Chapter Text
“If You Would Not Reward Me Love, Then I Will Indulge in rage”
-Frankenstein, Guillermo del Toro
“She thinks of the patterns burned into the cows and how sometimes belonging to someone hurts.”
-If found, please return to, ovenglovee
When she was five. Celine told Rumi never to touch the Hon-moon again.
She was sitting before her mother's grave, trying to miss a woman she had never known and reconcile her with the mother Rumi had known her entire life.
Rumi only had other people's memories of Mi-yeong. Only Celine's perception of her. Rumi wanted to know how the woman beneath the gravestone interacted with the woman who was left above it. She knows the stories of course. Of Celine and her hunters defending the mortal realm. Stories of their years on the stage.
In these stories Celine is happy. She laughs when she tells them. Her eyes unfocused and far away from Rumi’s own. Rumi has never known Celine to be happy. Sometimes, Rumi wonders if Celine is two different people. She wonders if Celine was irrevocably changed somewhere between Mi-yoeng’s death and Rumi’s birth.
They were deep thoughts for a child. One’s that didn't really make sense and kept veering off into the lands of tigers and dragons and forests. She was getting bored. Meditating here like Celine told her to. She was digging her blunt nails into the dirt and the grass instead of keeping them folded neatly in her lap.
The Hon-moon had been sitting with her patiently. Like it usually does. She has always been able to see it. To hear it. To watch it hum. It was her constant companion. A silent sentinel.
Rumi had been trying to keep her space from it. Listening to Celine’s headed warnings. She wasn’t supposed to touch the Hon-moon. She wasn’t supposed to interact with it in any way. That was dangerous. Especially for Rumi.
Rumi had only patted it. The lines had pleaded so gently to be pet, to be touched. It wanted Rumi to sing to it. The Hon-moon wanted Rumi to dance with it. It wanted Rumi to laugh and play in the hot sun instead of sitting there and grieving a woman she didn’t know.
She had only barely reached out. It’s not often someone, or something, wanted to play with her.
The small electric shock the Hon-moon gives her makes her giggle. It teases her with light brushes against her feet. The touch is so comforting and familiar. Like laying in Celine’s arms in the years before the woman stopped rocking her to sleep. The Hon-moon feels like being tucked beneath a blanket and kissed gently on the forehead. Like Celine used to do before the sight of Rumi’s glowing yellow eye warded her away.
It feels like something unfamiliar to her too. Like a gentle hand on her brow, smoothing away worry lines that aren't there. It feels like laughing on hot summer days and the cool touch of the lake on Celine’s property.
She doesn’t even notice her tight control loosening. She doesn't notice the fur growing on her arms or the patterns that appear with it. The tail that sprouts from her spine or the ears that stick out, fluffy and wide from her head.
She notices the way it dances happily as Rumi relaxes into its playful energy. The way it rubs up against her cheek like a caress. No, like a cat. Like a soft touch. The kind Rumi experiences so little. Her control over her happiness breaks. She leans into it. She doesn't notice the monstrous way her body contorts as she laughs with delight.
Celine notices though. She notices and her tight grip on the back of Rumi’s shirt drags her away from the first soft touch she’s felt in months. The fabric is rough against her neck but Celine is careful not to touch her fur.
In her fear. Rumi’s stomach tightens and the tiger-like features sink back into her skin. Away from sight. Like they always are. Like Rumi makes sure they are.
“Don’t touch that! Rumi, Never touch that. Never touch it again. Do you understand?”
Celine is staring down at her, her eyes wide and her pupils the size of pin pricks. Celine is trembling, her hands falling from Rumi’s shirt to grip her forearms harshly and shake her. It’s a light shake, as if she was only getting Rumi’s attention and not jolting fear through her limbs.
Rumi knows Celine is only touching her because she looks like a normal girl now. A normal child. A child who could be wanted and not locked behind barred cages to be gawked at. Celine wouldn’t be touching her if she was still dressed in her demonic fur.
“Yes, Celine. I didn’t mean to- I just-"
“You can’t let it touch you, Rumi. The Hon-moon is wild. Dangerous.” Rumi has never seen this kind of fear in Celine before. It’s a fear that forces Celine to touch her. To grip her arms with bruising strength, nearly lifting her from the ground.
The worst part is; Celine is lying.
What Celine really meant to say is that the Hon-moon is dangerous to her. Because she isn't human. Not fully. Not yet. If she lets the Hon-moon touch her she’s letting the Hon-moon touch that monster. The one with the patterns and the fur. The one that Celine hates. The one Rumi tries to hate. It’s because of that monster Celine won’t touch her.
The power of the Hon-moon would make the demon dangerous. Strong. It makes the demon want to come out and play. To leave patterns on Rumi’s skin. To grow fur out of her limbs. Celine hates the demon.
Rumi has a secret. There is no demon. Or there is but it's her. She is the demon. Celine thinks there is some ‘other’. An ‘other’ that possesses her body and forces the demonic tail to sprout from her spine. An ‘other’ that she can cut out and then have a perfect normal girl.
Rumi knows the truth. She knows that the patterns are hers. They always have been. There is no demon. She is the demon.
Celine hates the demon but Rumi is part of Mi-Yoeng and Celine has loved no one more. So she trains her to be two things. The demon girl and the human girl. The unwanted and the manageable.
This way, Celine can both love and hate her.
—
Rumi learns Celine's disciplines. Even though the demon isn’t really inside her, Rumi learns to separate it from herself. She learns to treat the demon as an ‘other’ even though the demon is her. She learns to be two things; a monster and a daughter.
She learns to cook. To sprinkle the leaves from the garden into the pots on the stove top. She feeds herself food other than souls. It’s an important lesson for a demon. Sustenance for she who has never tasted a soul.
Other than her own of course. And the thing that is the Hon-moon that is not quite soul and definitely not soulless. She has never tasted Celine’s but the woman keeps hers locked away like Rumi keeps her demon locked away.
Instead of souls, Rumi finds that she likes red meat. Steaks and chewy fat. She likes the taste and the way it makes the demon that is herself grumble happily.
Celine doesn't like that. Her face will contort as she watches Rumi dig into the flesh with fervor. Rumi makes a point to start learning utensil edicate and to set the table to higher standards. She also uses a steak knife instead of her teeth to rip the bloody meat to shreds.
Celine teaches her how to hide. She learns to keep that side of herself back. The side that likes meat that sits on the side of too raw and wants to chuff and grumble like an animal. She tucks her growls away. She tucks herself away. She learns to treat it like it’s an ‘other’. Just like Celine does.
In the years that follow she learns meditation. She learns to keep herself just out of reach of the Hon-moon. Just out of reach of that delicate touch, she doesn’t need it. The demon is the one that needs it and the demon is separate from her.
The Hon-moon doesn't seem to agree. It reaches out to her with its strings. If it had arms it would try to hug her. The Hon-moon cries shamelessly. Begs Rumi to come back. To reach across the distance between them. Rumi ignores it.
Rumi learns to lay in the grass and tuck her feelings away. To lock them in the boxes of her soul and get lost in the delicate touch of the grass. Little fingers reaching up to hold her above the dirt. Like a bed. It reminds her of being held. It pales in comparison to the Hon-moon but it is a touch all the same.
She learns how to fight. She is Celine’s prized student and her only student. She soaks in direction like a sponge and learns to mimic. She mimics both Celine movements and her fighting style. She copies her emotions, her detached expressions, her control over herself.
She learns how to defend herself with wooden swords and wooden long sticks. She learns to stand without the Hon-moon. Without any touch at all.
Her favorite thing she learns are the plants. She learns how to plant and weed. How to build flower beds from wood and wire. She loves to lean over the side of the wooden walls of the beds and tuck the plants in with bare hands against rich dirt.
She likes the way a plant's green leaves feel against her skin. The soft kisses they leave against her callouses and cuts. Rumi excels in this discipline. She is far better at it than meditation and cooking. Celine likes it too, she has to touch Rumi far less in the garden.
Rumi loves gardening so much that she delves past Celine’s teachings. Rumi learns soil acidity and rainfall from the dusty tombs of the compound’s library. She spends her weekends kneeling before the wooden beds with the book held delicately in her lap. Thumbing the name scrawled in black ink on the front.
It’s not Celine's name.
Not only that but Rumi learns the plants themselves through trial and error. What the blueberry bushes need to thrive compared to the blackberries. The strawberries and the apples.
She learns how to grow the flowers even though they have no use for them. Their only addition to the farm is beauty. In the garden that used to be her mothers Rumi learns that not everything needs to have a purpose. She learns that her mother who lives six feet below the tombstone had space in her heart for useless things.
Rumi likes this training. She likes her fingers digging into the dark rich earth. The black dirt fills her nail beds and sticks into her skin like needles. The berries stain her fingers and her lips. Stab her tongue in tart and sweetness.
On the hot sunny days, when Rumi is pulling the weeds from the beds before they can take root. Celine will sit close to her. Not touching, never touching. But the older woman's warmth will traverse the space between them. Rumi can feel her.
Rumi thinks that Celine forgets it is her that she is sitting next to. Celine somewhere, somehow convinces herself it's Mi-Yoeng there; not Rumi. Not the demonic child Mi-Yeong left behind in her stead.
That’s why Celine sits so close. Close enough to feel her warmth. Listen to her soft breath. Rumi can almost hear the sound of the woman’s eye lashes blinking.
Rumi will take the affection anyway she can. She isn’t picky. She likes just being with the plants anyway. Their steady presence. The way they reach towards the touch of the sun. unashamed.
The leaves of the plant are soft. They caress. They don't lean away from her. They don’t flinch from her dark fingers. Sometimes. Rumi fools herself into thinking that if she stayed very, very still as they grew they would grow around her in an embrace. A hug
Rumi wonders what it would take to sit for that long. If she could meditate for that long. If Celine would be proud of her then. Maybe if she locked herself away so fully she became a sculpture; Celine would love her.
She never does sit for long enough though. Instead, Celine herds her inside and stews tea made with the blue flowers that grow wild in the forest behind the compound. Rumi knows what they are. She thinks Celine must know too or she wouldn’t make so much tea with them.
Blue Spider Lillies.
They don’t grow in gardens. They only grow wild and inconsistently. They fail when planted in a flower bed. Celine has an entire section of the garden dedicated to them, trying to figure out why they won’t flower for her.
They had grown for Mi-Yeong. Sprouting up between the cracks in the walking path throughout the compound.
They had died with her.
—--
When she’s 15; Rumi burns her life to the ground..
Celine had left her on the training concrete for only a moment. Just to get water. Rumi was bruised and trembling from hours of sparring. Yet, still Rumi couldn’t beat her. Rumi couldn't come close. She could only try desperately to defend herself as Celine’s hits became harder.
She is no match for her teacher and Celine knows it. Celine hates it.
Rumi had only wanted to pull a sword from the dancing strings. She wanted to prove to Celine that she was good. Strong. That she was in control. but at her first touch, following the directions of controlled breath and movement, the Hon-moon had burnt her hand so badly her skin cracked and bled.
It’s her own fault. She caught the barrier off guard. It snapped in fear. The touch of a demon isn’t something to be ignored. It isn't something to be treated lightly. Though, the touch of a demon is not usually so soft.
Rumi had tried to control the strings and instead they burned her. They sparked and combusted as soon as she tried to reach out to them. Biting at her like a dog that doesn’t recognise her scent anymore.
Rumi scrambles away. Betrayed by the one thing she was sure wouldn't hurt her. No matter what Celine said. The Hon-moon was its own thing. It is its own wild animal. Rumi never thought it would bite her.
The Hon-moon dances in apology but Rumi snarls at it, tears streaming down her face. It brushes against her, it tries to soothe her pain but it only makes it worse.
The touch is too soft. Too comforting. The Hon-moon wines in shared pain and nuzzles up to her. Too fast and too close. She can feel her skin contorting from the touch. She’s uncomfortable just as much as she craves the caress.
Celine must have felt the echoing panic in the Hon-moon because she quickly finds her amongst the trees, bent over on the slab of concrete meant for training combat styles, sobbing. Her blackened hand held closely to her chest as tremors wracked through her body.
Rumi knows better than to cry but the pain hurt so bad and the touch of the Hon-moon had opened something in her chest she didn’t know how to put back away. Like her emotions have become the fiery dragons of myth beating at her body to be let loose.
She couldn't stop herself from leaning into it desperately. Letting the centuries old barrier take her weight. Take her sorrow.
Rumi didn’t know how to control them. Her emotions. She didn’t know how to keep them hidden away like Celine had taught her too. In her panic, she could feel her control over her own human form loosen. Her ears began to elongate, along with her jaw, her teeth and the very bridge of her nose.
The Hon-moon and her wild emotions are consuming her and Rumi wants them to. She wants it to take away her pain and the way she craves letting the demon control her. She is so tired. Her emotions that used to only nip at her heels like stray pups bite like dogs and dig into her. Her body is changing.
Even as Celine wraps her harshly in her arms and tries to squeeze her back together. The harsh touch is too much. It only makes it worse. Celine pulls her into her arms after Rumi has already failed.
She tries desperately to rein herself back in. But Rumi can't do it. She can’t do it.
“Rumi-” Celine gasps, hugging the girl to her chest, horrified as she watches Rumi twist and snarl in pain. The girl's limbs are cracking and stretching in ways they shouldn't. “Rumi, you need to calm down.”
“I can’t breathe.” Rumi gasps, her voice coming garbled and strained. It’s true. She can’t breathe. Her diaphragm is shaking too much and her lungs refuse to take in a full breath. She wants to be laying in the grass behind the house but instead she is being held by both Celine and the Hon-moon and the feeling is far too much.
“I know, darling, I know but you need to try.” Celine murmurs, her hands are shaking like they did that day. The day she grabbed Rumi by the forearms and shook her. Rumi doesn’t think she means to shake her now but the fear fills her all the same. “Come on, baby.”
“I’m sorry I touched it- I didn't mean to.” Rumi sobs, trying to curl in on herself. Her arms are covered in fur and stripes and she glows in the fading sunlight of the day. She had told Celine she would never let the demon take her again but she can’t help it. Her pleas for forgiveness dissolve into a chant. “I can't, I can't, I can't."
Celine is murmuring a different chat; one that is far softer and smoother. “Breathe in , breathe out. We are hunter’s, voices strong-”
“Celine, I can't!” Rumi sobs, snarling and tearing herself out of the woman's arms. Away from the Hon-moon’s touch. Celine stares at her in shock. Her mouth opens and closes quickly as if she is stuttering over her words without making a sound. Rumi hugs her patterns to her body with shaking hands. Trying to hide them from Celine’s sight.
Celine hates them. She always has.
“You can, I know you can.” Celine scrambles after her but Rumi keeps her distance, watching as the woman’s eyes fill with tears. “Blue spider Lily,” she stammers. “The ones that grow in the meadow just there.” She points past the trees behind the compound. The endless forest where the lake sits beyond. “You love those flowers. They’re calming flowers. Just take a deep breath and i’ll make you a cup of their tea-”
“You can’t heal a demon, Celine!” Rumi growls, louder than she meant to, her voice cracking. The Blue Spider Lily isn't just a pretty flower. Rumi knows it. Celine does too. They bother read Mi-yeong’s books. The ones with the flowers and their myths. The ones with her name scrawled across the front. Celine knew they were just myths but she brewed the Spider Lilly tea anyway. “There is no hiding it away. It is what I am!”
“Don’t say that, Rumi.” Celine shakes her head as if banishing the thought. “You just need to calm down. Your emotions are out of control. Think about the garden! Your hands in the dirt. The tang of a fresh berry. The strawberries will be ripe soon.”
It suddenly occurs to Rumi that; she will have to do this dance forever. She’ll have to pretend that she and Celine don’t already know that there is no demon monster to stuff away deep inside her soul. Rumi is the demon, and there is no hiding from that. You can’t hide from yourself.
She will crave Celine’s touch everyday and never get it. She wants Celine to be proud of her, to love her and Celine never will.
Because Rumi was a demon before she was ever Celine’s daughter and no matter how hard she pushes it down and hides her patterns, Celine will see right through her. She’ll see through her like only a mother could.
Rumi can feel her resolve crumble. Her discipline drops to the concrete below and clinks like unlocked chains against it. For the first time in a long time she feels incredibly free. Her chest rumbles in tune with the Hon-moons home and she chuffs the air with a jaw that is no longer a human's.
For the first time in a long time, Rumi growls like an animal.
Celine scrambles back, hands behind her and holding her up as she looks up into the Demons glowing yellow eyes.