Chapter Text
.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓾𝓮.⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚☂⋆｡⋆.
7 years ago, Zhegate, Pteruges-V
The sorrow of the once-jubilant sky covers the entirety of the city of Zhegate. Its agony is comparable to that of the grief of losing a soul's other half.
The devils of Zhegate scurry all over the busy streets to shelter themselves. Selfishness clouded their minds, pushing others without a thought in their unfixable screwed-up brains.
The sound of heels clicking on the wet pavement drowns in the cries of the sky.
The sound of a sword being lazily dragged, clanking with the pavement, mixes rhythmically with the heels clicking. The blade of the sword is clean and sharp, the hot pink colour shining even in the darkest of nights, and its design is intricate yet firm. It would've perfectly reflected its owner, yet the loose grip on the handle, the sight of jaws clenching, and emotionless eyes that had lost their spark of light told a story that would make the most renowned geniuses centuries pass their death to decipher.
The sword comes into contact with a drunk man as he stumbles and crashes into the owner. The man looked up, meeting hollow yet dangerously bewitching red wine eyes.
The man hiccups and blurts out in a drunken tone.
"N-now! What is a-'' hiccup "-yOunG lady d-doing out here aloneee~"
The man proceeded to try and grab her breast but was sliced into two before his hand could lay a finger. His blue eyes went wide, as his life had just suddenly been stripped away from his grasp. The street light illuminated his murderer as she stepped closer to him. His mouth parts as he realizes who he just messed with. His top half toppled over and landed with a thud on the pavement. The shock and disbelief froze on his corpse as all life drained away.
The woman looked at the sight of his bloody corpse and walked over it.
"Isn't that—that's Kafka! Get her!"
Someone yells out. Many devils turn around with a swift motion and, like clockwork, start rushing to get their hands on her head, her high bounty clouding their minds.
Kafka only took one glance when she parted her lip and spoke in a low voice.
"Listen to me."
They all stop in their tracks; their bodies twist against each other forcefully. An incoherent language was spoken, and with a snap of her finger, a man landed a blow on the person near him, and like a melody, everyone started attacking each other like wild animals.
Blood reminiscent of roses, in the eyes of a sinner, covers the street as they fight.
It was only in a short amount of time that the ghost of the weeping cry of the murdered was the only thing that remained alongside the foul scent.
Kafka turns away from the scene and continues her mindless walk, lazily dragging her sword once more. She disappears into a quiet street, her figure blending perfectly in as the night covers the remains of the dead on her items.
Kafka pays no mind to the wishes of her clothes for shelter from the relentless sky. The woman who heeded the condition of her clothes like a luxury blessed by the Aeons themselves—the one who would complain if any sign of staining were to be left—now willingly let the raging storm dilapidate her valued items. Yet that thought no longer made itself a priority in her mind. It didn't matter, not when she lost someone who held her life in the palm of their hands—the loss of the soul that was her only lifeline.
"I will be waiting for you as always. Come home safely."
Those were the last sentences that she heard from the one whom she called hers—the sentence that haunts her heart and soul.
The two who swore their lives to each other broke one another's promise that day—today.
Kafka had arrived back safely, but she wasn't home, not when the person who was meant to be waiting for her was gone.
Her world becomes blurrier each time, and the scene of her lover remains cruelly repeated in her head.
Her mind, like an abyss, was filled with nothing, yet one thing kept making its way to that abyss: the scene that caused her to feel so trapped, weak, and, oh, so vulnerable.
If one were to ask her if she would rather repay her sins for all those she killed, go through all the pain she put her victim through, or lose the love of her life, she would pick the former. No pain can be compared to the aching heart of losing a loved one.
Kafka stumbles, her hand reaching out for a wall as she slides against it, her legs giving out, becoming weak and timid, something Kafka didn't know she would ever be capable of.
The scene repeats, this time so vivid that she feels like she is there once again.
⇜♣⇝
Kafka had finally completed her week-long mission and made haste back to her home.
She held a bouquet of red and white chrysanthemums, a grin painted on her face as she couldn't wait to be in the arms of her lover. She knocked on the door and went inside, expecting that instrumental voice that belonged to her dearest to be greeting her. No response comes, and Kafka sighs, thinking that her lover must be overworking herself again. She took the elevator down to the workspace of her darling, expecting her adorable, grumpy cat to be walking all over the place. Cursing under her breath about how her work isn't perfect
When the elevator finally opened, she was met with a sight that felt like a fictional story to her. Rose petals filled the place, but they weren't roses anymore to her; it wasn't beautiful; they were ugly; it was devastating.
Blood scattered the workspace. The place was completely trashed; everything was destroyed. Nothing remains of her one and only, except the foul scent of her passing.
Kafka's hands went to cover her mouth from throwing up; she was breathing in the scent of her dead lover.
Her eyes shut tight, her eyebrows furrowing as her body tensed. She didn't want to believe it; she didn't want to believe that the paradise that was her beloved was now gone, but yet there was nothing she could do. She was already forced to live a nightmare, one she didn't think would ever exist.
⇜♣⇝
Kafka's grip on her sword tightened, and her breathing increased rapidly. She could feel a tear threatening to fall out.
"You're going to catch a cold."
The softness of a familiar, gentle voice speaking made her snap out of her trance, her eyes trailing to the owner.
There, she saw a young girl holding a white umbrella above another. One dressed in lighter clothing, while the other dressed in dark clothing.
"Hahaha, did you run all the way here just to share an umbrella with me?~"
"Perhaps I did."
"Really? Perhaps? The evidence is written all over your cute little face, love~" The dark-clothed girl stood up and pinched the light-clothed girl's cheek.
The light-clothed girl whines at the pain, and the other girl lets out a laugh.
"Did you have to pinch me?"
"How can I not? You're too irresistible."
The girl sighed and intertwined their hands together.
"Let's go home. You're going to get sick."
"I never get sick, darling."
As if on cue, the dark-clothed girl sneezes.
"And I'm never wrong."
Before another word came out, the girl sneezed again. The light-clothed girl shakes her head and begins their way home as the dark-clothed girl complains and whines.
A weak smile cracks on Kafka's lip as she thinks about the same scene that had happened between her and her lover. It had been the first time Kafka had ever gotten sick, and she couldn't stop clinging and whining to her lover.
Tears started to escape her eyes as her lips trembled. The eyes no one could ever imagine of such an emotion as crying are now bursting into tears.
The sudden realization that she would probably never get her lover back broke the woman down.
Kafka's hands went to grip the butterfly pin on her coat tightly, bringing it as close as she could as more uncontrolled tears left her eyes. Memories of her lover flooded through the surface of her mind.
The sky grew ever more vicious as if reacting to her sorrow.
The world around her continued to move, while her world had stopped. She had just lost her everything: the one that operated the heavenly melody that had played in her heart, the soul whose beauty she worshipped, never being able to be expressed by words alone, the person who lit up her world just by existing, and the angel who had sinned for a sinner.
Her heart felt like that of shattered glass, broken into unrepairable, uncountable pieces. All she wanted was to curl up in the lap of the one who completed the void; no one else could. Yet now all that was left were the memories and the shattered heart that her beloved had demolished, and the only one who could bring it back to life.
"What reasons are there for my heart to continue beating when you're gone?"
.
..
...
Time passed by faster than one's eyes could comprehend, yet she remained there, pathetically standing against the wall, her broken, silent sobs slipping out once in a while. Everyone had returned to their homes, stores had closed, street lamps had been turned off, the world had become darker, and she had never been more alone.
The only thing that hadn't left her yet was the merciless storm, the only one who could understand the feeling that couldn't be explained.
Kafka slowly fell to the floor, her arms wrapping her body as she curled up into a ball. Making herself as small as possible.
Another memory suddenly surfaced, yet this one was different from the rest.
Her ears picked up on the sound of a young woman humming, her hand running through Kafka's hair. The woman whispering words into her ears came out incoherent, yet they were gentle and comforting, even if she wasn't able to tell what they were.
The woman went quiet. After a long agonizing minute, the woman spoke again, but this time her words registered clearly.
"For as long as you live, I will too, for our souls are one. One cannot live without the other, nor can it die." The woman leaned in closer. "Remember that, okay? Remember that, my dearest, Kafka."
The memory starts to break apart as Kafka is forcefully brought back to reality, but before the scene ends, one last phrase becomes audible.
"I love you."
Kafka's eyes snap open, her breathing heavy once more. Her ears ring loudly as her headaches.
Gentle fluttering broke her out of her daze. Her gaze wandered to the source. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw a silver butterfly. She hurried to it but slowed down merely a second later to not scare it away. Her eyes trained on the little beauty as it flew closer to her. The little one makes themselves at home at Kafka's fingertips, her eyes softening as an upward curve crept on her lip.
The atmosphere grew less tense as the sky slowly welcomed back the jubilant clouds.
"For as long as I live, you will too." Kafka closes her eyes. "Our souls and hearts are tied together like a tattoo. They can never be separated." The butterfly flew off Kafka's fingertips and made a full circle around her body before flying away. "I will see you once more, my one and only, my lifeline."
Kafka opens her eyes. She looks up at the felicitous wonder above her, seemingly reflecting her story.
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