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…Nihility, an overwhelming curse of pure nothingness. A wretched void Acheron swore to eradicate, even at the cost of her own life. A curse that, in moments like these, sometimes grows too crushing to bear alone.
Raindrops flutter meaninglessly against the crimson umbrella hoisted by the Emanator, as she trudges through the hollow forest writhe with agonising emptiness and bones of the fallen. The distant white hole flickering from afar is the only entity guiding her steps forward gradually.
Where was she headed? Why was she striding towards the gleaming light? She had long forgotten a few hundred steps back, eyes devoid of emotion as she put one foot rhythmically in front of the other, cheeks tickling from the sensation of her tears, painted scarlet from her makeup, delicately streaming down her face.
“Lost again, dear~?”
The extraordinarily rare sound of a voice in the whispers of the nihil sea makes her gaze dart upwards, let alone a voice that sounded so oddly familiar. She clutches her head as it pulsates, her vision and her memory growing unbearably hazy once more. A hand grips her shoulder, as Constance sneaks her way under the umbrella, constricting her arms around the neck of the Emanator.
“Relax, sweetheart…it’s just me. Don’t tell me you reduced my old man into nothing but mere memorabilia just to forget my name?”
Constance teases, a layer of sweet sugar hiding the venom beneath. She gently licks Acheron’s tears away. Worryingly, the Emanator remained unresponsive to her touch, lost in a tide of silent suffering. Constance leans in, snuggling into the crook of her neck as her tail flicks affectionately behind her.
“...Shh, focus on my voice, darling.”
The Duke’s favorite daughter lightly purrs, pecking at her cheek as if her lips were magnetically attracted to Acheron’s skin, stained with watery mascara and the weight of the void laying within the bags beneath her eyes. She’s never quite seen the self-annihilator so…vulnerable, yet she still remains so captivating to the lady in white. Constance carefully caresses her temple with a finger, attempting to stimulate her brain and bring her back to as much normalcy as she can. Dragging her slowly out of hollow despair.
A flicker of life returns to the enchanting yet dangerous violet eyes of the Emanator. She lazily glances down at the Cremator tucked against her like a serpent squeezing the air from her lungs. The vulnerability Acheron had unknowingly gifted to Constance drained in an instant as she resumed her monotonous walking. Her voice rings out as nothing but a mere mutter.
“Thank you…”
A simple response, to some it may even come across as dismissal, yet to Constance it was fuel shoved into the burning flames of her desires. Before Acheron could fully walk away, Constance’s tail coiled itself around her hand. The Emanator stopped in her tracks, though didn’t bother to turn and face the Cremator, whose voice is uncharacteristically lacking in composure.
“Leaving so soon, sweetheart? Come now…” Her fingers intertwine with Acheron’s outstretched hand. Two fingers creeping up her arm like an obsessive spider crawling meticulously towards its prey.
“...When is it my turn to have you all to myself?” Constance bites her lip, utterly enraptured by the woman who refuses to give her even a glimpse of her emotions.
“Your turn, Constance?”
“Yes, darling…my turn.” Constance slowly snakes her way back under the umbrella, raindrops dripping off her horn as she captures Acheron’s waist from behind.
“I was watching, you know? Watching when you and that arrogant Swan shared that irritatingly gorgeous dance together.” The Cremator presses her lips to Acheron’s ear, sultry voice tingling throughout her body.
“I even had a hand in making it just that bit more…exciting, for our favourite little birdie.”
“...Your point being?” Acheron utters, her tone unimpressed and impartial to every facet of the world spinning around her.
“...Oh, how jealous it made me, of course! That you would accept an invitation from her and not me…how badly I wanted to be the one to gaze into your mind and be torn apart limb from limb! A-Ah~...”
Constance pants, nearly stumbling to the ground in a deep swoon. Acheron sighs, despite her annoyance, she cautiously clutches one of the Cremator’s hands rested on her stomach.
“You would truly dance with me here? In this bleak, desolate hollow forest deprived of pomp and circumstance. Not quite the same, is it?”
“With a woman like you as the lead, my dear? The rain is more than enough of a chorus to our nihilistic ballad, don’t you think?”
“You have a dangerously silver tongue, sweetheart.”
“Only for you, darling~.”
Acheron chuckles, somehow, this viper has slithered her way into her heart coated in black, nihil tumours. The Emanator effortlessly twirls the other lady, dipping her down as the umbrella, as well as Constance’s flower adorned hat, is ditched to the wind and rain falls upon them with reckless abandon.
“You truly are something special, Constance. To stab the back of every being that dares let themselves be ensnared into your life, family or friend…yet still come off so effortlessly charming. I can see why Black Swan finds you so…frustrating, to put it lightly.”
Constance’s face flushes, as a giggle escapes her throat. Her clawed hand strokes the tender skin of the Emanator’s cheek, the tattoo resting on her tongue glows as her lips twist into a crazed grin.
“And you, my grim reaper, are utterly enchanting. The sights you’ve seen…the blood you’ve shed…the things you could do to me.” Acheron twirls Constance around as she gushes, what was gentle rain turns into tumultuous thunder, as if responding to their every movement intertwined as one.
“...Don’t you dare even get me started on that velvety voice, the way you hold me like the most precious gem in the galaxy. It’s growing ever so difficult not to fall in love with you, Acheron.”
“Then let yourself fall, sweetheart. Even if you get lost and disassembled by the claws of nihility along the way, I promise to catch you.”
Constance obsessively drags Acheron to the ground with her, cutting their routine short with a kiss so searing steam emits from their lips. Lightning strikes in all directions beside them, nothing but white noise to the ladies entangled within each other. Acheron finally manages to surgically remove her lips from the Cremator’s, a line of saliva still remaining as proof of their passion.
“I love you…” Constance whispers desperately as Acheron lays atop her with all her weight for a long while, subtly heaving. Their hearts beat in sync with each other as the Emanator sneaks kisses to the corner of her lips and her horn. Acheron eventually stands, picking up her umbrella and placing Constance’s hat on her chest as her legs tense and twist.
“...That was…lovely. Until next time, Constance. Hopefully we’re granted a few more pleasant encounters like this together. Though knowing you, I fear that may not be the case.”
Acheron teases, the smirk on her face betraying how comfortable she feels in this moment, how Constance’s charms have managed to touch even her tortured heart.
“Pleasant or not, I certainly won’t be complaining about some more quality time with my darling grim reaper. Until then, do take care.”
Acheron nods, before her gaze flickers back to the foreboding void bathed in white, wandering towards it like a moth to a flame. Constance bursts into a fit of giggles, kicking her feet.
“...And I hope when that day finally comes, when I betray you like all the others. You’ll make my death a most romantic one, My beloved Mei.”