Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Oba… I'm not going to say this again." Doesn't this woman have anything better to do? This was practically a daily occurrence at this point in your life. Standing behind the front counter of your store, you watched your exasperated Aunt try to convince you once again to find a husband. Which would never happen.

"[Name]- Sweet can't you see that you are not getting any younger! It's time that you stop such this foolish blunder; find a man, any man for that matter! I'll find one for you!"

Tick marks appear on your forehead, every single day your Aunt asks if you have met a man that you are interested in or if she can set you up with someone. The obsession of making sure that you don’t end up ‘ alone and miserable ’ for the rest of your life. She really just wants a daughter and took up the opportunity when you lost…lost your parents. Which meant that today was no different from every other conversion on this topic and like clockwork the answer is always—

"I'll find a man when my work is finished." In truth you did not want to find a man. So this answer was full proof, your work was never finished, because there would always be someone who wanted clothing. And… You didn't have the emotional capacity to take care of your own state of mind. Let alone another human begins thoughts and feelings.

"You say that every day!" She practically wailed. "This family's lineage is going to die out! What would your mother think of this? What of her Honor?!" Your Aunts hands were clasped around her necklace, tears showed in her eyes and her face contorted into one of…pouting? Sulking? You don’t know, but you do know it was making you feel an excessive amount of guilt. You would have thought you would be immune to this by now, with how often she comes in here and does this. 

"I honor her with my work-" Anger filling your expression inorder to combat how out of touch you felt with the guilt eating a hole through your stomach. Waving an aggressive hand around the shop and stopping to point specifically at the mannequins with your most beautiful kimonos on them "-with this shop that I built from the ground up! This was her dream!" 

It was indeed your mothers dream, that she was able to help create individualized pieces of clothing for everyone who came to her. She wanted to see her creations out on the streets, taking up every vendor and conversation. So when she passed you wanted to honor her in the only way you knew possible.

You opened the shop in your late teens, sacrificing all the normal milestones a girl- no ‘ woman ’ at that age should have hit, in order to support yourself. Like getting married. IF ONE- more person brings up getting married before you hit the age of thirty, they are going to get their mouth sewn shut! What’s so wrong with a woman not wanting to get married!? Like is it that taboo? This also played into the placement of the shop itself. It was situated at the near side of town with a large forest at its back. Which was also known for the strange and unknown supernatural phenomena that occurred. 

So… maybe that made it not the best place to position a shop based upon the rumors, but it served you well as living closer to the center of town meant having to deal with annoying crowds and vendors. It also made avoiding your Aunt easier, as she lived all the way on the other side of the town. But the name of your shop was your crown jewel, the name of the shop 'Aiki' (藍貴), and despite its boyish origin is meant to show the strength that it took you to get to this point. As well as hint at the history of traditional clothing in general. 

But the point was that this shop was your life. It was your dedication to your mother, so you spent every waking moment perfecting the craft. Then catering to the custom orders asked of you. And over the years you expanded your reaches of what you could produce by getting better purchases from the merchants passing through the town. They were stingy old bats that didn’t like giving up materials that they felt could be better suited to the master seamstress in the town over from your’s. It took ages but gaining their trust got them to sell to you and now you could get your hands on the finest silks meant for the emperor himself and the sturdiest material for the working class. There were no limits to what you could create, unlike in the old days where trying to purchase or sell anything was a complete gamble. So the fact that your Aunt won't leave you alone about marrying someone, or more like not having children, or not doing any of things she wishes she could have done if she had had daughters, was really starting to piss you off.

"We have had this discussion too many times for me to count Oba! I don't want a man, all they do is take away the time I could be spending on these orders!." You roughly grabbed a stack of order forms that were on the counter. Waving them slightly, the paper crinkled and warped to your angry grasp.

"[Name] if all you ever do is fulfill orders you will end up all alone and miserable!” Saw that one coming– “Imagine it, you won't have anyone to even pass the craft onto because you will have been too old to have children!" Grabbing the stack from your hand and placing it back on the counter, then just tightly holding your hand in hers. With pleading eyes she said.

"Please just meet this 'boy' that I found, he is wonderfully handsome and well mannered, he was interested in meeting you after I mentioned that you haven't really ever been with anyone."

"Well did you phrase it like that? Because it sure as hell sounds like you told him I was a damn virgin!" She gasped, bringing one hand to her mouth in astonishment. You were fuming however because how dare she bring up such a sensitive topic. Even if that's not what she had been intending to say. Most men were greedy and hearing such a phrase made them believe that they were able to have something that was not theirs.

"Teruko! Do not say such vulgar things! And no I did not tell him such a—" she hesitated a moment, like it was too sacred to even say out loud " —private matter…-but I did say that you refused to court anyone for the last ten years, and that you were getting older and that you were at the age most women have their second kid!"

Despite the blatant insult to how old you were, your Aunt looked like she was on the verge of tears just from trying to say that fast enough. And if you did not act fast enough it was about to make your afternoon so much worse, because if it weren't for the fact that she is your last living relative you would have said something rather rude in response… but the look she gave you was pulling at some stupid invisible heart string. So instead of yelling about how stupid that was and making a fuss, you sighed and the angry tension that had been your armor faded.

Contrary to popular belief you cared a lot about your Aunt. So sucking up your ego for just this once you said—

"If you promise to me that you will not find another man for me to go out with… then I will meet him one time. Only one time! That's it. You can't force me to do more than that." Ok… so maybe your ego was still present but progress.

Your Aunt's face lit up like the gods themselves had told her. Your sweat dropped and you had immediate regret begin to pool in your stomach at the look.

You take it back, you don't want to do this anymore. Literally minutes after you said yes to your Aunt she had run out the front door of the shop, presumably to tell that man that she found that you agreed to meet him. Then another thirty minutes later she came back telling you that she had to get you ready for a date. Pulling you by the hand and leading you up to your apartment. All the while blathering on about how he was taking you to the Festival of Reverence, and how cute you would look in one of the gorgeous spring pink tomesode that you had. But your mind wandered elsewhere as she stepped into your closet with you in toe. Pulling you behind like a young Minko learning her first dance. In a way it was like that. This however was farther out of your comfort zone than a dance. The festival… It was the last week of the last month of summer every year but this year you had gotten swamped with orders so the option of going had not even crossed your mind.

Until now… when you were supposed to go out with a man you did not know and you were stuck in your closest with your eccentric Aunt who was most certainly eyeing up that spring colored Iro Tomesode that she talked about earlier. Standing in the middle of your closet— you couldn't really call it a 'closet'. You had a whole ass other room that you kept attached to your room via a second set of doors. It wasn't very tall but most apartments weren't and the windows were permanently shut in order to keep the garments from being soiled. The only source of light came from the overhead light fixture and what little light did fade through the rice paper. It was a little dreary and very much cramped. And not at all representative of the pride that you had for all these pieces. All of the pieces of clothing in this room were made by hand. You wish you could have a beautiful hall in which you could display all of them… having this many outfits also coincidentally meant you had enough to not have to do laundry for like… months. Not that doing more laundry was a plus side.

There were racks of kimonos, hakamas, winter hantans, yukatas, haoris, nagajuban, jinbei, bathing robes and even cubbies for obis, obijime, obidome, and obiage. And even storage for all the different types of geta and zori you owned. It was overwhelming, every square inch of the room was packed to the gills. Cubbies in one corner, racks shoved against one another and single kimono stands displaying far more than the recommended amount of garments on them. The only place to sit was a chair placed off to the right of a standing mirror, that was also holding a couple different kimonos and obis… it was a complete mess.

Your Aunt stood in the middle for a moment surveying the monstrosity before gravitating towards the spring Iro. It was hanging on the end of a clothes rack so it was mostly front and center for her to find. It was stunning, yes, not your best, but it is special because it was made as a piece that was outside of your comfort zone.

"OH! Sweet heart, look at this one! I haven't— "

"Absolutely not Oba. That Iro is not even the style for the festival let alone something I would wear myself."

"Then why is it in your closet! If you were not going to wear it, why not sell it in the shop?"

That would be the question of the century my dear Aunt. It's pretty. That's why. You're an artist, you create beautiful masterpieces but that doesn't mean that they are the style of clothing that you're comfortable wearing. So instead of selling the pieces of clothing that you found to be even more exquisite than what you normally put out in the shop, you kept it… and it was starting to show because there was no more room for anything else. But like hell you were going to tell that to your Aunt that, she would just try to—

"If you don't want it anymore… I could certainly take it off your hands."

"No Oba. I'm saving it for…" For what?! Bitch it's pretty that's why you made it! Quick play dumb or something! "…a wedding." Not that dumb. NOT THAT DUMB. Oh nooo-

"A wedding! Whose'? Is it that Katsumata girl? I hear she is only a few years older than you, you know. Or or- the widowed head of the Tokito Family. If so, I don't know if this is fancy enough for that. Also they live a bit far away but still—"

"NO!-" Your control over your emotions slipping a little, waving your hands placatingly. "No Oba, it is just for…any wedding that may or may not happen." Exasperated by trying not to disappoint your Aunt for the eightieth millionth time.

"Maybe I could wear it to your wedding~. I have high hopes for this boy!"

"I don't have high hopes for this. And you shouldn't either."

If you could take back what you said not even an hour ago you would. This is a complete waste of time, this 'boy', probably a man older than you, is just going to be disappointed when he reveals that you aren't his cup of tea. You just aren't focused on finding a man. Of course that doesn't mean that you wouldn't ever like to have someone to love. It's just… you've never really gotten the point of 'love' like the feeling part, how do you know you're in love? Everyone talks about a euphoric feeling that makes one swoon with hearts in their eyes and poems on their tongues. You have never even felt a sliver of that. Possibly a slight physical attraction to the occasional man but other than that no ever captured you that way.

"Just give him a chance Sweet, you never know he might just be the one."

"I highly doubt that. I don't even know his name Oba, or like anything about him, actually."

That was a massive oversight on your part, you got so caught up in the fact that you got dragged along for this that it did not even cross your mind to ask. Not that it really matters what you learn about him, It will probably be forgotten like the rest of the men that you turned away. You're clothed, fed and sheltered, there really isn't anything else that you feel like needs to be included. This is the life you craved— created with your own two hands when everything else around you had fallen apart, when your parents passed away from a bandit raid.

That had been a terrible time in life… but it didn't matter anymore you're doing the job that you love… obviously you love to sew and create. To see the joy on others faces; but that can't be it… right? You love seeing others joy knowing that you helped them. You breathed life into the walking exhibits of art that you made. That was easy for you, so what made finding or even acknowledging a man so damn difficult?

"Well… his name is Bunri Asuta, his occupation was something to do with- overseas? I did not listen to much on that part but- he does have quite a bit of money from the job. Let's see…" She taps her pointer finger against her chin while examining another kimono with her other hand. "He is tall, has longer than average dark hair, dark eyes, he's clean shaven, and was wonderfully polite when talking to me over groceries."

"He also talked about how he is about to go off on another work trip soon but was looking around the dating pool to see if anyone was interested, in a long term, semi committed relationship sense he goes away often. When I heard that I knew it was too good to be true!"

"That does sound like a bargain you snatched but didn't read the catch of."

"I did not mean it like that [name]! I mean that it is true love! It's the perfect conditions for the both of you— Why do you not look very impressed?"

While that deal of him not being home all the time sounded good, what would that mean for you? What if you never found that magical bond with him? What would happen if you never loved him or worse were forced to love him? That might be worse than never loving him. To have the ideals of someone else forced onto you, that's torture— Snap Snap — your Aunt was snapping her fingers in front of your face.

"What?"

"You did not answer my question, there's no way you were thinking that hard on the answer?"

"Well you're thinking about this man like I'm going to get married to him and all I can think about is how this will impact my life, I like how I live, Oba. I don't want to sacrifice that for someone I don't know."

"You do not need to be so selfish [Name]. There are other people around you looking for even a sliver of their own happiness. What if all this boy needs is a lady in his life to complete him." Taking a darker pink kimono sleeve into her hand, examining the quality of the pattern.

Selfish. Is that what you are for wanting to keep your own slice of paradise to yourself. Not sharing with those less hard working than you- makes you selfish? Not surrendering yourself to a man is selfish? Are you kidding me?

"Firstly, I worked to get where I am Oba. Secondly, I'm not an object for you to just assume that my role is to complete a man!"

"Oh Sweet, it's not that it's just you to complete him, it's for him to complete you too. It is like that story of two cranes that in order to sore they needed each other because they both only possessed one wing."

"I'm capable of doing my own thing and succeeding without someone else to lean on."

Your Aunt grabs a Homon-gi from the middle of a rack and holds it up to your body. Dismissing your claims of self sustainment. She takes a moment eyeing your face and then takes on a considering face before putting the kimono on the chair. Before going back to the rack and pulling out a pale bluish gray homon-gi, taking more time to think, nods to herself at the choice. Placing it on the chair as well. Neither of you speak for a while. The simmering tension only seems to affect your own mood rather than your Aunts.

She goes from place to place in the small room gathering together pieces that would go with both kimonos. There isn't any room on the chair to pile them, so they end up sitting on the top of the rack closest to the chair. By the time she's gathered everything you're not in much better shape. Anger still clouds in your mind at how you were dismissed and shamed for your own opinions on your life. Your Aunt then gestures to you to take off your current outfit. And it feels like a point of no return.

The first kimono was stiff, the colors beautiful but incredibly formal. It was more for a wedding reception than a festival. The obi and obijime were stark against the black making it stand out even more. The whole outfit screamed look at you and your elegance. It was most certainly something your Aunt would pick for a first date.

"I don't like it, Oba."

"You look stunning my Sweet, what do you mean?"

"This is a festival not a wedding, there is no need to be so formal."

"This is practically—"

"No, I'm not going to go out in something that will clearly draw a lot of attention. That gray one one you picked out would be a better fit due to the season anyway."

"You're so picky, where is the sense of adventure Sweet!"

"My sense ended when I was released- I would have to wear this in front of a man! I don't want to give the wrong impression."

Like hell you wanted this man to remember you. You just wanted to pick something simple like a freaking komon , but noooo- alright calm down. You don't need to be dramatic [Name] your in your 20's you can be a little more mature than that. Still though changing out of the formal homon-gi you put on the other one. It feels much more like a second skin rather than an uncomfortable

Last minute you walked- more like shuffled quickly over to your vanity- kimonos were not stretchy- and you grabbed a large hair stick and used it to pin you your hair so that you might feel just a bit more comfortable. You always wore your hair up for work. And you were confident in your work so this made you a little bit more at ease.

Moving away from the vanity and towards the door to grab a pair of footwear. You were going to pick up a pair of two inch geta, but at the last second you redirected your hand to your pair of formal white zori. They were much more comfortable to walk in for long periods of time and this time would be no exception. Plus it wouldn't possibly show up and be taller than him. Some guys get a bit… ticked off, when a girl is taller than them.

Chapter 2 

• The date

- describe the festival and the different types of people and festivities. Make sure to include what the festival is about but also Teruko point of view on it 

• The visit to the shrine
• Domas first encounter

Chapter 3 

RUN RUN RUN! 

None of the coherent thoughts that tried to reason with your mind mattered right now, you had to RUN! You move your feet faster with every heave of your leg. Your kimono stretches to its fullest before forcing you to switch feet. Despite holding up part of the kimono to your mid calf, it felt like you could still barely move.

Nearly making you fumble and trip, by the gods, thank the years of practice. The ground crunched under every step. Your zori crunched through sticks and grass and dirt alike. Kicking up sticks and dust. Dirting you kimono in the process. Despite that notion everything you did right now was driven by the fear of not wanting to stop to even think what it could be that led you to this moment. 

Ssk… SSsssssskkk.  SSk… 

OH HELL… RUN run run, You will not allow this creature to turn you into its next dinner, you will not die today. You will not die, not after all the work you have put into this life of yours. 

Not after the grueling blood, sweat and tears you gave to pursue your own dream, and to bring honor to your mother. You had a duty, a dozen orders to fulfill. Stitching and painting and dying, every. Single. Kimono. Bringing to life a dream of someone else. Giving them the chance to embrace their goals through their clothing.   

Every kimono you had ever worn after the age of ten had been stitched by yourself. Learning the different styles and dying techniques. You had some truly beautiful ones, and others that should be turned into scrap–

Ssssk… ssssssSSSsk… Sssk

–Ahh! No! This was no time to reminisce on what was or is, you had to survive this torture first.

And that started by being able to move faster. To do that you would have to loosen your kimono… but that takes concentration to do without ruining it. No, you know this is a piece of art–  as much as it hurts –it has to go. If you're alive by the end of this you can create another one.

Breathing heavily while diverting only the required amount of multitasking. You release the part of the kimono held by your left hand and loosen the knot of your obijime, feeling it slide down… only to get caught on your waist. 

Pulling at it again you feel your finger along the length of the rope until you feel the knot. It's completely tightened and would require both hands in order to undo it. 

Legs still pumping at the speed they were, you feel only just a stronger sense of frustration at the half undone knot you messed up, a tribute to you tying it way too complicated earlier that night.

 A sense of fear washed over you, because of that half undone knot you would not be able to get your obi off easily without stopping. Which was out of the question, because the panels of the kimono were trapped under there and you needed to move them… there was no way around it.

You begin to pull on parts of the obi at your back where the most of the fabric is held. Your right hand is still firmly clenched around a portion of the bottom of the kimono. Your movements only become more frantic as the obi seems to get tighter. Normally you would spin it to the front but there is no time for that. It has to come off now. 

SSSSSSssssk… SSSk… 

OH GOD— it's so much closer now – The sound of its tail gliding through the forest behind you almost makes you freeze in fear at how close it sounds. It felt as though it was toying with you. You knew exactly how fast it could move and there was no way in hell you were moving even a sixth of that speed. It felt like it was waiting for you to mess up. Trip or even give up.

But not for a split second do you dare even consider doing any of those things. Even if it was a trick to make it feel like you were able to get away, you were going to take it. You had a life to live. And you were not going to allow some supernatural creature of the night to steal that from you. 

So not for a second did you stop pulling at parts of your obi. Let it underestimate you. Despite the fear coursing through your veins icing over every part of you. You still felt the harsh sting of air in your lungs and the pain of needles being sewed into your legs. Each and every step. But you were alive, and that was what mattered. So long as you could move you would fight. 

The trees beside you blurred despite the snail crawl you felt as though you were moving at, The bushes clawed at parts of your kimono scratching your ankles, and a part of your calf. As you still struggled with your obi a very familiar deer trail opened up, giving you a little hope that you are closer than you had imagined. 

The moon was in full bloom, gracing even the darkest depths of the forest with its gaze. Making your escape just the more favorable for you. The path back to town was not far and the festival even closer. 

Every so often in the distance you could see a firework, each one getting bigger. More hope bloomed. You should have just stayed at the festival that night, but the prospect of being bothered by Asuta felt worse than spending the night alone. Which is why you had gone to the temple in the first place. Now though it seemed like that decision was biting you in the ass. 

Focusing on the hope that bloomed from the sight of the festivities you tried your best to loosen the obi further.

Panting in harsh unsteady breaths, you wish you could move faster. Faster…faster, faster… your min d yelled on repea t–

Finally! –You feel part of your obi slide free, and you pull it to the front and back around until it is no longer constricting your torso. Your legs are already moving higher and faster. Pulling the last stretch free, you realize both of your hands are compromised. 

You need to get rid of it. In a split edge decision you decide to throw it behind you. Possibly in the attempt that it slows down the creature. And in a reasoning that you won’t trip on it. 

For all that could be three seconds a few things happen: 

1. You ball up the obi, while twisting your body to throw it behind you. 

2. As you glance behind you, for a heart stopping moment you lock eyes with sharp rainbow iris. Only a few yards behind you.

3. Despite almost freezing at the sight you throw the obi, in a miracle of luck hitting the creature square in the face. 

For all of the three seconds that had felt like eternity.

In the same moment you turn back around and continue to run, stumbling only on the first step before running like a mad woman. Driven by how close it was to catching you, your pace hastened, your legs feeling like sharp needles had sewn themselves into your bones. The feeling of the bottom panels of the kimono moving, barely a second thought.

Your lungs were on fire, panting through your mouth was the only way to get in enough air. However in your haste to get in enough air a stitch formed in your side. Slowly at first until it felt like the pain would snap you in half. In an attempt to lessen the pain you breathed into your diaphragm, and then into your lungs. Full and shriveled at the same time you could barely breathe. But you kept going.

You were not going to die. Not today. 

The ties that kept the kimono shut, were loosening but still holding, as you booked it. Your undergarments, that were essentially just a semi-translucent white kimono, the only thing keeping you truly decent, You felt exposed.

 But it did not matter. Not now. 

The furisode of the kimono snapping as your arms joined your legs in the effort to run faster. Every breath an eternity and nothing. Your heart was beating so loud you were convinced anyone near could hear it.

Especially that creature.

The skin above your heart was moving trying to expand past its normal capacity. You knew that your entire body was flushed red every movement on fire, every second agony–

Lights! –There were lights in the distance. If you were able to hear over the roar of blood rushing in your ears you're sure that you would have heard the festival. Heard the cheers as they paraded down the streets. The bang of fireworks, the smell of sweet dango. 

The edge of the forest was so close. You needed to be where people would see you, so they could call for help. It was quite possibly only ten or so meters… and you would be free. But it seems that the creature knew this too. 

Despite the distraction you had given it. If you could call it that. It seems to have regained its chase with far more vigor, not that you could tell but you knew it was still at your heels. 

Five meters, your face was flush, your face screwed in agony, and your body was over its limits. 

Four meters, you could hear anything except the roaring blood in your ears and the ever growing sound of–  SSSsssk….ssssk…SSSSSSKKK.

Three meters, You could see the lights perfectly, the stores, even with the small clearing between the town and the forest. It was so close . 

Two meters, almost there!… breathinbreathoutbreathin…agony, this was… a kind of… true torture.

One meter– 

A hand closed around the loose neck part of your kimono, cool fingers gliding over your burning skin 

–but before you were hauled backwards you felt the knots of your kimono loosen at the final tug they needed to come undone. 

With your first step out of the tree line you felt the heavy silk kimono be pulled from your shoulders. Getting caught for not even half a second on your elbows, you flung your arms out behind you to keep from getting caught up in the fabric. The semi-translucent undergarment is the only thing protecting your naked body from the world.

—

To anyone on the outside it looked like the painting of the gods. The devil reached for what he believed was his. Only for him to be fooled at the last moment. And the Goddess looked as though she was shedding her mortal cloth in favor of those that would taunt the devil.

Like a butterfly leaving it chrysalis. Fleeing into the night away from the angry serpent.

The light of the moon shining on the woman, illuminating her body and turning her undergarments a stark white which gave off an unnatural glow. Her hair flutters behind her, giving her a supernatural essence. 

Then the moment was gone. 

—

For a moment everything was still but then a shrill ear piercing cry rang out– 

“NOOooooooo… NOOOOOOooooo!!” 

The voice cracking on every word, like a childs shrill yelling. Not pausing for a second at the fortune that had smiled upon you, you continued to run. Your body felt as though it was about to keel over in the field right then and there. The shrill screams still ringing out in anger the farther you make it from the tree line. 

After making it about half way across the field you realize that the cries were not getting any louder, a crushing feeling of relief swept down you as you realized. 

The creature was not allowed to pass the tree line.  

You needed to see . Needed to know . 

Slowing your pace was incredibly difficult, you stumbled, and lost footing only to regain it before you could crumple into the earth. Your leg shook with incredible force, and the feeling of needles had only intensified into full blown pain with every step. You could see your breath in front of you with how hard you were panting. The stitch in your side makes every breath like a stab wound. 

It went against all the adrenaline in your veins to do so. But you needed to see. Needed to know that it wasn’t still chasing you. It was so foolish to stop, but you were close to the village.

 So maybe it was the confidence in your veins that bolstered your new found assurance that you would not be dragged away. Or maybe it was the little voice that sung in the back of your mind.

Turning around took all the effort in your body and no effort at all. Your ribcage raddled with the force of every breath. Adrenaline being the only thing keeping you standing. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the scenery. You had been looking with such tunnel vision that you barely even saw the colors of the world. 

Eyes trailing up the path that you had stuck to like a lifeline.You found the creature clutching your kimono, Looking absolutely furious. Compared to the trees around it, It was huge. A stark white tail that shimmered in the moonlight, thrashed and whipped at the trees around it. Cutting some of them with the force of it. 

Its wails of denial and wanting you to come back had faded when you turned around to look at it.

-

I did not know what it was,

This pain.

Like a heart string that has never been used before,

A sharp knowing, a cascading fall.

I did not realize that I was falling until I saw the other side,

Like a knife carved their name into my chest like a longing.

I thought it was a myth,

A falsehood.

Of course though,

How could I not know?

I knew, ages ago.

It just took a while for my mind to find the right string.

Chapter Text

At the edge of my study, I can see Michi standing in the doorway, his posture is hesitant, and from the corner of my eye; it seems as though he is rethinking what he might say. 

So instead I break the ice for him– “You alright darling?” I looked up from the documents I was reading to face him, my hair falling from behind my shoulder.

He shifts on his feet– distressed about what he wants to say. 

“I am leaving for quite some time. Undetermined really, but I wanted to tell you before I left.” This wasn’t a campaign this time. No, this was about Yorichi. 

“This isn’t a campaign is it?” I arch a brow at him, and his shoulders tense imperceptibly.

I sigh slightly, disappointed by the news– “Where are you going to?”

He knows that he can’t lie to me. I would know. “To join my brother, I’ve found him. I want to…learn what it is that makes him stronger, and how I can achieve that level as well.”

I feel my lips pursed instinctively, but I hold my tongue on anything that might hurt him or drive him to follow this more than return to me. I feel no heartache for his departure, although I know it will be a long time before I see him again. That may be why I feel quite melancholy. 

“Alright– I would prefer if you stayed, but I can’t stop you.” I stand up stretching my limbs, hearing a few pops from my joints. “But at least visit, will you? I know that your goals will forever be your path, but try to make a small effort it keep us with you, yeah?” 

“Or else I might just have to hunt you down myself–” a huff leaves my lips, as I glide across the floor to Michi. His face is unchanging, but a familiar glint tells me all I need to know. 

“Of course, I’ll visit. Why would I ever break my vows– let alone abandon you and the children?” I laugh at that, my memory does not show me him being so kind, but this is not the same reality. I have no use in being a slayer, I am a mother in this world, and my love for my husband stretches beyond what he would ever believe it to be. 

He may leave– but he will never be able to escape the love I possess for him. Nor the web I have trapped him in. He will feel guilty, and it will hurt me, but all good things come to those who wait. 

Becoming a demon? Leaving me to die of old age would be cruel and unbecoming of him and a waste of the knowledge I possess. If everything has worked out then I will be capable of baring what Muzan could never. 

“Michi– never allow your mind to blind you. I know that you are not as particular to the slow life as I am, but do be weary, yeah?” 

Michi brings his hands to cup my cheeks, his eyes soften in a look I have only ever seen directed at me, and that pleases me. I will continue to make sure he looks at me like that, even if it takes some time. I will bear eternity to see that look.

“Of course dear–” His voice low and soft, like a gentle blanket of snow. 

Slowly he tilts my head back, one hand migrating to cradle the back of my head. Then gingerly he leans forward and presses his lips firmly to mine– the kiss is deep and long and I can feel the heat from his lips. In all the years we have been together I could never forget the shape of him, nor the tone of voice. His walk and presence are all engraved upon my mind.

I do hope that he remembers his promises just as I do mine. 

Til death do us part, my love.  

—0—

Essentially the reader (you) is reincarnation and falls madly in love with Michi past him being a character that you had adored and wants to stay by his side. You know that in the ten years that you are together when he leaves to join Yoriichi, so instead of trying to convince him to stay, you set out to recreate the same medicine that Muzan took to become a demon.

And by polt armor you do, and for posterity's sake because you are reincarnated you know that by turning the spider lily into a soup like Tanjiro’s mother did for him and Nezuko– you will be immune to the sun. This then sparks you to become A: an immoral that doesn’t have to eat humans, B: capable of spending eternity with your love and trying to break Muzan’s curse. 

The reason this just didn’t fully take off for me was because I struggled to put together enough plot that it wasn’t overdone. 

Thank you for reading!

Chapter Text

Cold winter air blew in through the open window up on the high wall, blowing the coal hot red, in the irori. Small particles of ash flew about the single-room home, most of them landing upon the bodies of his wife and children. The deep smell of iron wafted with the cold breeze as he stood in the doorway. 

Blood seeped into the floor boards, his wife’s eyes glazed and unseeing in a silent plea for help. His second youngest clutched in her arms, and his two youngest boys were torn limb from limb, with the sinew of their ligaments and muscles stretched beyond repair. 

His oldest standing behind him, clutching his stomach and heaving on the earth, sobs racking his body. Tanjuro stood with his arms usually hanging at his sides, and his eyes burning with unshed tears. His heart felt as though it was ripped into small pieces of rice paper and then stomped on. 

His vision shifted to the transparent realm if only to hide the blood and gore of the scene. A selfish want to not have them burned into his memory. Tears rolled down the contours of his face wetting the bright red fabric of his haori. 

From the corner of his eye, he could see his oldest daughter curled over his youngest. For a moment his eyes widened, he could see the beating of her heart and the plus of blood through her veins. 

She was alive– he rushed forward, minding his steps, and picked her up cradling her to his chest. He could feel heat still coming from her body. He thought nothing of the small medical that he had been given and rushed outside. His oldest looked up in a daze. 

“Nezoku’s alive, we have to hurry to the doctor–” Tanjuro didn’t wait much for his son to catch up to him. But he knew that he was hot on his trial.

• This was a small piece that I wrote about the head cannon that Yorichi is reincarnated into Tanjuro, Tanjiro’s father. And in the AU the sickness that plagues Tanjuro does not exist and he lives to have a full life spent with his wife and kids, up until he and Tanjiro leave to sell charcoal at the market.

Chapter Text

• Uta is in labor but the demon kills her. The demon doesn’t kill the baby. In the morning when Yoriichi gets there is devastated but finds his child alive. He rushes to the nearest doctor to make sure that they are alive and well. 
• When he makes it back home he buries Uta and begins to struggle with taking care of his daughter. She was born with pin-straight black hair and the same plum-red eyes and birthmark that Yorichi had. 
• Within the first year of life, Yoriichi goes with the demon slayers and Kiyoko is babysat by the current Ubuyashiki. And grows up with the family as close friends. Kiyoko 

Tou-san always held a look of serenity on his face, no matter what it was that he felt. He always looked so peaceful, and Kiyoko wondered if she looked like that too. Tou-san says that she looks like her Ka-san…but she has never seen her Ka-san, she has only every heard her voice. Gentle and calm through the screen. Kiyoko had tried to ask Tou-san where it was that she had been before she had been able to see. 

But he didn’t know how to answer, and she thought that might be partly because she didn’t have the right words to explain. Which is okay! –because Tou-san teaches her new words all the time. 

Never really had the urge to write past here. 

Chapter Text

This one was a different ending to another fic that I had read. I’m gonna be quite frank I can’t remember which one it was that had a cabin in the woods (All of them) and a lake outside of it (only a few of them) But instead of Y/N escaping or getting kidnapped I wanted her mind to basically fracture and her to become just a little bit off her rocker. But it is kinda clear when you read it that it’s cringe so just a warning. 

If I had the energy to go back an rewrite it I would.

The craziest thing the [name] has done all night? Well, morning now. Make breakfast in the cabin, take a shower, clean up the blood of the dead, and pretend that the next few hours won’t be filled with bloodshed or murders looking for her. The absurdity of it all– She couldn’t comprehend it, his pistol still strapped to her leg, her knife still in her pocket. But she was now wearing her P.J’s. 

The food that they had brought with them was still in good condition because it was still in the coolers that she insisted they bring. The juxtaposition of how she was trying to pretend that this was all just normal was tearing at her from the inside out. It was like it was forcing her to split herself. 

On one hand, she was [name], and on the other—well, she was still [name], but it felt like her mind was trying very hard to separate the last twelve hours from the rest of her memories. Like the woman who had endured all of that was not [name] but someone else. Her mind was begging her to make everything right again.

She knew who she was, but she knew that what had happened had killed a part of her, and had changed some part of her. 

Her mind and body were as calm as calm could be– there were no jarring emotions, no hateful hurting of her heart. It was like it had all been erased and she was just living a normal morning in a cabin. And her friends would come downstairs and ask what the smell was or the chickities would sing to their heart's content.

But there were no birds, and everyone was dead. But it didn’t matter anymore– because soon she would be too. And she would get to join her friends in the darkness. But for now, she would enjoy the sun and the pleasant feeling that it brought to her mind. 

Slowly sunlight filtered through the window of the kitchen, and the smell of bacon filtered from the oven, washing the room is a delightful aroma. It was almost like she was back home.

But that didn’t happen, a bang on the front door echoed. [Name] didn’t move from the stool, didn’t move to face the opening to the living room– instead bringing the coffee cup to her lips and sipping the delicious nectar of energy. 

“What’s t..that– smell? Bacon?” She could hear Toby’s voice filter through the living room. She didn’t move. Didn’t want the illusion to break. Carefully though she brought her pistol to sit in front of her body so they couldn’t see it, resting it on the counter. 

“Hoodie– check upstairs.” Tim, his voice harsh and unforgiving. What a pity he was a murderer, he was rather handsome. 

‘HaHAHA– are you kidding me [Name] –What kind of thoughts are those?’

Heavy work boots thundered up a flight of stairs, another set trampled off towards the downstairs bedroom. That had been John and Sally’s, and hopefully, they are polite with their belongings. 

‘I will need them for a burial .’

The sun was so pretty, its reflection off the lake created little jewels of light– that cascaded across the interior of the cabin from this angle. 

The last pair of footsteps traveled only a short distance before stopping. [Name] could feel his stare into the back of her head. If only she had to will to care about the silent threat. 

‘There is nothing left for me to care for. You have taken it, so now I will do as I please.’

“So you came back here? You had the opportunity to escape, you know?” Tim walked further into the room, slow and methodical steps to the left side of the island. 

“You out of everyone had the biggest chance to make it— so why are you not back to the main road by now?” he rounded the island, blocking the sun and the lake. The shadow of his body brought a coolness to her skin that the sun had been staving off. Immediately her mind darkened– memories of the night flashing just beyond her eyes. 

The chill reminded her of the rain, of her tears, of her mental instability. Her brain had been quiet but now it was raging. 

Her hand tightened on the mug. “Move.” She continued to stare ahead like she could burn a hole through his abdomen to see the sun. 

She wanted to see the sun– needed to feel the sun on her skin. It made her feel whole in a way she had not felt since before this trip. It made her feel human. 

Tim stalked forward a bit, leaning his weight on the counter. She didn’t meet his eyes or his mask's eyes.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to tell me what to do.” His voice was low and calm like he was talking to a child. 

The longer she was out of the sun the more her skin crawled, it felt like little worms had taken root and were eating her muscles. She didn’t bother trying to reason, killers don’t reason. In one quick motion, she had picked up the pistol and placed it beneath her chin.

Click – the safety was off. What a peaceful morning it had been, the bacon wasn’t even finished, and she had yet to start the pancakes or eggs. Perhaps she would achieve a peaceful afterlife too. She would be okay floating in nothing if it meant tranquility. 

“Do you think threatening your own life will give you leverage?” There was an edge to his voice like he was daring her to try. If the previous night's actions were to go by, she would do it. The fear of death had left her long ago. 

“No. I at least wanted to eat my breakfast before I went. Or even finish my coffee, but that too is a pipe dream.” Her words were simple and her voice calm, not a tremor in her hands. 

Tim paused, his head tilted to the side if only by a margin like he was trying to understand what was going through her head. The absurdity of the current situation makes him question what kind of mental state she is in at the moment. 

She was in her pajamas, a pot of coffee had been brewed, and there was evidence of food prep around the counters and the island. Her hair and face were clear of any blood or dirt. As matter a of fact it looked like she had just taken a shower. 

The only thing that looked wrong , was her eyes, they were dull– her face impassive, like all the fire had burned right out of it. 

‘What was she doing?’

“I would have offered you breakfast, but you don’t seem to have the intent to let me finish. I will leave this hell on my terms.” Slowly she wrapped her pointer finger around the trigger. Her fingers were as steady as if she was signing her name on death’s list. 

Footsteps resonated over the threshold of the kitchen–

“She wasn’t– Oh well there you are doll.” Brian . Calm, cool, and collected, he couldn’t see the gun. More scuffing of boots, she looked directly into Masky’s eyes. 

“D..did you f..find her? I’m pretty sure– ah yep –that’s wh..where I thought sh..she was, to begin with.”

Black sockets bore into her soul, neither said a thing. 

Then– “Do it.” –he didn’t believe she was capable of taking her own life. Behind her, she heard Toby shift uneasy at Masky’s tone of voice. Slowly she pulled the the trigger, the cool metal heavy on her finger. She just had to apply more than two pounds of weight and she would be gone—

Bring– Bring– Bring–

The oven’s timer rang through the silent kitchen. Her eyes widened, and her finger momentarily stopped pulling down. Masky uses that one second to reach forward and try to take the gun from her hand.

In the next, she shoved the stool back and it clattered to the floor, locking her arm in the firing position and pulling the trigger of the gun. Masky's hand had been leaning forward enough that in the heat of the moment, the bullet passed right over him and shattered the window behind him. 

“Don’t block the fucking windows.” She ground out through her teeth. Her words didn’t make sense to them. They didn’t need to they just needed to take orders. [Name] felt the vibrations of footsteps behind her– she whirled gun in hand and quickly backed up until her lower back hit the counter– so she could see all three of them. 

Hoodie had stepped forward, clearly now aware of how dangerous the situation had just become. But the tension of the moment failed to make an impression on her mind. All that she cared about was that the sun was now streaming directly onto her skin, warming her body in a shiver of delight. 

“Woah Doll– let's calm down now, we aren’t trying to kill you–” his placating words did nothing.

“I don’t care what it is you want. I want to eat my breakfast in peace, and right now you're interrupting that.” Her voice was calm– if not deadpan. Her demeanor was a little disturbing when mixed in with what she was saying. 

“Breakfast? What the…” Perhaps her actions were more unorthodox than she had anticipated. She wanted normalcy. 

“Do you want some? It’s bacon, pancakes, and eggs.” Silence. It was the most normal thing in the world to hold someone at gunpoint and offer breakfast. 

Was it possible to freak out the people who were murderers? Was she acting so weirdly that they were stumped on how to move forward? 

“O..Okay. Ar..are you fin..nished making it?” Hoodie hit Toby’s arm, but he just shrugged. 

“No, I’m not. I was just about to start. Please, sit down, it should only take a few more minutes.” With the gun, she gestured to the table, at the six empty seats that were supposed to have housed her friends. 

Toby moved, but the others didn’t. He pulled out a chair, resting his axes against the wall behind him. Hoodie and Masky just stood there.

“Don’t be like that.” A strange smile etched across her face. “I’m a pretty good cook. I promise if you sit down it should only be ten minutes.” 

They didn’t move. It felt like they were barely breathing. But with the sun touching her skin with it’s fiery rays it felt like they were caressing her skin, bringing her a comfort that she felt like she hadn’t had in forever. 

She waited a few more seconds, no one saying anything– nor moving. The smile slipped from her face. It was rude to ignore your host.

Firmly with a bit of power in her voice– “I said sit down– or was I not clear.” She lifted the pistol and aimed the iron cross to the left of Hoodie's foot, she pulled the trigger. 

The loud boom, made [name’s] ears ring, and mixed with the sudden shock of her so casually pulling the trigger, pushed the tension of the three men higher with every passing second. Hoodie startled the hardest, with him stumbling back a bit unknowing of whether he got hit or not. 

In the same voice, she repeated her words. “I said…sit down.” Toby just looked wide-eyed at Hoodie, a silent plea to just sit . 

They all figured out very fast, that the woman who stood before them now was not the same woman who they had hunted and tormented at the beginning of the night. 

Slowly Hoodie inched himself into a seat next to Toby, his hand inside his pocket likely holding his gun in some form of safety or whatever but she didn’t care. Masky still stood there behind the island. His eyes trained on her, the wheels in his head spinning. 

She turned the gun to him, and smiled– it felt unhinged, and so very wrong for the current circumstances but her mind was all there at the moment so it was excusable. 

“Sit please.” Her words clipped and her smile twitched in an effort to stay up. He breathed in deeply, then slowly with his eyes trained on her, he made his way to the table sitting a few seats away from Toby and Hoodie. 

Maybe it was her who had gone crazy. But who cares? The sun is shining and the water is pure. And the smell of food makes it hard to be mad at them. 

[name] smiled brightly, then lowered the gun back to it’s holster. Turning around she got right to work prepping and measuring out all the batter and warming up the pans. Even pulling the bacon out to cool. 

Over the normalcy that her mind conquered she heard just a slight movement on her left– not stopping to even see if it was her imagination she reached down to her pistol and swung it at them, a nasty scowl on her impassive face.

“Get up– and I will kill you. It goes both ways really– I don’t want to hurt you” her voice taking a condescending tone. “But I will if I have to.” She sneered. 

Masky had been halfway out of his seat and she aimed the gun right for him. It was a miracle how Hoodie hadn’t bothered to try and shoot her. But perhaps he was more willing to try this with less force. Unlucky for them she would shoot them dead if they didn’t compile. 

Chapter Text

We as humans are particularly ugly-minded. We are greedy, and selfish, and want nothing more than to supply a means to our purpose in life. Ann knows this and knows that deep within the minds of us all, are thoughts that should never be voiced or acted upon. But when they are– it is as if a floodgate has been opened and every thought from then is a primal urge. No longer is one considered a man, when he acts like a beast. No longer is a woman a person but a passionate desire. Gone are society's filters and in its place is the mind of a predator. Habitually Ann repeated these lines to herself, a form of comfort when clutched between dirty hands. 

The nightlife was obscure, especially in the early hours of the morning. There were no bustling hoards of people, nor the cacophony of car motors and traffic frustration. It was silent—mixed with a terribly eerie form of nothingness. It was one of the many reasons young women did not venture at night, even in groups, nonetheless alone. There however is always that one outlier, too drunk– too desperate, not thinking clearly or believing that she will make it home without consequence. Ann wasn’t drunk, and most certainly wasn’t desperate but she still felt the intensity of her emotions as they seized every nerve in her body, stringing them on high alert. 

Ann had just left one of her favorite clubs, always full of particularly kinder folks than some others she had been in. As the club's hours came to an end Ann had found herself outside with a large group of people but slowly as they moved down the barren street people left until it was just her. Walking by herself down a dreadfully deserted street, toward her apartment. Out of all of the advice offered to young women walking home late at night, the most given was to always be alert of your surroundings. 

Ann knew this, she knew lots of things, mostly random and scattered and not helpful to everyday life. She felt the vibration of her phone in her back pocket and for a moment she thought about whether it would be smart to divert her attention, but her deliberation ended abruptly when she heard the specialized ringtone of her friend muffle quietly through the layers of fabric. Not stopping to grab the phone she looked down out of habit to grasp the smooth case of her phone. As she hit the answer button and pushed the receiver to her ear, she barely had enough time to register that there was a person in front of her.

She collided with the person with no time to slow down or even call out in warning. A yelp escaped her mouth and her phone dropped from her hand, hearing it clatter to the ground, with a garbled noise from the occupant on the opposite end. Ann stumbled backward, her heels threatening to give out under the lack of balance. The person let out a low grunt from the impact, stumbling only slightly back as if they weren’t hit, but like a flinch. 

“Sorry– I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking–” Ann crouched quickly, scrabbling to collect her phone and part of her dignity. A large crack spread in a radial pattern across the whole screen, effectively making the phone useless, but she could still hear her friend although with electronic glitches distorting their voice. She never heard a response from the person but noticed a wallet on the ground next to her phone. Ann snatched it hoping to use it to apologize for bumping into them.

“I’m sorry– you dropped this.” Ann held a thick brown bifold wallet in her left hand as she stood up pushing her hair out of her face.

The person or man, now that she had a better look, was walking quickly down the street, his hands shoved deeply into his jacket pockets. 

“Wait! Sir, you dropped your wallet!” 

Her voice cracked with perplection at the man's actions but she brushed them off in favor of trying to catch up with the man. With her heels, it made it rather difficult but she managed to come up to his side. 

“You dropped your wallet.” Ann felt mildly embarrassed for trying so hard to give this man his wallet, but if it had been her then she would have been grateful to whoever took the time to return it. 

The man stopped for a moment, turning to look at her. Ann didn’t know what he looked like when she ran into him but in the dim light of the street lamp she could make out generic brown eyes and what she thought was dirty blond hair. A relatively slim face with a five o’clock shadow framed by deep bags under the man's eyes. She felt like she had seen him before, maybe he had been in the same club? 

Perhaps he was tired and didn’t want to bother with an altercation. Ann held the wallet up to chest height offering it back with a polite smile. The man flinched and his eyes widened dramatically, his right arm clenched like he was grabbing something in his pocket. The reaction set Ann’s nerves on fire, it wasn’t normal.

“I didn’t drop my wallet.” The man's voice cracked for what sounded like disuse. He turned and walked away from Ann at a quicker pace than before. 

Ann stood there a little dumbfounded by the man's actions, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do now. So dumbly she stood there with the wallet in her hands looking between it and the man walking further and further away. Maybe she was the one who was mistaken and the wallet was just already on the ground? Ann flipped the wallet open inside was only a few dollars in cash, a debit card, and an Alabama driver's ID. Through the clear plastic holder, Ann could see a photo of a young man.

He had brown eyes, and messy brown hair, and was smiling wide with a gap in between his two front teeth. In all senses of the word this man looked like the same man she just saw, but far more happy and well taken care of. Ann cast a look down the street but the man was long gone. The man was probably intoxicated or something along those lines. She could go drop this off at a police station, but there weren’t any in the near vicinity. So…she’ll just take it home? That would probably be the best bet, the ID held an address so maybe she could return it tomorrow? 

It wasn’t like she had work and the address was rather close to hers, so it looks like that’s tomorrow's plan. Above the address was a name, Brain Thomas. That was rather plain out of all the names he could have had, but at least it was easy to remember. 

–0–

Ann awoke very late the next morning to the sounds of a jackhammer outside her apartment’s window. Groggily she rolled onto the far side of her bed and reached out to swipe the curtains to the side, the sun assaulted her eyes, momentarily blinding her. Thankfully her eyes adjusted quickly enough so that she could try to see where the noise was coming from, however, when she propped herself up on her elbow to get a better look, she found that there was no construction or even demolition happening in the near vicinity. 

Perhaps they were just out of sight from where she was looking. Or maybe she had dreamt of the noise because she could not hear anything that even resembled the annoying repetition of a jackhammer. It was just silent. It was also cold, which mildly sucked, but what was a woman to do?

Ann looked back over her shoulder and sighed as she spotted the brown wallet from the night before. It’s not like she had anything else to do…except go to the laundromat or maybe go out again. She sighed again this time rolling out of bed and grabbing any clothing off the floor that seemed vaguely clean, stumbling slightly to her bathroom to freshen up a bit. 

Not even twenty minutes later she had the wallet in her hands and a bag of dirty laundry slung over one arm, pushing her way out her apartment door and into the elevator. It was dingy in the way that when you looked at it your first thought was more, ‘When was the last time this was cleaned’, not, ‘Am I going to die if I get in that thing?’. Which was only slightly more comforting but that black spot in the corner was very suspicious and didn’t help with her unease. 

A ding sounded and the door slid open and Ann strode out as fast as possible, she’d take her chances with the city streets over the black spot in the elevator any day. The streets were rather barren for it being midday, and the sky was clouded with thunderous-looking clouds that seemed to threaten heavy rains. It was strange that the temperature was still fairly warm though. Ann brushed those thoughts away and moseyed down the street at a leisurely pace. Within no time at all the laundromat came into view, an older building in the downtown area but loved all the same. Ann pushed the glass door open gently and wandered over to an empty wash machine. Her hands fell into autopilot as she pushed her clothing in the washer. She almost didn’t notice that a person was standing behind her until she saw a shadow from the corner of her eye. 

“Ann? How have you been, dear?” Ann jumped slightly at the sound of her name, for whatever reason it set her on edge. 

Turning fully Ann saw a sweet old woman who went by the name of Sal. They saw each other nearly every time they came to do their respective loads of laundry. So it wasn’t so unusual that Ann would see Sal here or even for her to talk to her, so why would that set her nerves on edge? She felt almost like she did last night when walking down that empty street. Her nerves roiled at the thought of talking to Sal at the moment but predictability easily swayed her to speak. 

“I’ve been fairly well I’d say. Not too much been going on lately.” Ann squeezed out a small smile, trying to be polite as she rocked back and forth on her heels. 

“Who are you kidding dear, you look famished.” A clear frown was present in Sal’s voice. In all the time Ann had known Sal though she had never known her to be aggressive in her observations. 

“What, I’m perfectly healthy?” Ann scrunched her nose in displeasure, she knew that she had quietly rolled out of bed but this was just a little rude.

Sal wrung her hands together, sounding rather sympathetic. “Sweet you look like you haven’t eaten in days, let alone taken a shower.” 

Mild offense washed over Ann and her nerves of anxiety burned into anger. Looking to her left into the reflective metal of the washing machine, her face looked flush and her hair was shiny, in all senses of everything she looked healthy. 

“Sal I’m perfectly fine, I promise. I know you're a worrier but nothing is wrong.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. 

“Ann, I mean this in a very concerned manner you look dead. Like you're barely able to stand, you have blood all over your shirt too. How can you stand there and say that you are okay?” Sal moved forward a little her brows pinched in significant concern, she reached forward and grasped Ann’s hand that she was waving. 

Ann looked back into the reflective metal of the machine and in the corner of her eye Ann saw a flash of grey and dirty brown but when she fully faced the reflection she only saw herself, healthy as a horse. 

“Listen, Sal, I appreciate the concern but there is nothing wrong with me so please stop making crap up.” Ann yanked her hand away and went to sit down on the bench to wait for her load to finish. Sal looked at her with a mournful gaze as she turned around and left. Ann ignored her and picked up the newspaper left on a table to her right. Fluffing it out hatefully, which was very unnecessary, but it made her feel better. 

She noted the bolded headings at the top of the paper, ‘Casanova Street Murder’. That was strange, Ann’s last name was Casanova. What was the coincidence that someone involved in a murder had her same last name? Quickly she skimmed the top of the article, observing that a young woman had been murdered only a street over from her apartment complex, a street that also was named Casanova. Apparently, it was brutal and ugly, her death was brought down to strangulation, but there were various other injuries that most likely egged her closer to death. It was obvious that the injuries were caused by someone with ample strength. Which was also weird because murder cases took much longer to publish than a day. Ann brushed the weirdly fast paper off and kept reading through the rest of the paper. 

It wasn’t long before she needed to switch her laundry to the dryer and then not long after that, the dryer finished. Ann removed her clothing folding it neatly and putting them back into her bag. Once more Ann picked up the wallet and looked at the address it was close enough to her apartment that she likely wouldn’t need to even drop off her laundry first. Ann grumbled to herself but hefted the bag onto her shoulder and made her way back towards her apartment. About three-quarters of the way there, Ann turned instinctively down a street only to stop in her tracks when she realized that she hadn’t even checked the street sign. Turning back around she looked up to the green street sign hanging above the road. ‘Casanova St.’, yep…that is the address on the ID, it was also the street involved in the murder but she didn’t see any evidence of police or even new reporters. This was turning out to be weird, why were there so many coincidences? 

Ann continued down the street turning into an apartment building that looked a little more rough than she expected. At the far end of the lobby, she spotted an elevator that screamed all sorts of warnings in her mind. For some reason, Ann knew that it would hold up just enough to get her to the sixth floor. Sixth floor? How did she know that? Before she knew it she was in the elevator and the sixth button punched in and moving up at an alarming rate. The elevator came to a jarring stop and the door opened partway and then jammed, Ann reached forward pushing the door open further or she would, but the thing didn’t budge in the slightest. 

So instead she shimmied her body through the gap and watched as the elevator closed sharply, giving her the startling impression that she could have gotten pinned between the door and the wall. Ann shuddered but turned to face the long hallway. ‘Number 608’, Ann walked passed the many doors, counting the numbers and cringing away at the dirt that clung to everything. Finally, she came to a stop in front of 608. She reached forward hesitating for a moment before knocking three times. Almost immediately there was a muffled clamor from the other side, then the door creaked open just slightly and a head of brown hair and a brown eye peaked out to look at her. 

His eyes widened dramatically and Ann raised an eyebrow at the reaction. Was it that he remembered her from last night?  Either way, he didn’t seem intent on being the first one to speak so she broke the ice. 

“Hey, sorry to bother you again, but you forgot your wallet– I know that you said last night that you had it but…” Ann held the wallet up to eye level, pitched between two fingers. “I figured that you might have been intoxicated or something, but here you go.” 

Ann pushed the wallet forward but the man didn’t reach forward to grab it. Instead, she watched as he turned his head to look over his shoulder. Ann saw his eyebrows furrow, and she turned back to her with a pensive expression on his face. 

“I didn’t lose my wallet.” The man– Brain – went to close his door without further conversing. 

Ann reached forward to stop the door, feeling it push her back a bit, which was odd– was Brain just freakishly strong? “No– look, this is your wallet, with your face, and your address. It’s how I found you.” 

Brain shook his head rapidly a horror-stricken expression etching into his face. “No, no no. My wallet is on the table in my living room you can’t have it, let alone be here.” 

“What are you talking about? Are you alright– like do you need me to call someone–” Ann was cut off.

“Stop no. No. Your. Not. REAL.” Brian's emphasized tone sent shivers racing through her body. Like she knew that this was way too weird to be normal. He closed his door partially trying to exit the conversation. 

She reached forward to wrap her hand around the door, Brain continued– “I don’t know what you are—ghost, figment of my imagination –doesn’t matter.” The door stopped. 

He opened the door just so. “You need to stay away from me and go back to whatever nightmare you came from.” 

Not real? She was very real—she looked at her hands, felt the blood pulsing in her veins, felt the solid concrete beneath her feet, and heard the rush of traffic and children laughing in the distance, all those sounds and touches were real. Ann could see the dirt clinging to the walls! She was whole, she was a living breathing person. It was he, who was not real or at least was so delusional that he couldn’t tell the living from a hallucination. 

“I am real– I have a life, a car, and an apartment, legal documents that show credit– by all sense of the world I am real!” She stalked forward bracing her right hand on the door frame. But he recoiled, his head shaking minutely. 

“Not possible– if you're so damn real then why does no one react to you? You’re a damn hallucination! If I had known killing you would come back to haunt me this terribly I never would have made that mistake!” Brain shut the door in her face the frame rattling with the force.

From the hall, there was a shout to not be so loud. Ann felt sick to her stomach staring at the off-white door. That man needed help and Ann wasn’t sure if there was any way to get that to him. In her hand, she still held the wallet, but this time when she looked at it she noticed something odd about it, there were dark stains littering the the outside. Ann flicked the wallet open and gasped in shock, the inside of the wallet was covered in a deep rusted red that soaked into every nook and cranny. 

Ann’s hands shook slightly and she noticed that they had a different coloring than normal, they looked wrong. They were bloated and bruised, almost grey. Ann dropped the wallet as she stared at her hands. She felt like her breathing was quickening but when she couldn’t feel her chest move or air push in and out of her lungs or mouth, she froze. Anxiety wriggled deep in her stomach churning into a deep dread. What was wrong with her? Her vision blurred as she looked to the ground, the wallet sat open, Brain's face staring up at her. What? Why– no this was wrong she was alive, but was she? Why was she questioning that? The weight of the laundry bag had disappeared from her arm as her legs staggered to keep her upright. Suddenly the world tilted and she felt the ground rush up to greet her. There was a tight pressure around her neck, her eyes fluttered and her vision blacked out, Ann struggled to grasp for consciousness. Her eyes opened just barely to see a manic tooth-gapped smile beaming down at her. 

Chapter Text

PSA! Ideas are cheap! If you have an idea, that's good, but it is not the idea itself that is a one-in-a-million thing that will win you everything you've ever dreamed of. It is what you build on top of your idea that makes it worthwhile. This can be translated to all aspects of your life, not just in writing, as I am now applying it. 

For example: I had the idea of the reincarnation theme in my fic. This is a well-overdone and beat-up trope, but it's still a good one. Which is why I make it my mission to change canon in a way that will make the story interesting but not outrageous. Now I'm not going to spoil what I'm writing and haven't yet written, but the base idea is cool but cheap. It is every idea that you add and build on that makes your story one in a million. 

Real-life Example: Really simple, however, in my junior year of high school, I won the science fair at my school (Note that I go to a class C school, so it's not that impressive.) I was in an astrology/meteorology class and I desperately wanted to do the planet Saturn. I did. But while others simply painted a large foam ball and called it a day, I found more and more materials that I could add on to make it look like Saturn. I use foam clay to make the swirls of gas and ice on the surface, and I use dirt and glue it to the rings to make it look like rocks. And I made a large poster board for all my information. 

Now the idea of Saturn was cheap. It has been done a hundred thousand times and will be done a thousand times more. But what made mine stick out was the quality of my work, the presentation of my work (I had to resite everything I knew about the planet), and the effort of building onto the basic idea that made it something worth looking at. 

Listen, if you have an idea- DON'T STOP AT THE BASIC ANSWER! Find more to add, give it flavor, give it life, but don't stop unless you really think it's going to be worse if you add more. Anyway thank you for listening to my TED Talk, and I believe in every single one of you!

Chapter Text

If only -

I had seen rather than felt the opportunity in the Chaos.

I had known the opportunity was in the chaos

-0-

Part 1

The flame flickered

The flame sored,

sputtered and licked,

gorged and choked,

danced and played,

The flame lived

Part2

The flame consumed

The flame spread

Uncontrolled and wild

Unnatural and scorching

Unsupressed and dangerous

The flame destroyed

-0-

Chaos. It is the only thing that makes absolute sense and yet no sense at all. But as I look around at my classmates, the only thing I see is chaos. Behind every word, phrase, and condescending tone. As I look into the chaos that is my class, the only thing that I see is the words dipped in venom meant to sting but never kill, so that they can feel better about themselves. And as I look, all I can feel is this indescribable anger at them. This is what they choose to do with their life! With the knowledge they have been given? I have sat and listened for far too long. Chaos is what it feels like to stand on the lip of an already unstable volcano and look inside. To see the boiling magma. To know that when it boils over, that will be chaos.

(This was like my sophomore year and I was a little bitch back then, but I think that I was justified in my hormal rage.)

-0-

My body longed for rest and my mind longed to dream, pulling my body through the motions so that it could achieve what it wanted, all while leaving my vessel tried and old. My soul is bound to this body abundant and never ending all while being forced into mortality by the ever-slowing tick tock

(Sometimes I had trouble falling asleep. And my mind would wander for hours, and my body would feel exhausted even though all my mind wanted was to create and imagine, and think.)

-0-

Who are you? Who am I? I feel like I have been here before but have never really understood what it meant to be here. Where is it? Do I sound crazy? Does anyone who is ever truly sane think like this? It is only those who question the rules of life, the self imposed ones at least, that don't seem sane. How do you explain the knowledge that everything will be alright to a person? Does one really need a purpose to survive? What makes us strive for purpose? Surrendering to the knowledge that everything you do in life is meaningless makes it all the more freeing when you realize. You would have to live my life and own my mind inorder to realize what I'm saying. I'm free, but not, my mind knows and I have to trust it. My soul feels light beagle to write this down like it finally was able to say something.

(I think I was having a crisis but this was actually a pretty important part in my maturity as a person. I was struggling with letting things go and being unable to come to terms with the fact that my mother wasn't the person I thought she was and that I needed to do something to risk being squished like other people.)

-0-

Worry not who you are, or who I am.

I've been here before and so have you.

When you discarded clay to be here, it matters not,

We must have been unsound beyond our wits.

Worry not, as you strive for nothing, you are your own companion.

Nothing is everything and Everything is nothing.

How you set the world ablaze in your mind, means nothing in the end.

For all you did was wake the children.

Worry not, for their cries will ease and the world will lull into repose,

Try not to forebode such thoughts, for trouble that might raise the woeful.

Turn your eyes from the loam and look to the welkin,

For it does not exist when searching for the divine.

-0-

My three favorite quotes and life mottos even to this day. Any time I think life is too hard or I do something I'm pretty sure will bite me later, I repeat one of these three.

Head above water and you’ll never drown

Fear is a mile wide and an inch deep

If you're going to be dumb, you gotta be tough

-0-

Doomed to forget

Liked fogged mirrors

Like a singular snowflake,

melting, drying, evaporating

Who was I before the smoke screen

What speech did I take

What appearance did I have

We are born with a slate

But I cannot remember what I carved on it

All I know is; now

(I was struggling in remembering basic stuff and even things that happened to me not even a year after I wrote this. it was really bothering to me because my friends would say something and I would have no recollection of it.

-0-

I did not know what it was,

This pain.

Like a heart string that has never been used before,

A sharp knowing, a cascading fall.

I did not realize that I was falling until I saw the other side,

Like a knife carved their name into my chest like a longing.

I thought it was a myth,

A falsehood.

Of course though,

How could I not know?

I knew, ages ago.

It just took a while for my mind to find the right string.

(I never understood what it meant to fall in love. Nor did I understand what it meant to even feel the emotion, but one day I just had the strangest sensation that while talking to my best friend. I felt my heart string pull, and I thought, am I dying? No. I just felt so overwhelmingly happy and satisfied and content by simply listening to my friend that I inadvertently felt what it was like to love someone who was not my dad or my mother.)

-0-

If only I knew the outcome, I might not be so scared of the pull of my heart.

-0-

If I could go back and speak to my younger self, I would say this:

It was okay to be angry. That was never the issue, but your anger was born of not just pride and the feeling of having your skin flayed open, but of not being able to understand why nothing made sense.

It is my perspective now that allows me to say this. If I could, I wish that I could comfort you with the knowledge that while it did not feel like you were loved by Dad, you were. He held his tongue and gritted your nasty words. Because he knew that one day you would be able to see that you had been blinded, and he knew that you were hurting. Because he had been there before, too.

So don’t worry that it feel hopeless because one day you look out your window and think, “What a beautiful life.”

I’m sorry, I'm sorry and I will never be able to apologise to you or any of the people I hurt. Our pride was wounded and our valor was in pieces, but as of today, we stand tall, so don’t go looking for the burning pain of anger.

(Notes - ‘having your skin flayed open’ was about my mother, I love her, but I can’t be around her. It is difficult to speak to her. And for many years, I falsely accused my dad of being the reason that my life was miserable after their divorce. Now, though I know that he was just trying to escape what I then had to face all alone.)

-0-

I think that I am sad.

Perhaps depressed, but I don’t know what it is that I am feeling. It crawls into my chest and curls itself around my lungs and covers them in an inky blackness that chokes my voice from me. My will to move, to think.

And sometimes it whispers cruel words to me.

But everytime that happens I whisper back: “Tomorrow is a new day. Today is not the end.”

And it will say: “Tomorrow will be a bleak as today, and your mind and words just as twisted and fumbled as now. And the people around you will look at you as though you are stupid.”

Sometimes I pause and think that maybe it is right. That there is no use in fighting the mess in my mind. And maybe people do think that I am stupid, immature, and on occasion, volatile.

But I always say back: “Tomorrow is a new day and a clean slate. You are nothing but the words in my head trying to hurt me. I have not met a single person from reality who says the things you say to me. There is nothing you could say that I have not told myself a hundred times over. So I will conquer your words.”

Chapter Text

I think the biggest problem that I come across in my writing is that I want every character I write to live a good and just life. But that can’t happen. It simply is far beyond the human condition to always possess good and just qualities. I struggle to even write a good villain because I want so deeply for my story to fit into a nice & neat little package that can be given and read though kindly of. 

But that is boring. It’s boring and it's underwhelming. Where’s the drama?! Where’s the articulation of a soul crying out because they believe that their wrongdoings are right? Where does one draw the line between black and white? For surely not all can be grey? (Apologies for my non-contemplatory English) 

This may be a problem that I find in myself. I have a habit of not being able to finish books, maybe I’ll get through the majority or maybe I’ll finish the first two books in the series, but then all of a sudden, when the darkness of a character becomes too much for me I want nothing to do with the story any more. An example of this was Prison Healer. I got through book one, and all but the last eleven minutes and forty-seven seconds of the second. Because the betrayal of the main character was so much that I could not handle it. 

And I know exactly where this stems from, and this is going to sound cliché, but it’s true. My father raised me to have such strong moral convictions that when I even hear about someone hurting another living, breathing human being for their own gain, my brain practically shuts down. I am incapable of perceiving the image or notion of hurting another person. 

Which is why I think that I cannot finish books with strong emotional discord. This is not to say that I haven’t and most of the time I am able to get through it if there is enough good to sway me.

But for me to have a book in such a pessimum is to practically break the laws of reality. Am I strange–perhaps. But I also know I’m not the only one to think like this. I think for a lot of people, the thought of harming someone sounds preposterous. 

This is not to undermine people who do see violence, who have experienced it. For them, this might ring even more true, that the thought of experiencing physical or mental pain is so solely unjust, that those thoughts might never see the light. 

I didn’t think I would get so deep on a post like this, but it is part of the human condition. So, for myself to be a better writer and to show diversity, I must embrace the notion that characters in a book are not real. No matter the context, writing is probably the safest way to express oneself, because if you don’t like it–you can shut the book–exit out of the tab, and never look back. For many reasons, but I would like to have a longer discussion on that, of which is preferably with another person. 

Here is my goal– I want a character that is from a dark perspective, for their flaws to be what makes them a good character, even if what they are doing is inherently bad. That when I write them, people think about their complexity without feeling over- or underwhelmed. 

Chapter Text

Name: Reed

Species: Formerly Human | Now - Mostly Warden

Jist :  

Using the mechanics of the sculk catalyst blocks, they absorbed her body after she fell from the surface level. She broke most of her bones and paralyzed herself. She was aware of the whole thing. Over time, her body was absorbed by the sculk, but instead of killing her, it took over her body like a living mold and changed her biological composition. Become a warden-ish– she still possesses eyes, and her rib cage is not open. But she is more resistant to breaks and diseases. Her eyesight in the dark is nearly perfect, and on the surface, she can barely see and has to wear sunglasses or keep her hair in front of her eyes to shield them. 

–0–

I do not remember much from before the fall, only that it was brighter and far more dangerous than where I am now. I remember running, the air seizing from my lungs and my head pounding, the taiga trees blurring past me in a fever. I looked back to see if…– they were still chasing me. I do not remember who was chasing me or why I was running; I remember only the fear of getting caught spurring me on. I wasn’t looking where I was running and the next thing I knew there was no ground underneath my foot and my body was hurtling forward, my stomach lurching up and becoming weightless. I tried to twist myself around seeing my pursuer before I fell backward into the abyss. 

‘Help me– I’m falling–I'm going to die–I don’t want to die’ 

The whoosh of air howled in my ears, and my clothes snapped and fluttered with the harsh descent. I watched my life flash before my eyes, the spot of light from which I fell getting smaller and smaller as it was surrounded by the dark. I reached my hand out in the dumb hope that someone would catch me— then my body smashed into the ground. Emesse pain ruptured through my back and my head spun, my vision going black, vaguely I heard a shriek– whether it came from me or from something else I do not know. My body pulsed hot, and my heart thundered in my chest. My eyelids fluttered in small glimpses I saw an overwhelming dark and the light from the hole I fell from, I saw a saw black dot appear in the light, and with the next blink, it was gone. 

My eyes shut again, I lay there for a while, the pain from my broken body fading into a numb nothing. I don’t know if I fell asleep or if I died from my injuries, but when I became conscious again; I could not move my body, I could only move my eyes. The spot from which I fell was dark and undesirable from the rest of the abyss, for a moment I thought I was dead and had returned to the void that all things come from– but then I saw little lights blink in and out, small blue lights. They looked like stars– and for another moment I thought that I had hallucinated the fall and was still outside. But I could feel the ground beneath my limbs; it felt nothing like grass, dirt, or even sand. 

It was squishy and soft, like moss. It was likely that I wouldn’t be able to get out of where I was, my legs were unresponsive and my neck felt like a thousand pins and needles had stuck themselves there, and if I shifted pain ruptured from my ribs as they shifted in ways that surely meant they were broken. I would die a slow and painful death at the bottom of a chasm that no one could get to, not that anyone would be looking for me anyway. 

I pursed my lips, tears brimming in my eyes. The small blue dots pulsed and I closed my eyes, I felt hot tears roll down the contours of my face. The cool air of the cave instantly shocked the tear tracks cold. Benithe me I felt whatever I was lying on pulse with my heart beat. I took in a shuddering breath, pain ceased my torso forcing me to stop breathing to counter the pain. Slowly let out the air, closing my eyes to the blue stars. 

Soon the pain became a constant thumb beneath my skin, the beating of my heart the only sound I could distinguish from the constant ringing in silence. At some point, my mind slipped from consciousness and pushed me into a feverish void. A thrumming heat flushed my body and left my mind searching for invisible faces in my dreams.

I do not remember much from before the fall—only that the world above was bright and cruel, far more dangerous than the abyss I now call home. I remember running, my breath tearing from my lungs in ragged gasps, my heartbeat pounding against my ribs like a war drum. The towering taiga trees blurred past me, their dark silhouettes jagged against the sky. I looked back—just once—to see if they were still chasing me. I do not remember their faces or their reasons, only the terror that if they caught me, I would not live to see another dawn.

I wasn’t watching where I was going.

One moment, solid ground was beneath me—the next, it was gone. My stomach lurched into my throat, weightless. Air rushed past me, howling, tearing at my clothes. I twisted, arms flailing, eyes wide, searching for something—anything—to grab onto. But there was nothing.

Nothing but the abyss swallowing me whole.

"Help me—I'm falling—I'm going to die—"

My thoughts fragmented, lost in the deafening wind. The light above shrank, consumed by endless dark. My fingers stretched upward, reaching, hoping—until—

Impact.

Pain—explosive, searing, an agony so vast my mind couldn’t comprehend it. My body shattered on the cavern floor, my breath stolen, my limbs twisted at unnatural angles. My vision blurred, black creeping in at the edges. A distant, piercing sound echoed through the dark—I did not know if it was my own scream or something lurking in the void.

I lay there, broken. My pulse pounded in my ears, a distant drum fading into silence. My fingers twitched, barely. My legs did not move. My ribs—when I breathed, they shifted, like daggers driven into my own flesh.

I could not move.

Time slipped, or perhaps it stopped altogether. The only light came from the distant hole above, a pale, unreachable star. I stared at it, waiting for something—rescue, death, anything. But then—

Tiny blue lights flickered in the dark.

They pulsed, faint and ghostly, like dying stars scattered across the cavern floor. My breath hitched. For a moment, I thought I was outside again, staring at the night sky, and the fall had been nothing but a fevered dream. But the ground beneath me was not earth. It was soft, spongy, wrong.

Something was beneath me.

It throbbed.

A slow, rhythmic pulse—beating in time with my own heart.

A shuddering breath left my lips, sharp with pain. Tears slipped down my cheeks, their warmth instantly cooled by the cavern air. My body was ruined. I would die here, in this endless dark. No one was coming. No one even knew I had fallen.

The blue lights pulsed again.

And then—

The ground moved.

It spread over me, cool tendrils of soft moss slithering, weaving into my flesh. My nerves screamed in protest, but my body was too broken to resist. It sank into my skin, seeped into my bones, and the pain became something deeper—hot and pulsating. My breathing stopped, my vision blurred, and the world turned black.

Somewhere in the fevered dark, I felt the slow, patient rhythm of a second beat.

Time slipped from me again, my body long since giving up on relaying the pain it once screamed. I lay there for what felt like eternity, long enough to watch the distant sliver of sky above shift from light to dark, over and over, until I lost count. My memories faded, slipping like sand through my fingers no matter how desperately I clung to them. I tried to preserve them—to hold onto the face of someone I had once known, the reason I had run, the name I had once had. But with each passing of the light above, my vision in the dark sharpened, and the memories of my past dulled.

Pain no longer existed. Neither fear nor loss. My body no longer felt like my own, only an extension of the abyss itself, woven into the blinking blue stars that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. Or was it their heartbeat I was following? I no longer knew where I was, nor why I continued to exist. At some point, I convinced myself that I had died—that I had slipped beyond life’s grasp, embraced at last by the endless silence of the Void Mother.

But I was wrong.

One day, a blinding light cut through the dark. It was far, distant, but unmistakable. A terrible thought crept into my mind—perhaps this is it. Perhaps this is when I am taken back to the world of the living, to be reborn, to be given another chance.

But then I heard them.

Whispers.

Slow, deliberate footsteps.

A long-forgotten fear slithered into my chest, smothering my lungs in an inky well. They were here. The ones I had run from. The ones who had hunted me. I no longer remembered who they were, nor why they had chased me, but my body knew. My pulse quickened, a ghost of the terror I once felt on the surface returning in a violent tremor.

Had it truly been them? Or was it only my mind, fractured and decayed, piecing together old nightmares to fit the unfamiliar reality?

It didn’t matter.

I couldn’t move. It should have been obvious—lying here, broken, twisted, something barely human anymore. Perhaps they would see me. Perhaps they would try to save me.

A foolish thought.

The blue stars pulsed. The ground beneath me thrummed in response.

I could feel it now—every vibration, every careful footstep pressing into the earth above me. The ground called to me, whispering through each ripple in the abyss. The approaching light was excruciating, stabbing into my vision like hot needles. My eyes, accustomed to endless dark, burned with the strain, forcing me to shut them tight. Around me, the blue lights dimmed, shrinking back into near nonexistence, as if retreating into the shadows where they belonged.

But I never saw who carried the light.

A screech tore through the cavern, sharp and guttural. The walls caught the sound and hurled it back in twisted echoes. Voices followed—frantic, rising in confusion and fear. The pulsing beneath me turned erratic, shockwaves rippling through the ground, over my body, through me. It crawled beneath my skin, slithering like a thousand writhing ants, burrowing into my last remaining pocket of consciousness.

I wanted it to stop.

I wanted them to leave.

I thought I wanted to be saved, but not like this—not if this was how it felt.

Their footsteps trampled over the blue stars without care, each careless step like a knife against my skin. It hurt. A soundless, aching agony that was not my own, yet somehow was. The shriek came again, splitting through my skull and tearing it in two. My body rigid, unwilling—unable—to move.

The pulsing quickened.

Then, a deep, rumbling growl rolled through the abyss.

The blue stars trembled, something shifting loose from their depths. A roar followed, raw and earth-shaking, rattling through the cavern like a force of nature unleashed. Panicked shouts erupted, and the screech of metal against metal rang out—steel clashing in desperation.

And then—

Heavy footsteps.

They pressed into the stars, but unlike the lighter ones, they did not send shockwaves. They did not disturb the pulsing rhythm beneath me. They pulse in tandem with my raging heartbeat.

I didn’t know what it was that could be so large and yet so comforting, that every step seemed to soothe the black and blue mass, as it rid me and the rest of the squirming ants. The screams and clashes of metal rose in a cacophony of noise before they were silenced. 

The black and blue abyss stretched and crawled, and I could feel the lifeblood of those people seep into the rest of the abyss. It was like cool waves of water brushing over me, a soothing balm that wiped out any form of discomfort in the abyss. What felt like the biggest feeling of relief swept through me at the complete silence that engulfed me. 

I felt the heavy footsteps 

(I stopped here.)

Chapter Text

There is a room in my childhood home that could be called “The Dark Room” in actuality. Not because it was a dark room, for cameras and the like, but because it is the room where I spent my most miserable years of my teens. My father, too, spent several years in that room; he was the one who installed the lock on it. 

I was naive in my pre-teen years as to why my father would lock himself in that room after he came home from work. Why would he ignore my Mother yelling outside. It took him leaving, physically moving out, for me to understand the depth of why that room was a safe haven and a prison at the same time. 

I hate that room. 

But at the same time, it was the only thing getting me through those years of misery. 

When my Father officially divorced my Mother and moved out, it took me only a few months before I took over the room with a lock and a bathroom. 

The same torture that my father had endured from my mother was then thrust onto me. 

“Why do you glare at me like that?! You look just like your father!”

I'm not glaring.

“Tell me–You have to tell me! It's for the sake of my family!”

It's not that important.

“Do you know how hard I work to raise you and your brother?! You ungrateful brat!”

I have never seen you raise shit.

Over and over in those first few months, she would barge into my room to talk to me. About nothing and everything. To complain, to cry. To tell her 12-year-old daughter about how she was lonely and depressed. How nothing seemed to matter anymore. How Dad was a monster. How he had abused her. He yelled and screamed at her. 

I never saw any of that. Children see everything.

So I shoved everything I owned into the tiny room and locked the door. It could barely fit a twin-sized mattress. How had Dad lived like this?

I barely slept. Writing this now, I barely remember what I endured–I never want to remember. I don’t want to think about how my Dad had to do the same for 20 long years compared to my measly 4. 

I never left that room. 

I would come home from school before she got home from work and shut myself away with food. I would only come out when the house was dark. 

That room kept me sane. 

I remember it very clearly, the day I decided enough was enough. That I wasn’t going to wither away in that room anymore. That I wasn’t going to look back. Possessions be damned, clothing be damned. 

It was one of the worst screaming matches I had ever had. I cried. I never cry–especially not to an emotion sucking vampire like her. Tears were a way for her to deflect her wrongdoings. To try and comfort me. I did not want to be comforted by a walking, talking bin of lies and idiocy. So when she told me to go to my room. That I was grounded. 

I had a moment where I realised that I was smarter than this. That my life was my own. That I did not have to be anywhere I did not want to be. And would have rather been standing in front of the gates of hell rather than in that room. In that house. 

I showered, made my bed, and cleaned my room. I wasn’t coming back. 

When I stepped out of that room, she asked me, “Are you going to apologise and tell me?” 

No. I’m going to Dad's.

“You can’t do that. I’ll call the cops and tell them you ran away.”

Then I’ll tell child protective services that I hate living here and that you are a terrible mother and that I want to live with Dad.

She didn’t say anything after that. I left before I could rethink it, doubt the decision. 

I don’t regret that decision. I only wish I had done it sooner. Wish I was more thankful to my dad, wish that I wasn’t such an asshole to him, wish that I hadn’t believed my mother's lies about him for so long. 

There was poison in the well, making me go mad, and I found the antidote.