lit up by shining green eyes, small and faintly embarrassed, wearing an awkward, ill-fitting smile.

“There's not much to me, you know?” They both reach out this time, holding one arm up to support the other, and just that, without any sort of coincidence to it. Nothing to hide now; strange, in a way, that they could feel so terribly fragile to each other at the same time, but today, there's nothing wrong with that. There's that little smile again before Parsee answers, small and unfamiliar, the strange expression that suggests she doesn't quite know what to do with it yet.

“It's enough for me.”

A campfire, that's what it is. They would laugh at the absurdity of it, if they had the energy. Not a fireplace, nothing so comfortable, but a small, crumbling beacon of warmth, assembled from twigs and scraps of whatever burnable material they have on hand. A campfire, because it has no house to warm, no walls around it. A faltering little thing, then, for the place she refuses to call home after so many centuries.

In its own way, it's not too bad. They needed the noise of the city to relish the quiet afterwards. The quiet they share, rather than the deafening sounds of isolation.

Sleepless nights, under far more ordinary circumstances than the aftermath of a festival, are nothing new to them, but they usually come to one of the two at a time. It's almost pleasant, in a way, to share one, hunched over the meager glow of the flame. They know why they're here, for once, and easily at that; the reason neither of them dare bring up. The question that they so carefully avoid the answer to, knowing it will come to them with sleep. Or is that only Parsee's imagination, opposite someone all too eager to leave?

How long? How long until this ends?

It hurts. They know that, both of them, as clearly as they can see each other. In spite of that, even with no walls remaining between them, they trade smiles: Warm, cheerful, empty things. Gentle expressions filled with reassurance. There's no need to worry, those smiles seem to say. There's nothing that can possibly go wrong. Everything will be alright, and they have nothing in all the world to be frightened of; neither the dread they hold towards the thought of separation, or the comfort that these moments together still bring, when by all rights they should not. Nothing at all.

What wonderful liars they are, with so many years of practice. A shame they know each other too well, by now. What is there to say, at this point? ...Too much. So much that it became nothing at all. A thousand words that should never be said, and a thousand more known so well that to say it out loud would insult them both.

“About time.” Seija breaks the silence, a quiet that tonight, they find both comforting and tense, warm and sharp.

"Yes, I suppose it's that time again." A subtle difference, slipping out before Parsee can stop it. That time again. Everyone leaves sooner or later, without fail. The rest is only a question of time, of how long she would need to wait, carrying hope in one hand and pained anticipation in another, until the other shoe finally drops. Had Seija heard that little change? Does it matter?

'Will you be back?' The words linger in her thoughts, rise to her lips and die there. What a ridiculous question. It will be the same answer, now and always. She shakes her head, hoping to clear the thought away, as if it would fall out of one ear and onto the ground. Perhaps that's just what it does; it doesn't take long for something else to settle in, on wings of recollection. She had sat here with Seija before, near this ledge overlooking the city below, and there was a question then, turned away hurriedly.

It's a city of exiles we have here, in the end. Or an entire cave of them. Of all those I've seen here, I can think of only two that belong in this place.

What about you?

...Somehow, it doesn't seem so bad, now. She straightens up a little, casts a glance towards those distant lights below, then looks back to Seija. It's now or never, after all, or so it seems. If anyone deserves to hear...

What a ridiculous idea. Neither of them deserve much at all, and sharing this secret is no favour; not when the retelling no longer hurts her as much as it might. It no longer even has that much to offer. Is it an indulgence, then? No, not particularly. In the end, she can't quite place a reason for saying this at all, except that it feels right. Closure of a sort.

“You asked how I came here once, didn't you, Seija? Would you like to hear the story?” To her surprise, her fireside companion doesn't so much as hesitate before answering.

“Well, you're offering, aren't you? Better get on with it before all of hell freezes over with us in it, then. I'm listening.” Parsee can tell, now, that the nonchalance of it all isn't entirely genuine. As always, she finds herself appreciating the kernel of truth just as much as the front Seija puts up for both their sakes.

“Once upon a time...” The start gets a little theatrical roll of the eyes out of Seija, but a little grin, too. “There was a woman who lived in a port city in Persia, by the name of Gamrūn, though I'm told it's come to be called Bandar Abbas. Her family, nobles of middling importance, some distance from court life, and all too eager for anything that would give them the smallest of stepping stones towards it.

Her stay there, though pleasant, was uneventful for the most part. I see no point in recounting the details, or what little I can recall of them. The turning point was a visitor from a land far from my home. A young merchant, an enterprising man who had come first to Siam – the ports of the Ayutthyanan kingdom, if you prefer – and then to Persia. It was something of a novelty to everyone, I think, seeing a merchant who came from somewhere other than England or Portugal, as most of them did. Have you... heard of those?” Parsee asks, pausing abruptly. “Do they still exist nowadays?”

Seija laughs a little longer than the bridge princess might have liked, then nods. “Yeah, 'course they do, far as I know. Go on, will you?” Parsee takes a moment to sip at the stone mug by her side – just water, for now – before continuing on.

“She was rather starstruck after their first or second chance meeting, this young woman. Looking back, I don't think it took a great deal. As luck would have it, she had his eye too. When her family realised she had the attention of a promising merchant, arrangements were made with all due haste. The smallest of stepping stones, as I said, and no doubt the gift he gave for her hand was significant. It wasn't our practice, you understand, but such gifts were expected by most in Persia at the time, and no one was in the mood to deny such a windfall. I don't think it ever crossed her mind to protest the arrangements being made; quite the contrary, I imagine she would have run off with him if left with no other choice. She bought into one promise after another, and made her way with him to Kyoto, the heart of Japan.”

Her voice cracks for just a second, but she soon calms herself with another mouthful of the warm water, boiled some time ago on the fire and cooled a great deal since. Seija can hardly help herself from reaching out, peering at Parsee's heart, fishing for... something. Something broken, or an open wound in her thoughts. Nothing. How strange.

“His name was... hah.” She smiles, with an oddly proud look. “You know, I can't remember anymore. At any rate, it took almost a year for her to find out he made something of a habit of this. There were many others, you see. He found someone on almost every journey around the world – ones that meant he was rarely home in any case – and she was the first he brought home, or at least, the only one still to be found at his home. She was not the last. The long wait for him to return home – it would not be proper, she was told, for her to join him on his journeys, and now she understood why – that, she could endure, but this? This was too much. When she spoke to him of it, her words were brushed away like dust, and when her anger overtook her, she was cast out the door.

She ran and ran, confused, frightened and furious, to the one friend she had there. Her husband's friend too, but needs must. He was a monk of a nearby temple, and she fled to him for guidance. This monk, he must have feared for the other man's life, or at the very least for his inconvenience. He taught her a ritual, you see, this worried monk, all gentle concern and reassurance. Promises that she would be given her due for this. She was so grateful then, seeing how happy he was to help after hearing her tale.

His instructions were not easily followed, but such is the price of a miracle, no? She was to wear red, and paint her face the same colour with cinnabar. She must coil her hair into five horn-like loops and crown her head with an iron brazier, topped with three torches. In her mouth she would hold a fourth torch, burning at each end, inching ever closer to her face as it burns. Finally, in her hands, she would hold an iron rod, and make her way into the Uji river, lurking under the bridge out of sight for three weeks. The torches never once burned out.”

She meets Seija's now wide-eyed stare with a weak little smile, and a shrug of her shoulders. This is the story of a stranger, a tale of no consequence. Why should it trouble her? It's tiring to recount, but no more.

"At the end of the third week, exhaustion and starvation overtook her. She awoke later, one of no small number of twisted miracles that surrounded her that day, in what was once known as hell, transformed into a youkai, her humanity long gone, with her soul bound to this very bridge. Only then, with the fog of hatred, fear and bitter jealousy lifted from her eyes, did she realise that she had once again been betrayed, played for a fool. Disposed of as soon as she made a threat out of herself. The curse that had been inflicted on her - by her own hand in part - prevented her from leaving, and if time has diminished its strength, than I sincerely doubt that it has done enough. Her first few attempts at leaving for the surface broke her for a time, and another may even kill her if she resists the spell for too long.”

She breathes out a little sigh at the end of this stranger's tale, looking for all the world like a puppet with its strings cut. Something has been lifted from her back, certainly, but it leaves her slack and exhausted, even as she tries to force herself to look otherwise for Seija. She takes slow, measured breaths before she speaks again, a little surprised that the price of recollection has stopped short of tears this time.

“Her name – at least, after she came to these shores - was Parsee Mizuhashi, and after so long, I can remember very little of her. She watched the bridge since then, as she always will, and I...” Another quiet sigh, and she drags herself upright to look Seija in the eye.

“I am what's left of her.”

The first thing Seija tells her is no sound at all, just an arm around her shoulder. It says more than any words can, somehow. Parsee turns, looks into that frowning face with a wavering but genuine smile, and not a little confusion.

“...You're not laughing.”

“Was I supposed to?”

“I thought you of all people would enjoy that sort of story,” the bridgekeeper explains.

“Yeah, I probably should, shouldn't I? But... Ah, hell, I don't know. It's not right, shouldn't have to go through that. Maybe I'm going soft. ...You going to be alright, Green? Looks like it took a lot out of you. Don't think I'd be doing much better either, in your shoes.”

Parsee's emphatic nod surprises her, as does the slightly warmer expression, replacing the harried look in those green eyes, a little dimmer than usual. “Do you know why I told you this? ...Probably because I feel like you should know, but also because it's a story. Just a story, from so long ago that it's old history even by our reckoning. Why should that hurt at all?” There's a little more truth to it with every word. It seems... harmless, somehow.

“...It'll be alright, Parsee. I promise.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don't,” Seija explains, with another of her slight grins. “But as long as you can't be sure either, that's got to be good enough for a start. Probably oughta lie down for now, though. You look real tired. ...Think I would be too.” Parsee gives her a strange look, thoughtful, a little cautious, and finally biting back some answer until it finally spills out into the open.

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

“...I think so, yeah. Couple more days, at least. There's something I have to do first. You won't get rid of me that easily.”

“I'm still staying,” the bridge princess insists stubbornly, pressed against Seija's side. They trade little smiles, warmer than the shrinking fire in front of them, and huddle closer, looking out at the stars. A long night, then; that suits them both well enough.

...It'll be alright. One way or another.

Chapter Text

Yuugi's house is both less house-like than such a word would suggest to most, and more so than some would expect from her. A cave within a cave, dug into the rock face seemingly by hand, without a door across the entrance so much as a swinging plank that covers almost half the space, with a cloth draped over the entire opening. Crude, and obviously quite new. The orange glow of firelight leaks out from the other side, mingling with light in much the same colour from the streets outside, and the paper lanterns hanging over what passes for the door. Past the door, glimpses of stone furniture, built to last above all.

All of it points to a house made to expect – and frequently survive – disaster. Not Yuugi herself, that can't be right; she hardly seems so... volatile. It must be for the company she keeps. A rough but comfortable sort of home, then, for what might be one of the more restrained oni.

Standing here, having walked alone through the city to her doorstep and drawn a thousand stares from the oni, youkai and spirits all around, the thought doesn't do much to comfort Seija. A couple more days. There's something she has to do first. Almost a promise, really; of course, having promised anything is itself as good a reason as any to turn away now. Some part of her still claims that trust is only there to be betrayed.

She's made worse mistakes, she must have. It's a shame she can't seem to think of any of them.

“Hey, you've been standing out there for a couple minutes, whoever it is. Come in, will you?” The oni calls out from inside, and Seija flinches despite herself, rather hoping – despite all the signs – that no one would be home. ...Well, it saves her the trouble of knocking, at least. Is that even something that's done down here? She wouldn't know where to start with this door.

“R-right, uh...” what to call her? Will 'Yuugi' do? Formality was never her strong suit, nor any sort of courtesy, but she does need to be on the oni's good side. She has to admit to herself that she isn't even sure Yuugi has a bad side, as such, but it pays to be careful, just this once.

“Seija? What're you doing out here?” A second later, the door is flung open, and Yuugi stands in front of her. She can't help looming like that, Seija tells herself. It's not meant to be menacing. When all's said and done, knowing that doesn't help much. The deva looks down at her, obviously shocked and confused, and eventually Seija answers.

“Getting quieter on the surface. Have a couple days until I leave. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after.” Quiet, but at least she manages to keep her voice from shaking much. To be face to face with an oni is already almost too much; to treat her in any ordinary way asks the world and more of the little amanojaku.

“That right?” Well, at least she doesn't seem to be celebrating, particularly. “You making your rounds before you go or something? Didn't think you'd be in a hurry to see anyone but Parsee.”

“I'm not,” Seija retorts, almost reflexively. “I just... need to talk to you about something anyway,” she continues, her voice dropping to a mumble, eyes fixed on the ground. “...Need your help.”

“Come on in, then.” It takes a moment, if only to understand what she just heard, but Yuugi answers soon enough.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. It's important enough for you to come out here and ask me, isn't it? Better get it over with, looks to me like you don't want to be here any longer than you have to.” Leaving the door open for a little while, she leads Seija through and across the stone floor, past some unidentifiable skins covering most of the floor in an overlapping pattern of makeshift rugs, before patting a cushion by the fireside.

“Better have a seat, you look like you're about to faint or something,” Yuugi suggests, and her guest slowly, cautiously settles in.

“Listen,” the amanojaku begins, in clearly nervous tones, or at least uneasy ones. “About the times I ran into you in town. I, uh, probably shouldn't have said half of what I did, but I'm hoping you didn't take it-”

“What, that?” Yuugi cuts her off suddenly, with a bemused look and a small shrug, or at least, a small one by the standards of any movement she makes. “I was pretty impressed. Expected worse from you, actually. Wasn't exactly thinking we'd get along anyhow, so it's not like I was surprised.” The answer seems to make Seija relax, a little. Mutual dislike, then, mild or not, but not enough to cause any serious trouble. There's something oddly comfortable about it.

“...Alright. That's good. Look, Yuugi, I get it. You hate me. It's an oni thing, and if it wasn't, we'd be different enough that it'd happen anyway, right? I don't like you either, so we've got that in common, at least. It's not the point. This one...” She looks up at the deva, and that little shake of her head that could be either disagreement or simple exasperation.

“This one isn't about me. Feels weird saying that, but it's true.”

“Doesn't much matter what I think about you, then, does it?” The question lingers and sinks, ignored. Easier that way. Not about her; that narrows it down enough that there's hardly a point in saying the name outright.

“Like I said, I'm leaving soon.” A little nod from her patient audience.

“She'll miss you, you know.”

“...I know. Only reason I'm still here.”

“'Cause she wants you to stay?”

“No. Yes. ...Look, that's a reason all by itself for leaving. On the other hand...” Seija looks away, stares into the fireplace. Crackling, cheerful shades of red and orange, like the streets of the city she has grown to so dislike. “She doesn't want me gone, Yuugi. She wants me right where I am. How often do you think I get that?”

It's just as well, she reflects after a moment, that Yuugi doesn't choose to rub it in with an actual answer. They both know that much well enough. Eventually, the oni offers her an empty red dish, holding up a clay sake jug. “Want some? You look like you could use it, might help with those nerves-” Seija holds up one hand, shaking her head.

“No, I'm good-” A little barely-suppressed laugh interrupts her. “Y'know what I meant, I don't need any. I, uh... gotta hang on right now, think clearly, that sorta thing.” It takes all her willpower to stop herself from biting back any sort of hostility that comes to mind, doubly so when Yuugi is so calm. Better not to complicate this further.

“Alright, I get it. ...Y'know, it's kinda funny seeing you come out here about her. Little while after you showed up, I warned her about you, told her she shouldn't trust you.” The amanojaku shrugs, then gives a little nod at this news.

“Good advice.”

“I know. Told me she doesn't trust me any further than she can throw me, either, after all these years.” There's no annoyance in the deva's voice, particularly. Not so much as disappointment. Some things are not to be expected or given to begin with.

“Just how she is,” Seija answers. “I can see why, too; she told me how she ended up here, the other day. I wouldn't deal with it too well either.”

“Never heard anything about that,” Yuugi answers, to a mute but surprised look. “Never asked, though. Didn't feel like my place.” There may be no lies in the life of an oni, but there can be secrets; any story that ends in hell is not one that should ever be spoken of. Histories are not meant to be asked after, here.

“You think it was mine?”

“Up to her to decide, isn't it? Now, tell me something, Seija. What's keeping you here? You're itching to leave, nothing's stoppin' you, you ain't the type to get all sentimental as far as I can tell... what are you doing here?” Seija looks at her for a while, then into the fire again, hands gripping the arms of her chair tightly.

“...This a test?”

“I don't do tests. Is it just about... I dunno, disappointing her or something? 'Cause you could turn around and walk out now, and no one would blame you for a second. Her least of all. I like it down here; plenty do. End of the day, though, you're still leaving hell. Think about that for a second. Try and think of someone who'd hold that against you, if you even care about how any of us feel about that. Anything else keeping you here?”

Seija seems to breathe a little easier at that... whatever it might be. Something like a reassurance. It still takes her a short while to answer. “You know how I said I need your help?”

“Been sittin' here talking till you work up the nerve to tell me about it, haven't I?”

“It's-” Seija stops herself at the last minute. About Parsee? They know that well enough already. Even so, she finds herself looking for ways to put it off just a little longer. There are things better left unsaid, and things that ought to have said some time ago, but feel far more comfortable when buried.

“You know what I'm like, don't you?” She asks Yuugi eventually. “The way I work – the way any amanojaku does – that sort of thing. Well, once in a while I can tell that something or other I did, sometimes even something I said – don't ask me how, I must be losing my touch - cheers her up a little, gets her to stop moping for a little while. When that happens... well, alright, to be honest, it makes me feel a little sick. Sometimes I get a bit of a headache,” she admits, wearing a slightly sheepish expression before adding, in a slightly more defensive tone, “I can't help that. Still, whatever I'm doing... right? Wrong? I haven't minded enough to stop yet. Feels... worth it, somehow. Think that might be part of what clued me in. That and... do I really have to go through with this? I'm not sure you need to hear it all.”

Her vague complaint gets a smile from Yuugi, and an emphatic nod. “Reckon I've got a good hunch, but this one's not for me, is it? Sounds like something you gotta hear from your own mouth. Keep at it.” A little squinting could even make her look encouraging, reassuring. Would that make it better, or worse? The thought gives Seija something to distract herself with for a second, at least.

“I've had plenty of people... back me up for something or the other, even take a bit of a shine to me over the years; it's not hard, you know? I've just about figured it out, by now. Useful trick. This is different: She knows who I am, she knows what I am, and even after that... even after some of the things I did – I'd tell you, but I'm trying to stay in your good books, here – she hasn't changed her mind. And she doesn't want me to leave. I don't... I still can't understand it, but that's how she is. There are things she just gets, too, that I wouldn't dare tell anyone about.” She sighs, pauses, and runs her hands aimlessly over the parts of the chair that are within her reach, trying to stall each sentence.

“You ever hear someone say 'all the world's a stage'?” She asks Yuugi after a second. “Well, it's like that, more or less. You act, or you get behind the curtains, hide, and pray to whoever's listening that no one finds you. Just this once, I get to let it all drop. I don't have to do either, and it's... I don't know. It feels safe. I'm not even sure that's the right word, though; I'm still getting used to this. Could be years before I can make sense of any of it. ...Hah, like I've got that kind of time. It just adds up, I guess. All these things that never happened before, and I don't know, maybe they're not supposed to. Meant to earn this kind of stuff, right? ...Look, I could keep going, but I'd only be embarrassing myself more than I already have.”

Her next words are a little whisper that strain even Yuugi's hearing. The oni leans in closer – just a bit, not so much as to scare her – trying to make out Seija's voice, gently asking her to repeat herself. ...For all of the amanojaku's faults, it's all too challenging to hold anything like a grudge against someone who seems so terribly fragile. Better to hold nothing against her for now; it's what Yuugi finds herself far more accustomed to, if nothing else.

“Think I love her. Think that's what it is,” she repeats, a little louder now, sounding almost irritated. “Not supposed to happen. Didn't know it could. I'm not... cut out for that. Go on, laugh it up; I would if it wasn't happening to me, but... I've had a while, I think it has to be that.”

“Right. Go on.” Her answer prompts a double take from Seija, a stare and some sputtering before she regains her footing.

“Hold on, t-that's all you have to say?”

“Well, I ain't gonna act surprised,” Yuugi answers with a shrug. “Not by now. I've got eyes, I've got ears, and I know this sorta thing doesn't come easy to you. Probably had a hunch before you did.”

“...And you believe me?"

“I like to think I can tell. Near as I've seen, everyone likes to think that. More than that, though... if you're faking this, that's a lot of work, isn't it? You came here to ask me about it, too. And for what? To convince me, when I've got nothing to do with any of this? Stops being fun after a while, doesn't it? Gets to be too much of a hassle. Now, a better question's this. What's got you so sure that this is a good idea, or even that you'll be sticking with it in a few days from now?”

For a while, that – and the look she's given, a little more stern than anything before – is enough to give Seija pause, leaving her staring into the relative comfort of the fireplace again, opening her mouth a few times only to close it again.

“I'd do... alright, not much,” she admits once she recovers her words. “Nothing, you know, over the top; I'm not crazy, not one of those 'anything for her' types. Always sounded stupid to me, that whole routine. If she asked, though... I'd probably do it, yeah. That's more than I can say for anyone else, you know? I don't do things for anyone, least of all because it'd make them happy. You know what that does to me. You told her not to trust me? Well, you're right, she can't, and she knows that, not just because of you, but because I told her. ...Look, I-- maybe this isn't much. Maybe it doesn't sound like enough to you, but it's all a bit of a first for me.”

Yuugi says nothing. Is that not enough? ...Of course it isn't. How can it be? Seija squirms in her chair, thoughts racing, reaching for something more to say. If only any of this were a little more familiar. If only she can convince herself that there will be any good in this.

“She's made worse mistakes,” Seija explains finally. “Told me that much herself. I, uh... it's not exactly poetic or anything, and it's never going to sound good, but at the end of the day I'd just like to keep it that way.”

“Right up until you leave for the surface in a couple days?”

“I'll bring her up there with me, whatever happens. Soon as I can. Told her I'm going to show her the sun one day, a little while ago. She asked me if I was serious. You know what I told her? 'No promises.'”

Yuugi pauses, looking curiously at her... and then, as realisation flashes in her eyes, she finally smiles; warm, bright, but frighteningly toothy as well, as she takes another gulp of sake from her dish, swirling the liquid around a few times.

“Let me tell you something,” the oni answers finally. “You know how Parsee is most days, don't you? Tired, bags under her eyes, looks like she's just dragging herself from one place to another. Like someone with a big piece taken out of 'em, jumping at shadows, like she's expecting the ground to sprout hands and drag her under any second.” A quick nod from Seija, and she continues on.

“Well, I didn't recognise it at first. Got so used to it that I just thought it's how she is. When I got to see her on a good day – and let me tell you, that took some doing – I didn't even know what to think about it. Just seemed strange, you know? She was like that so long that it started to look normal. I see her like that a bit more these days. Relaxed, almost. You know when I saw her smile last, before you got here?”

“...No,” Seija admits, after some thought, and a few guesses left unsaid.

“Well, neither do I. 'Cept a couple times to fake it; you know how she is about being all polite and proper when she thinks it's needed. You did her good, is my point. Maybe you never meant to, but it counts for a bit, all the same. It's like the story I never heard. Don't like to admit it, but I just don't... there's some stuff I can't really understand. I do my best, but we're pretty different, Parsee and I. You've got something I don't. Maybe nothing good, but it helps her, and I'm not in a hurry to see it gone. I'm... I don't know. Worlds apart from Parsee, sometimes; only so much I get to see or help with. You, though. She let you through. You know what that means?”

It's not fair, really. The first thought that come to the amanojaku is how unfair it is to ask her a question, to pretend she holds some of the answers here, when all this is so painfully unfamiliar. She tries, all the same; enough that she's almost proud of herself for managing a little shrug.

“You know she ain't doing well. Used to be worse. Much worse. I've known her a couple hundred years. That's how long it took to get to where she is today. You understand what that means? You've done something in what, a few months? A change bigger than any I've managed, maybe. You've made a difference. She might not look it, but she stands to lose a lot here. Please, be careful. I won't tell you to back off. Wouldn't have invited you in if that was the plan. Just... be careful.”

“...No promises,” Seija answers, in a strained voice. What more can she offer? “It's... good, I guess, that you're hearing me out, but I still don't know what to do about this. It's just... this isn't me, you know? 'Out of my element' isn't the half of it.” And again, Yuugi smiles, an amused glint in her eyes, as if to ask 'is that all?'

“See now, that's dead simple. Gotta be honest with her. Just tell her. It's not your way, and it sure isn't hers, but take it from me, sometimes that's what you need.”

“Do you think it'll work?” Seija asks, sceptical to say the least.

“You'll probably scare the daylights out of her, and then she'll clam up and send you off. But it'll make her happy, too, I think; maybe because someone still feels that way, maybe because it's you, but I have a feeling she'll be happy for it. So that's two reasons for you not to do it. You in or not?”

“When you put it like that,” she answers with a slightly forced smile of her own, even as she forces herself to look away, “how can I say no? Besides, I've-”

“Made worse mistakes?” Yuugi finishes for her.

“You don't know that,” Seija retorts with a huff, only to add “...and really, neither do I. ...Tomorrow, then. Got a day to sleep on it. Now,” she continues, moving out of her chair, casting shifty glances around the house, “I've...”

“Got some urgent getting-away-from-me to do, is that right?” The half-joking question gets a nod from Seija, just a little sheepish. “Well, that's fine. Just the one thing, then, 'fore you go,” Yuugi adds. “If you end up hurting her...”

“Are we really doing threats after all that?” Seija answers, rolling her eyes with an exaggerated sigh.

“Wasn't gonna. I was going to say, if that happens, you look like you'll take it harder than anyone. That's why I'm on your side.” Seija's face falls, sudden relief mixing with unpleasant realisations, and again, the recently all-too-common feeling of everything she knows about herself slipping away from her in front of her eyes.

“Y-yeah, that's probably true, isn't it?” She answers, hurriedly shuffling over to the door and pushing it open. It swings forward unsteadily, then falls abruptly to the ground, to an indifferent shrug from the oni.

“Hey, Yuugi. Thanks for, well, all of that,” she mumbles awkwardly over her shoulder, just loud enough to be heard, as she stands by the doorway. “Helping me out like this, looking out for her, everything. Means a lot to me that you'd-”

“Aw, c'mon, you don't mean that.” Her answer is a defeated little nod from Seija, and a dry, slightly forced laugh.

“...No, but I'd like to, I think.”

“That's the spirit,” comes the answer, as Seija steps out into the city. “You take care, now.”

Chapter Text

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, Seija has told herself some days ago, before she realised the dangers of letting herself decide the time, letting herself put it off as often as her hesitation and nerves demand. One by one, she finds her reasons to delay, things that need to be taken care of first. The days pass slowly, even after she had said she would leave. They pass without any question, without either Parsee or Seija so much as drawing attention to it, treating each day like a fragile spell that will break in seconds if they are to look directly at it.

Today, as with the day before, Seija is on one of her excursions around the cave, exploring by herself, searching for something that by all rights shouldn't exist down here. All the same, she has to try; there's a certain way these things are done. A certain way it needs to go. She could go to the surface to look, of course. The thought had occurred to her before. It would be only too easy then, but in the end, the surface itself – the fear that she would be tempted to never come back down – dissuades her.

There's nothing to find here. Of course there isn't. She stops at the city, in the end, and leaves with an imitation in blue and purple shades, that makes little crinkling noises when she grips it the wrong way in her nervous clumsiness. It will have to do. For a moment, she wonders if it wouldn't be best to leave it altogether.

“Two days,” she begins as she arrives at the bridge and slumps on the railing, to a little wave from Parsee. “I spent two days looking,” Seija repeats, only to be met with a confused look.

“...Pardon?”

“Flowers. This place has... all kinds of weird things, you know? I thought it might surprise me. ...Aw, it's not supposed to go like this. Getting the order all wrong.”

“And did it surprise you?” Parsee asks, still rather puzzled.

“'Course not. No, I picked a pretty bad place to go all mushy and sentimental. I'm not even sure if there's a good place for that, but this isn't it. Hope you like paper ones,” she finishes, giving the bouquet a despondent shake as she sticks it – and her arm – out towards the bridge princess. A few flakes and petals drift towards the ground. All the same, it doesn't look much worse for the loss. That's something, at least. Parsee takes it, still puzzled.

“A-anyway, got something to tell you, Parsee. Something I probably should've talked to you about a while ago,” Seija manages to mumble out a little while later, barely audible. Parsee nods, listening attentively but not adding a word herself. This would be a lot easier, Seija reflects in a brief moment of detached calm, if she knew how to do any of it. If any part of this situation were a little less terrifyingly unfamiliar.

“...You can probably guess, can't you?” The amanojaku asks hopefully, nervous and fidgeting. With luck, she will never need to say another word, but Parsee's expression shows her well enough that luck is not on her side. With a quiet sigh, she presses on. “I'm standing here,” she explains, “all worked up, red in the face like you wouldn't believe, handing you some bad flowers and saying I've got something important to tell you. ...Come on, Parsee, you can put it together, can't you? This is bad enough already, don't make me say it.”

It is, she realises even then, not the best she could do. They can laugh about it later, but for now, she can't quite bring herself to do that. Parsee's answer, when it finally comes, helps her to realise that the pause before was confusion, not hesitation. That the answer is one she never expected, but suddenly wishes she hadn't heard.

“...Why?”

Why her? How can she even begin to answer that? What answers are there that Parsee will believe? That would be right, here and now? What answers are there that Seija can even bring herself to say? ...None, as it turns out, so instead, she just shrugs.

Looking back, almost any other answer would have been better.

“Plenty of reasons. Some of them good ones, and I don't have those too often. ...Listen, Parsee. I could tell you now, and you'd laugh it off or just ignore me, so I won't. Give it time. I'm staying right here until I can get you out of this place, if you'll let me. Getting you out of here, whatever you say about... about the rest of this, and one of these days... Maybe you'll finally get it, and you won't even have to ask.” She pushes a smile through, and regrets the move immediately; it looks a lot worse than she expected, or at least, feels like it must look that way.

“You know me, don't you? You think I get like this for no good reason? I'm no good at this, and I'm not about to get too sappy, but we... have our moments, that's all.” To Seija, at least, it's the best argument she can make. Then she looks away nervously, and waits. The quiet gives her just enough room to play out everything she has done and said, watching and rewatching it in the privacy of her thoughts. All the mistakes she made. She could laugh, if there was anything funny about it.

But at least she didn't have to say much.

Her thoughts are interrupted, suddenly, when Parsee's thin arms wrap around her. Parsee lingers there, pushing away some of her own familiar memories. This, the bridge princess realises, is... something else. Something new, and though she might not know yet if it's any better, at least it's different. There's no need to spoil it with old memories. She bends down then, and plants a small, gentle kiss on Seija's cheek; a little less than either of them would like, and a little more than either of them are comfortable with.

Words don't suit either of them, in the end. They stand there together, almost completely still, for what might as well be a full day as far as either of them know.

“Could do... a lot better than me, you know. I'm-” Seija starts to break the silence after a while, only to find herself cut short within seconds.

“Shhhh. That's enough, I've already decided. ...Now smile, Seija, or have you forgotten how to?” It's somewhere between a nervous twisting streak across her face, and an ugly, toothy grin, the sort that might flash on a dark road and send people scrambling for cover. She likes to think it gets the job done; anything better will have to wait for another time, after she's collected herself.

“Still can't believe you let me get away with that, Green. Can't believe I botched it that badly, either. Don't really know how this sort of thing is supposed to go, but... probably not like that, huh?”

“It worked, didn't it? And are we back to 'Green' now?” She asks, looking faintly amused. Seija shrugs, as much as she can in her position, carefully settling down on a nearby cushion without ever quite moving away from Parsee.

“It's a nice colour, alright?” Seija answers bluntly. Parsee smiles, but doesn't say anything; for a moment, it's not quite so hard to believe.

...She still hasn't said it, after all that. Well, maybe that's lucky, Seija muses to herself. She can only take so much embarrassment in one day, and that could well be true of both of them. There will be time for that later, won't there? They have more than enough time for everything. It almost seems too simple, all of this, like there should somehow be more to it. ...Maybe there isn't. That would be fine too, for now.

This isn't all, of course. They both know that. There's too much they see as only a matter of time before it falls apart again, too much they can hardly believe even now, too much that doesn't seem right or real, and only one chance to prove it all wrong. Well, Seija thinks to herself, guess I'll just have to see this through the first time around. Only had to go against everything I know so far, so that's the easy part out of the way.

All the same, right now, it's a little hard to worry. Let today be perfect. Strange, even a little wrong, maybe, but perfect. These are questions and problems for tomorrow, all of them; this far from the sun, tomorrow can be as far away as they like. That should buy them some time.

Parsee shifts slightly in place, breathes out a soft, contented sigh, and settles against Seija. There's a voice somewhere, an old, familiar one clamouring for her attention. Shocked? Angry? Shouting, over and over. Somehow, it sounds further away than ever before. Quiet enough to ignore and push to one side with a smile. Today, it doesn't have to mean anything.

For a little while, there is nothing else, just the steady sound of dripping water, and the crackling fire they have lit for warmth, the two of them huddling around it and ringed by scattered, already-crumpled paper flowers. It's the thought that counts, surely; they probably won't even last as long as the real thing at this rate. Suddenly, Seija winces involuntarily, just a little, drawing away for a moment before quickly correcting herself.

“...Ah, wow,” she mumbles half to herself, head spinning, with a little cough. “Someone's in a good mood today, huh?” She tries to shake off the dizziness, as Parsee gives her a worried look and the hurried start of what would probably be some sort of nervous apology, stopped short by Seija's laughter.

“Aw, relax, you think- I mean, after all this, you really think I'm going to mind something like that?”

“But you're-”

“Sure, sure, whatever. I can't help that. Never mind that, I don't care. This is- well, this is worth it.” Just for Parsee, at least. She can do without seeing this sort of smile on anyone else. ...It's starting to look a little more natural, now. A little more ordinary, less out of place and unfamiliar. Good. She wouldn't mind seeing more of it, as strange as it is coming from Parsee.

Seems like something's gone wrong in my head, she muses to herself, sitting there with an arm around the bridge princess, before deciding to keep that thought private. ...May as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Chapter Text

Parsee's days – the days that used to drag on at a snail's pace once upon a time, growing unbearably long – have been growing shorter and shorter. It's as if time is finally flowing again in the underground, after being stoppered and dammed for so long. It's a gradual thing, of course, but she's had weeks to adjust by now. Weeks of fears quietly swept away into a corner, of something to actually look forward to when she wakes up after a night's gentle, restful sleep. A reason to smile day after day, even if it does still look a bit odd on her.

It's a difficult change to adjust to, but certainly one she's happy with. Something that puts a little spring in her step as she makes her way down to the city below, carrying a basket of stars. Enough, maybe, to bring back something a little special. Probably not, she decides, glancing down at the modest contents. Well, that won't be a problem. Today is good enough as it is.

Seija's days, meanwhile, have been growing longer. She tries her best not to admit it, not to think of it. It's not something she should feel, after all. Pushing this aside is the least she can do, it's only right; another new sort of thought she's been trying to force herself into, lately. Every day brings something new and unfamiliar. Some are welcome, however new they might be. A sense of belonging somewhere. Someone who, for some strange reason, greets her with a smile without Seija needing so much as a single lie to make it happen. The feeling of finally being safe somewhere in the world.

These are good things, of course, and they are welcome. She is welcome, she is safe, everything in her life is stable and set right. There is someone out there who is happy just to see her, to hear her voice; someone who smiles at the sight of her, taking comfort from her presence and giving it in return.

It's such a shame that every part of that makes her skin crawl.

She isn't made for this. That much was painfully obvious before, and only more so with each passing day. This isn't a surprise. How can it be one? She knew what to expect from before any of this began, had enough of a taste of it before. It doesn't change the fact that every passing day of this, for all the joy in it, still piles more weight onto her shoulders, wears away at whatever it is that sits in the space where there should be a heart, where she dearly wishes she had one.

She wouldn't trade this for the world, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. Every day, she feels the call of opportunity, too. The opportunities she built for herself only to squander them. She stands in the perfect place to turn all of this around, to finally strike a blow that Parsee won't recover from so easily, for once. She has the perfect chance, feels it calling to her day after day, only to let it slip away each time. As she should, of course; some part of her resents even having the thought, but...

The old, creaking wood of the bridge catches her eye, and she sighs. She tried. Tried more than she ever has before to be someone else, anyone at all, so long as it won't be the person she spent all her life so far as. She only has to change herself completely, throw away everything that makes up and defines her. How hard can it be?

Well, at least she has an answer. A pity it has to be this one.

The trip back to the bridge, even with a bag of supplies – enough to last a week or two, used carefully – weighing her down, is a quick one. The slope isn't shorter, but there's something now to make her a little more eager to return. Something, that is, beside the dull pain reminding her to go back to her post. Someone to go back to. Seija must have hung up some of the red paper lanterns from the town; the top of that hill is looking brighter than usual. Or has she lit a – still no clean word for it after all these years – a campfire, going by the plume of smoke? All the better to get a head start on their meal once Parsee makes it there.

She doesn't run, because it could be anything, and she would like to believe at least one of those possibilities. She walks a little faster, instead, because the painful dry heat spreading across her skin tells her exactly what this is. Of course she can tell; she is, after all, the guardian of the bridge. What better way for her post to keep her in line? She picks up the pace a little more, to clear some distance while she can still move properly.

At the top of the hill, the wave of warm air, the orange-red glow and the curling plumes of smoke wash over her all at once. The bridge is burning.

Old, splintering, half-rotted wood smoulders away, shedding heat and black smoke without much of it ever disappearing or turning to ash, lighting the cave up while putting most of it out of sight with those choking fumes. She might not be able to see past it, but she can make up a silhouette on the other side of the smoke. The same fire takes hold in Parsee, taking its toll for her negligence, for allowing this to happen. She coughs up a few black clouds herself, before regaining her footing if nothing else. The heat is almost unbearable now, and she can feel it scorching her all over... but it has the decency to start at the heart. Out of sight for now, at least.

“Finally decided to join me?” Seija's smug, mocking, self-satisfied voice reaches her from the other side of the black-and-white veil. “I was starting to think you might miss the show and get here after it burns out. Come on, have a seat by the fire; let's see if you can tell me where you went wrong.”

Parsee sighs, and sets the bag down. She does not drop it, at least. The pain might be unbearable, but she has faced down unbearable pain before, and made it to the other side. She can't even claim shock at a time like this. Quiet grief, but not shock. Who can honestly be surprised by this? ...It's a terrible thing, to be calm at a time like this. If only she can be rid of it and be as angry as she should. She settles down, eventually, on a rock by the fire, on the opposite side from Seija.

The light of burning bridges. No wonder Seija saw her first. This must be the light she's always seen the world by. This isn't the first time, nor would it be the last.

“Nothing?” The amanojaku asks after a moment, her voice almost drowned out by crackling embers, and interrupted by a cough. “I guess I'll have to tell you everything, won't I? You just won't learn otherwise. Didn't you ever think there might be a reason the whole world upstairs threw me out? You took me in. Why? You'd have to have a few screws loose in your head to- hah, well, I guess that explains it. You kept me here every time you had a chance to fix this. You trusted me, whatever you might say about not trusting anyone. Why?”

Her tone almost seems... less mocking, now. Accusatory, even, like someone reading down a list of charges. Parsee wonders, for a moment, if that was her mistake. Offering kindness, a poison to a woman who thrives on spite, hatred and cruelty. If it was, then this will be Seija's undeserved punishment now. Perfect calm, and not a drop of anger. If it's worth doing once, then she might as well see it through to the end. She can barely see through the smoke or think above the burning sensation anyway; what can she even do?

“You had your chance! You could have sent me along, or called in that oni to throw me out of here. You had me broken up on the floor so badly I could hardly move, and you didn't even finish the job. What were you thinking, princess? Just what went on in that sick little head of yours to make you so sure this was a good idea?” Did her voice crack a little, just then? It's hard to tell, over the fires. Parsee never says a word. Better to listen, to let her have this little inevitability.

Princess. Seija puts no end of mockery into that one word, spits it out like it burns in her mouth. It feels like an old sort of spite, too. Something brewing from long before she came down to the underground. ...Ah. She's used this before, hasn't she?

“You kept giving me one more chance, like it would make some difference. You bought into the whole act, didn't you? You thought I cared, that I wouldn't want to hurt you, that I've only been looking for someone just like you, all this time.” Now Seija raises her voice, turning more indignant with every word, like Parsee's trust is some personal slight.

“And you played right into my hand. You let me stay here and watch you, figure out what makes you tick, until I had enough time to learn what it takes, to find out what you would need to lose to really cut deep, until even you can't hide it-”

“You're still here.”

...Enough is enough, no matter how much it might hurt to move. The water is shallow, in places. Another testament, she often thinks, to the sheer pointlessness of the bridge. Parsee pulls herself up to her feet, wincing all the while, taking one unsteady step after another under the crackling bridge and towards the other side. It hurts, of course. It hurts terribly, but what difference does that make right now?

“'Course I am,” Seija replies, the self-satisfied air returning to her. “You think I need to hide? You think I need to run? From you? Oh no, you're not getting out of this one so eas-”

“Wrong answer again, Seija,” the bridge princess answers, and Seija's face falls. She knows those words. The same words given to her with a smile every time that she tries to lash out, tries to leave some lasting harm, tries to draw hate from Parsee like wringing blood from a stone. And they're given with a smile this time, too. A sad, faint smile, but it's there.

“You don't understand,” Parsee continues, “you're still here.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” The confidence is draining from her voice now. Seija searches Parsee's face for some sign of... if not anger, then at least disappointment. Nothing. Was she sure something like this would happen? She knew, then. She expected something like this, and she still-

“You thought you found the only thing I care about in this place, didn't you? That you found what I couldn't bear losing. ...Wrong again. I've even tried burning this place myself before, and it never works. But you, you're still here.” Time and again. It always left a mark, but never on the bridge. It would smoulder, and endure, and she would only be left with the repairs the next day. It's never so simple.

“And for all that,” Seija retorts, rallying a little, “it didn't mean anything. You understand that by now, don't you? It didn't make any difference.” One step, then another. Parsee is closer now, close enough to see her face clearly; Seija does her best to look away. “Truth hurts, doesn't it, princess? You really thought you were special somehow? That it would be different this time? Is that what you told yourself? That no one else could do it, but you would be able to change me somehow? Did you really...”

“Seija?” No more than a dozen steps away.

“Hah! You think I'm going to stop if you beg enough or something? Yeah, they all do, but-”

“Seija.” The stern tone makes the amanojaku flinch away, just for a second.

“W-what?” Parsee is next to her, now, putting a hand on her shoulder, and another on her back.

“...You would be more convincing if you weren't crying.” She takes a little cloth from her pocket, dabbing at Seija's face, trying to keep herself steady enough to hold both of them upright. The seconds until either of them say another word feel like a very long time indeed. They can pretend it was the smoke stinging her eyes, until then.

“A-ah...” Seija stammers out eventually, batting at the little rag drying her eyes. “Heh, I would be, wouldn't I? I- take the cloth away, Parsee. There's no need to... come on, quit it. I'm fine. I'm... I...” She loses her words and her footing, knees giving out as Parsee very slowly guides her down to the ground, sitting beside her, looking out at the fire. She has to admit, it looks better than the bridge ever did.

_{“...I'm sorry. I thought it would be different this time. I really did.”}

Parsee only curls her arm around Seija's shoulder, shaking her head. It wouldn't be any different. It couldn't be. They both went in knowing that, didn't they? She keeps her thoughts to herself, holding Seija close and whispering little reassurances to her. It hurts, of course, but she knew to expect something like what happened today. It won't even be the last time. For someone with nothing to lose, it's a small price to pay. She does pull her sleeves down a little, all the same. The burns have reached some way down her arms now. She can't let them show.

...Funny. Seeing Seija like this is almost the worst of it, somehow. Maybe this would be enough to get her to stop for a while, at least. It's probably only so long before Parsee finds herself doing something no better than this, after all. After yet another few soothing, murmured words, Seija looks up, very slowly, eyes turned red from dried tears.

“It's going to turn out alright in the end, isn't it?” She asks, shaking a little. She shouldn't be asking for reassurance after all she did, even she knows that much, but she can't help herself. “Isn't that right?” She adds, sounding hopeful and almost sickened by her own voice, all at the same time. Desperate, like she's begging Parsee to set this right.

“I don't kn-” It's a kind answer, kinder than she should give, and even that gets cut off.

“Come on, Parsee. You're just about the best liar I've seen outside of a mirror. This shouldn't be hard.” It's true, they could try to fool each other and themselves day after day. They had, for so long now. Still, if this house of cards they built with one lie on top of another for all these months is starting to come tumbling down...

That might be for the best, too.

“Do you really think that's the only reason we're here now, Seija? Because I was sure we would change?” Of course not. They've had worse, over the years. They make do with what they have. It's not perfect, it's not even right. It's a broken, twisted little thing they share, but it's theirs, and once in a while, it still makes them smile. She knew what she was getting into; they both did.

So for today, she settles into place beside Seija, watching the fires burn and shrink. Tomorrow, they can put it back together, piece by piece.

Chapter Text

One day. One day since the bridge has burned down, as much as it was willing to. Seija is hard at work repairing what she has destroyed, for once, even insisting that Parsee should have no hand in it. If nothing else, setting this right personally should make a point. Fortunately, the markets in the town below were accommodating enough, when it came to finding enough wood to replace what was lost. No need to tempt herself with a visit to the surface for that.

Paint is a little beyond their means, but as Parsee points out with unusual (if, Seija felt, slightly forced) cheer, the bridge will stay an ugly little thing no matter how hard they work at fixing it. What difference will some scorch marks make here and there, on the parts they can't afford to replace?

Fixing everything herself is, unfortunately, a far-fetched dream, as Seija learned to her significant embarrassment after all of fifteen minutes. Parsee has done this before; she, on the other hand, is hardly a builder or carpenter by any means. She might adamantly refuse help, but she still comes back for advice and direction every few minutes.

“Hey, Green? Any idea where these go?” She asks, carrying a bundle of planks. She has some idea, but it's best not to take any chances. No answer. Puzzled, she steps forward, up to the table Parsee is sitting at – watching the proceedings with tea in hand without lifting a finger, at Seija's insistence – and repeats her question.

“She's not here.” That terse reply is in something like Parsee's voice, but not quite. Cold. Sharp. There's an echo to it that might just as easily be part of the cavern's acoustics, or so the amanojaku hopes. As Parsee – or whoever this might be – stands up, Seija watches her with suddenly wide, almost frightened eyes. Ordinarily she might laugh at the absurd claim, but something in that voice makes her stop in her tracks.

“Think of her as... sleeping,” she continues. “She will see and hear nothing of this, while we have our discussion in private.” Seija finally regains her composure enough to take a few more steps forward, carefully examining the strange but familiar youkai in front of her. Trying to pick out something new, something different, beside the hostility in those bright eyes, somehow both refreshing and unnerving.

Someone who honestly, truly despises her. As much as the voice might chill her to the bone, this almost feels like the first breath of fresh air after being buried alive.

“If you're not her – and I'm only believing you because she wouldn't pull something like this – just what are you supposed to be?”

“She thinks of me as the... green-eyed monster, if you will. She thinks I can't hear. I am something she made many years ago, whether she meant to or not. Sit down,” she suddenly orders, gesturing towards the empty chair while remaining standing herself.

“So you can watch me? Keep me from making any quick moves?”

“Yes.”

“...Fine.” A little disarmed by the blunt demand, she grudgingly settles into the chair, watching and listening.

“A mind is a fragile thing, as I'm sure you know. Some more than others. When she was sent down here, Parsee created me as a... weapon of sorts, on one of her first days at this bridge. A sword. Something to protect her, when she cannot do it herself. I have my own life, but it is one in her service. I cut and trim away poisonous thoughts and false hopes, the things that first drove her here. I drive off those who would harm her, whether they mean to or not; whether they mean to lash out at her, or to promise her change that can never come. She has suffered a great deal; if her hope is betrayed again, she could break entirely. I do what she cannot bring herself to do.”

Throughout, Seija watches her, unimpressed, before finally answering. “She mentioned a curse keeping her here. Cut the 'false hope' talk, that's you, isn't it? You don't want to save her; you're only doing this so you can have her to yourself and stop her from ever breaking out of here.” She leans back in her chair, looking quite satisfied, as her comment draws a pained look out of the green-eyed monster.

“...It's true that I rely on it to exist. I use what I must, but I try not to let it affect my choices. Do you understand? I am part of her. If I exist, that is a sign that I am still needed. Do you understand why I am here?”

“You really think no one's tried to chase me off before? Only question is, why now?”

“Then you see. I am here to protect her; I could never allow a... creature like you to linger here. I meant to give her a choice, at first. To advise, and wait. I hoped she would make the right decision. It took me this long to become desperate enough to take charge personally. That,” she concludes, “was my mistake.” There's a twinge of guilt, there. Not heard, or seen, but felt, tasted. A welcome snack for any amanojaku.

Seija barely listens to the words themselves, only taking in the meaning. Leave . It would be perfect, wouldn't it? It would be a masterstroke. Parsee has already given her the secret, the answer Seija has tried to find for so long, the one thing that can hurt the bridge princess. If only. If only she can bring herself to do it. Another time? It will have to be another time. A shame she has to put it off, but she can't just do what she's ordered to, and-

No. No, that's not quite it. She just can't bear the thought of leaving. ...She must be losing her touch; it's a sad sort of liar that can't even fool herself.

“I'm not going anywhere,” she answers simply. “She knows what I can do. ...We both know, and I trust her to give back every bit of it some day. We chose this. You think she doesn't get that?”

“She chose,” the green-eyed monster replies, spitting the word out as if it were poison, burning a hole in her mouth. “She chose to leave her home and chase after the man who left her trapped in hell for the rest of her life. Her choice is irrelevant. I am here to save her from herself as much as anyone else. So I will say again: Leave. You will be safe in the world above, by now. Find some new victim under the sun, away from this miserable prison. Go. Do not come back.”

Slowly, with a sigh, Seija picks herself up out of the chair, dusting herself off. “Afraid I can't do that. I'd tell you to try asking nicely, but knowing me, that'll only make it worse for you. If you're done, wherever you stuck her in her own head, now's a good time to bring her back.”

The thing with Parsee's face turns on its heel, walking away, towards the underside of the bridge. Seija continues, talking behind its back. “Know why I believed you? I've seen you before. All those times that she'd stare off into the distance, looking pale as a ghost, or she'd talk in her sleep, talk at thin air and look like someone frightened the life out of her... I thought she was just being a bit funny in the head, same as always. Heh, I guess that's not all wrong, not that I'm one to talk, but... that was you, wasn't it?” A mute nod, then nothing. Soon the green-eyed monster returns, with a burning stare and something Seija had once stolen clutched in her hands. A sword polished to a mirror sheen.

Still so well-kept, so terribly sharp in contrast with the state of the half-rebuilt bridge. Even the fire had spared it. It shines so brightly, so keenly, in what Seija has long since given in and resigned herself to calling starlight. Wasted in those hands, with their amateur grip and clueless brandishing, but can it still be deadly? ...Months. It's been months since Seija stared down the length of a sword. She feels almost out of practice. Almost nostalgic. The words she heard walking along that island with Parsee suddenly come back to her.

I seem to remember hearing that it only cuts the wicked.

...Well, not much hope for either of them, then. “If you refuse to leave... draw your weapon, if you have one.” Of course. She still wants this to be fair, somehow. She doesn't realise how much of a mistake this is, turning this into a fight against a youkai she has so little hope against. Making it so simple to deal with this. What is she thinking, asking an amanojaku to hurt someone as their only way out? It's easy, trivial, the most natural thing in the world. Seija gave all she could to do this just as recently as yesterday . In all her years, she's hardly seen a bigger mistake. She can...

She can...

“Nah.”

There's nothing she can do, really. She lets her hands hang at her sides, arms limp, looking down. “Doesn't mean I'm leaving either, though,” she adds, as feeble as it sounds. She has to try. “I like to think there's some good in people. I'd be out a job otherwise, you see? So I'm thinking maybe you just don't get this. I'm going to try talking this out, and you... do what you want. You were going to do that anyway.” The sword is lowered a bit, probably just in time to avoid hurting either of them with that shaky grip.

“It's not about finding a 'victim', this time. Not with her. I know, it took some getting used to for me too. Do you know what she's done for me? She knows who I am! She knows what I am. And it... it didn't change anything. Even after I gave her every reason I could think of, she was there. Always. She trusted me. She saw right through me and she trusted me. ...I didn't have to hide. I didn't have to be anyone else. Do you have any idea how much that means? I'm not sure I do, just yet; it means the world right now, and I think it's going to be years before this is done sinking in.” Her voice cracks, just a bit, and her eyes turn downward. She sighs, and in that space, she hears her answer.

“Are you quite finished?”

“Quite fini-” She nearly reaches out in her anger, to grab this familiar stranger by the collar, but stops herself. She can't bear to do any harm, even for a second. “...I hate her, you know? I can't help it. That's not anything as simple as who or what I am, that's what I mean. There's something in my head – and I'd say heart, but I don't feel like flattering myself today – that makes me sick to the stomach every time she smiles. Something that keeps telling me I've got to take all this and smash it to pieces. Tear it all down, just so I can hear the sound it makes when it hits the ground. Something in me that's... bitter, let's say, when I can't make someone hate me. And for all that, here I am. Do you have any idea what that's like?”

Again, all her words barely get a reaction out of those bright green eyes. Only impatience, and a very small nod. “More than you can imagine,” to Seija's surprise.

“And even I want to be with her. I want to make her smile. I want something better than this for her. What gives you the right to break that?” This time, she hears even less, only stony silence, and a feeling that whatever time she was given is ticking away.

“...I love her, too. I haven't really told her that, not in those words. I was hoping I'd get around to it, one of these days. She knows, though. At least, I hope that's what this is. It better be, for all the trouble it's giving us. Maybe it's not quite right, not supposed to work like this, but if it's the wrong choice, then at least it's ours, the one we made. I want to find a way to make her happy, like I said. Give her better than what she has now.” It's not quite approval, that hint of a smile she gets, framed in shining green. It's almost close, though.

“And I am giving you a way to keep her safe. As happy as she can be, with what she has; and make no mistake, she will not have anything better. She has tried, time and again, and each time failure has left her the worse for wear. If I fight that now, it is only because I know how it ends, and I know that the best I can do is teach her to be at peace with this place. Here, where no one can hurt her again.”

“Why do I have to leave?” It's a desperate question. A rhetorical one she already knows the answer to perfectly well, but she has to ask.

“Can you give me one good reason for you to stay?” Comes the green-eyed monster's retort, her patience at an end.

“...Yeah, a few. She's a little less alone here, for one.”

“It took only two humans to trap her here forever. Why should I leave her in the care, this time, of a monster on one side and a brute on the other?”

“Say what you like, but I get her, every little thing she's thinking; she told me herself. Doesn't that count for something?” The amanojaku asks hopefully.

“That, she has already; I am part of her, and I have been her only company for so long. I understand her better than you can, surely?”

“I've made her smile, haven't I? It's been too long since that happened, I can tell just from looking at her,” Seija continues, every word more desperate than the last.

“And have you asked yourself what it is that makes her smile? Is it your promises of a better life that she will never have, or knowing that your company, stinging at her again and again, will never end? Yes, you fed her your lies, and she might have enjoyed them; you are only making sure she falls all the further some day.”

In the end, all Seija has left is one retort, while she stands there, furious, teary-eyed, completely lost. It's an amanojaku's refrain, a reason she's lived all her life by. Somehow, it doesn't feel good enough today, for the first time.

“What if I'm just selfish?”

“Then poison another,” the green-eyed monster hisses, “someone less close to my heart.”

“Then you... I...” What can she offer, in the end? She is what she is, no matter what compromises and endless losses Parsee might accept. In all her life, she has never felt quite so helpless, but even that doesn't matter. If the choice were hers, she's no longer sure she would take it. It wouldn't be right, would it? This is the end she deserves. When the only answer she has left is sheer selfishness in the face of all the harm she can do, what does that say?

She doesn't fall, exactly, when her knees fold up and her hands hit the ground. No, standing up just doesn't seem worth it any more. “...You're right,” she answers, and that sword is gently placed on the ground as something like Parsee sits down beside her. “I'm sorry. It was a mistake, wasn't it? All of this, one long mistake. I mean... this is Parsee telling me, after all. She just had to get you to do what she's been thinking. ...Are you going to tell her?”

A sad smile, and a little shake of the head. No, some other story, maybe. Something that wouldn't undo all of this.

“I get it. Some people are too good for the truth, aren't they?” The words feel like lead to Seija, taking all her effort to drag out of her throat and into the open. They don't seem worth the hassle, the moment she hears them.

“...You flatter her too much, I think.”

“Hey, it's my job.” She tries to smile. It doesn't work, this time. Really, she barely even tried. “...Was,” she adds after a second. "Was my job." She looks up in surprise when she feels a comforting pat on the shoulder, feels herself being pulled back up to her feet. ...Yes, back on her feet. Time to move, then.

“For what it's worth,” say the last words she hears at that bridge, “she would have understood.”

It was a long walk once, from the surface to the bridge. Even going uphill, the return journey feels longer than it should be. She stops just once to look back at that ugly bridge and the dark cave on the way up, and regrets even that little glance. It's a beautiful day outside, lit up by golden sunlight she hasn't seen in all too long. She missed it for so long, and now she resents it. The sky won't so much as give her rain today. What excuse is she supposed to use?

None at all, today. No excuses she can think of. Better to just hide her face from the world, for a little while. Find somewhere quiet, fall to her knees, and cry her eyes out for hour after hour. After enough tears, she might even forget any of this happened at all. That's something to hope for, isn't it? Something to work towards.

At least, she thinks to herself, she's made worse mista-

No. Maybe not this time. There's always a first time.

Far below the earth, there is a place where the broken, the cruel and the despised come to rest. Far below the earth, under cold stone and over a colder river, there is a bridge rightly forgotten, tended to by its prisoner.

For the first time in months, it is quiet again.

Chapter Text

A little noise to give her some quiet. That's all it was about, at first. It would almost be funny, any other day, that she spent most of the day searching in this quiet before she finally noticed the sound. A familiar voice in the back of her mind. ...Almost familiar. Far gentler than it usually is. It's a welcome difference, today of all days.

You won't find her here, the words echo in her thoughts. I saw her leave for the surface last night.

Slowly, quietly, Parsee lowers herself to her knees, stone-faced the entire time. On the ground now, she holds a half-replaced railing, paler than the wood around it, and breathes out a long sigh. Every thought goes to keeping up some sort of composure, to keeping a grip on herself. She can't shake the feeling that if she were to let go now and let this overwhelm her, she might never stop. Better to hang on with everything she has.

You knew she would, the voice adds. Calm and understanding, even soothing, as it points out what they both know all too well. ...Yes, she knew, once upon a time. She was so sure. It happens, after all, with everyone else. Somehow, she had convinced herself that it would be different this time, that this would last. She almost feels ashamed of how naïve she was.

'Wrong answer'. That almost-playful response she had given over and over comes back to her now, bringing a bitter taste up her throat and settling in her mouth. “...I suppose she had to guess the right answer, eventually,” she muses to herself, settling against the side of the bridge. There's no reason to look for Seija any further. She stops where she is, coming to a rest not because she is tired, or because she cannot move, but only because she can't find any point to the alternatives.

“Of course she left. Anyone with sense in them would have done the same a long time ago. ...Tell me. This was a mistake, wasn't it? All of this, one long mistake. Isn't that right?” It would be better to feel anything as familiar as anger or grief. There's comfort in familiarity, if nothing else. Instead, she only feels cold and heavy. Not quite empty. That would be welcome too, in a way.

Yes, the answer comes after a second. ...But for what it's worth, I understand.

Parsee almost says something, when she hears an unexpected sound nearby. Footsteps? Here? Slowly, she forces herself onto her feet. She will have to look presentable for this, at least. She turns around just in time to see Yuugi coming over the hill, walking over to the bridge with a wave and a faint look of concern.

“Mornin', Parsee. Just thought I'd check on you after... well, y'know, last couple of days, but I couldn't make it yesterday, what with everything that went on here. You doing alright?” Straight to the point, as always. Of course, it had taken Parsee years to realise that checking on her really was the point.

“No,” Parsee replies, immediately and without any hesitation, to a shocked look from Yuugi. It doesn't take much to see that Parsee is upset, certainly, but ordinarily, nothing in the world would make her admit to it. It makes the oni move a little more slowly, picking her words with unusual caution, enough so that the bridgekeeper continues before Yuugi can say anything else.

“Yesterday, you said. What happened yesterday?”

“Ah, well...” Looking a little embarrassed, Yuugi scratches at the back of her head. “Thought I'd swing by yesterday, show my face and all that, you know? Been a while. Anyway, I heard a big, loud row between you and – she's not here today, huh? - between you and Seija. Sounded like things were getting pretty heated and- well, I turned right around, figured it's not the time. Sorry about, uh... overhearing that and all. Didn't really catch any of it, if that helps.” Even now, Parsee can't help but be amazed by how often Yuugi, for all her reputation, ends up with that particularly sheepish expression around her of all people.

“...A 'loud row'. Yuugi?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to leave,” she states, quite abruptly. Right away, Yuugi turns around, without so much as a word of disappointment, though she does look a little surprised. “I'll explain later, I promise,” Parsee adds, sounding quite apologetic, but the oni only shakes her head and shrugs, back still turned.

“Wasn't gonna ask. You take care, now. ...Let me know if I can do anything, you hear?” True to her word, Yuugi is out of sight soon enough, and out of earshot a while later, her thunderous footsteps growing further and further away. With a relieved sigh, Parsee slumps to the floor again, and closes her eyes, drifting off into something far less restful than sleep: The company of her own thoughts. When her eyes open again, she stands face to face with a shining green outline of herself.

“...Why did you lie to me?” The bridge princess asks herself, as her first question.

“Is it so different from when you do it yourself?” Parsee chooses, at least, not to answer that. Better not to, when she has no answer she can stomach. Instead, she takes a second to steady herself and examine her... her jailer. It's not quite true or fair, but it's comforting now, to have someone to single-handedly bear the blame for her place here. Here in her thoughts, she feels... blurred, indistinct, while somehow the green-eyed monster looks more real than she ever has.

“You sent her away, didn't you?” More rhetorical than anything, but her question gets a nod all the same.

“I gave you more than long enough to do that yourself, but you did nothing of the sort. I had to take matters into my own hands, eventually.” Disappointment echoes in every word of that answer, until even Parsee feels briefly ashamed. The bridge below their feet is whole and unharmed, more perfect than in reality, casting a bright emerald glow all around itself. It stands out in sharp contrast against its backdrop, caves painted in broad, vague strokes without any real detail, turning darker and harder to make out the further she looks from the bridge.

Here, everything exists to remind her of her place, that the world past it is only a distraction at best, certainly nothing ever meant for her. It might as well not exist. There's a warm, even inviting quality to the light; the one place in all the world where she is welcome and needed, where she will be safe. She has no time for its time-worn tricks today, but even so, it's hard to resist.

“Why did you do this to me?” She demands, eyes widening in surprise as she finds every last bit of her indignation matched, every scrap of anger thrown back in her face.

“Why? After all this, Parsee, you ask me why? Surely you should have an answer for that? I did the only thing I have ever done in my life. Exactly what you asked me to. I did what you made me for, the only reason I exist even after all these years. I protected you from her, from yourself, from the world. ...Do you think it would be my choice, if I had one, to do this for you?”

Of course not. Not for anyone carrying this much bitterness in them. Not for anyone who despises her this much. ...Rightly so? Parsee pushes that thought aside, for now. Surely she's the wrong one to answer that. “I have no choice,” the phantom repeats. “I did this all for you. Don't you understand that?”

It's an old wish that drives the green-eyed monster after so long. A hateful, miserable, selfless thing. Old, and far from anything Parsee wants today. Does it know that? Does she know, Parsee soon asks herself, if this is not still for the best? ...No, not for a moment. Nor does it matter one bit. She already made her choice.

“What did you tell her?”

“Many things. I told her-” the green outlines that pass for a pair of lips twitch slightly. A half-hearted try at a smile, if it's even that much. “-That I was a sword, of sorts. I lied to her, then. More of a shield, if anything. That's closer to the mark, wouldn't you agree? Something to stave the world off, chipping a few pieces off every time, until there's nothing left and it's finally thrown away. If there's still something left of me, then that must mean you still need me for something.”

For just a moment, her tone turns a little more casual, her posture slightly less tense as she looks Parsee over. Compared to her usual demeanour, she looks and sounds almost friendly, now. “At least, I imagine that's how it works. Swords, shields... metaphors are well and good, but this isn't something we ever knew much about, is it now?” There it is again, something like a smile, however forced.

“Tell me, Parsee. You came here to do something, didn't you? To change something, or so you hope. You don't look as scared as you normally do. What is it, then?” Less scared, or a great deal more disciplined about keeping it hidden.

“...I think it's time you stopped. I know why you're doing this. I know I forced you, when I made my wish, but enough is enough.” It's hard to tell if the smile that comes over the green-eyed monster is one of approval or utter contempt. They seem to come and go so easily in her face. Finally, with a sigh, she shakes her head.

“I don't know what's come over you, Parsee. All these years, I was so used to you being a frightened little thing. I would say I'm proud of you, except... well.” No room for pride, not when she carries this much hate so close to heart. She spreads her arms, and waits. “You know it's not as simple as deciding to be rid of me. If I am still here, it means you still need me to-”

“To protect me from myself,” Parsee finishes for her, looking her double in the eye firmly. “From my own mistakes, even some of the oldest ones.” The green-eyed monster watches her, confused at first. Slowly it dawns on her, with an expression of quiet horror. Her face falls, until it seems like it might land on the ground and break apart there.

“A mistake? After all this time?”

“...Mine, not yours. You've done enough. You can rest now.” The phantom's eyes dim, and the life seems to go out of her, all breathed out in a little sigh. She did what she could. She did what she had to, and tries her best to cling to that small comfort.

“It's still not that simple. There's a part of me that can't let you go, but here...” Here in Parsee's thoughts, the solution is simple. “Curse, pest and every part of yourself that wants to hurt you or hold you back, all in one place.” She draws the little stone whittling knife from the folds of her clothes, and presents it to Parsee, to the bridgekeeper's wide-eyed shock.

“Convenient, isn't it?” She finishes, with a trembling, cracked voice. There are only so many ways to end this, to do away with what haunts Parsee, and give her some rest. It would be quick work, in their own heart. Terribly simple, like nothing else in all these years. All it would take is for one part of Parsee to lose what has hounded her all these years, and for another to finally let go of something she's long despised.

It shouldn't frighten them like this, but here they are.

With a shaking hand, Parsee slowly reaches out and takes the knife, feeling the cold stone and bound up rope against her fingers. Just as carefully, she tosses it away, sending it skidding a little way across the bridge's unusually even surface. It's only a thought here, one of so many others, and not one she needs now.

“...No. No, I don't think so. I still need you after all. I won't do it.” Those shining green eyes turn upwards, looking at her in disbelief, even a little disappointment, and finally surprise as she finds herself in Parsee's arms a second later.

“It's a long walk to the surface,” Parsee continues, “and I don't think either one of us can make it alone. We can help each other up, can't we?” She asks, as the world blurs and melts away in front of her eyes, turning to the drab colours of reality, the road stretching out ahead of her as she holds the shimmering green figure between her arms. Already, she can feel the dull, aching pain drawing her back to her post. It doesn't matter, today.

“I'm not going to see the sun alone,” she finishes. It's the least she can do. Neither one of them can fight the pull of the old bridge for too long. Already, walking side by side up the rocky slope, she feels a burning exhaustion in her legs, a leaden weight on her shoulders, and an insistent stabbing feeling in her heart. She stumbles along clumsily, awkwardly, and soon falls to her knees. She worries at first, not hearing a single answer all this time, but she soon sees a bright green hand reaching down to help her up. Of course they can count on each other; she never had it in her to trust anyone but herself for so long.

She takes the hand in her own with a smile, getting back onto her feet, knowing she will return the favour many more times on the way. Hour after hour pass there, until neither of them can remember if they spent days walking along that road at a snail's pace, or if it only feels so long. Still they keep it up, and little by little, Parsee feels that nagging pain and the bridge's grip on her lighten. It's still there, still enough to hurt and try to pull her back, but enough that they can bear it.

Each reason she has to take another step makes this easier. Sunlight, freedom, soft earth under her steps, breathing in fresh air, seeing a world that's become less than a memory... they are all good reasons, and they might be enough, but in the end, she has one reason above all for making this journey. All for just one person.

It's almost funny, really. She could have chosen so much better.

When they finally reach the mouth of the cave, bordered by towering trees that couldn't have been more than saplings when she first entered, Parsee can't help but laugh, and her double soon joins her. Of course. They hadn't the faintest idea about day or night in the underground, and now that they finally reach the surface, they arrive in the middle of the night. Exhausted, smiling despite themselves, the two stumble forward a bit before collapsing onto the hillside.

Soft grass under their feet, and the leaves of massive trees swaying in the wind, splashes of green against the deep blue of the night. ...Maybe it's not such a bad colour after all. She breathes in the scent of flowers, feels the cool air on the skin, and lays back to look up at the moon and stars, holding back a laugh. They really do look so different from the stars she was used to. She lays there, arm in arm with herself, feeling the old ache finally letting up, fading away into nothing. How odd that after so many years of treating her curse as a fact of life, just feeling normal is so terribly unfamiliar. As welcome as it is, she can't take her mind off how strange it feels.

“Well,” says the voice at her side after a while, “this isn't so bad.” She turns her head, eyes beginning to close, trying to catch sight of herself. No one there, now. ...Well, of course, this could only last so long. Slowly, she drifts off alone, without so much as her own company, falling asleep under the stars.

Home, they say, is where the heart is. Seija has always considered that a shame, but it goes some way to explain why she was never able to keep much of a home. The less poetic explanation, she realises, is her habit of being chased around constantly. What she has now, she considers almost a luxury. There's a roof, for one, and no mob hounding her, at least for the moment. It's a matter of time, as always; either until they find her, or she does something to incite them again.

She had found a little cave in the side of youkai mountain, after some searching, thinking her old hovel out in the woods would still be watched too carefully. The irony of leaving one cave for another isn't quite lost on her, but then, needs must. A few planks and a sheet of cloth make enough of a door to stick a lock on, and a bit of furniture along with old stores of food make something like luxury.

There's even a fire in the corner. It's the perfect little home, if she tries her best not to think about the circumstances too much, or raise her standards more than she should. She sits in front of the fire, crackling, feeble and smoky from the damp logs she threw on earlier, and reclines in her chair, wishing she had managed to save some of her books. She never thought of herself as much of a reader, but she has become one occasionally, purely by accident. There's only so much to do while hiding out of sight, after all. It helps to pass the time, and right now, it would go a long way for stopping her from thinking too much about what she has seen in the last few days. If nothing else, she has some peace and quiet until-

Someone knocks at the door. They're early, she realises, with some bitterness. “If you're knocking,” she answers in a sort of low grumble, increasingly loud and irate, “then you know damn well who lives here. Did you find me already?” She kicks at the floor while stepping out of the chair, rolling up her sleeves. She hadn't expected trouble so soon, but maybe she should have. “Well, go ahead! Kick the door right the hell down and make yourself comfortable, why don't you?”

She has to strain to hear the voice that answers her. It's terribly quiet and sounds exhausted, but she recognises it immediately. It's not one she expected to hear again.

“...Do you think you could open it for me instead, Seija? It's been a long walk.”

Any other time, she might have suspected something. How would Parsee find her here, or so soon? Why would Parsee be here at all? Today, she pushes all of it out of mind and bolts for the door immediately, pulling it open as Parsee steps past the threshold with a tired smile, sunburned from head to toe, toppling forward a little way and resting her head on Seija's shoulder.

“...What, no roses?”

“They're a little hard to find underground. Another time?”

They both have their questions, their stunned faces say that much. A great deal to think, to ask, to wonder about, but right now, they only trade bright smiles of amazement. None of it is important just yet, not today. They quietly settle down on the floor, holding each other close, without so much as a word to say.

Well, maybe just a few.

It's a quiet little thing, but Seija pulls Parsee closer, and whispers to her; just three words put off for far too long. It might not be much, but she likes to think it's a start.