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The sight of red always warmed her cold, dead heart.
Melaine never understood why such a color brought her comfort. It wasn't as if she didn't want to know—she never cared enough to actively seek out the reason. Besides, what use would that knowledge be to her? Pointless, pointless.
Maybe it would have had some worth to know and have insight about herself, but she didn't have the time. And even if she knew why, it probably wasn't a normal reason. No one is inherently good, or inherently bad, so it's expected that whatever caused her to like the color red wasn't good or bad, either.
She reached out, her hand trembling as she watched the beam of sunlight pass through the gaps of her fingers. It was warm, unlike the cold stone floor. Not as warm as the blood on her hands, staining her nails and trickling down to her arm.
Despite the light shining down and her fuzzy vision, she could see the stark contrast of her blood and skin. A bright red against pale, sickly skin. It looked beautiful to her, in a way.
There was an allure to how bright the red of blood looked, something that always caught her attention. Even that woman noticed her liking to it, annoying as it was.
“Well, isn't this interesting?” The blonde woman asked, leaning over the child’s shoulder to stare at what she was holding.
“What is interesting?” The child asked, raising a brow at how the woman shamelessly snatched the kimono from her hands. “Isn't this style a bit too old for ya’, Mel-chan~?” The woman asks, curiously looking over the red garment.
“I can spend my money on whatever I want,” ‘ Mel ‘ pouts, tugging the fabric stubbornly to silently ask the woman to return it. “A bold choice, though. I know they were pretty strict about raising ya’, but this is a bit much,” the woman hums, rubbing her thumb against the red kimono.
“The color is nice,” Mel murmurs, tugging harder. “Pfft-hah!—that’s it?” The woman snorts, roughly patting Mel’s head, “You really like red, huh…” She stares at the fabric a bit more.
“You should hide this though,” she says after a moment, carelessly tossing the fabric on the child’s head.
“I know,” Mel mumbles, feeling the soft fabric with her fingers. “I know.”
… What was she thinking, reminiscing about that woman, of all people? Another face surfaced in her head, and maybe it isn't so bad to think about her, even in her final moments.
Melaine could smell the faint scent of smoke, and she didn't remember when she closed her eyes, but the smell was stronger like this. She could hear her heart too, still beating. The warmth pooling beneath her back was beginning to fade, and she regretted not watching her hair get soaked by her own blood. It would have been mesmerizing, maybe. Something to watch and appreciate, to forget about her incoming death and failure.
Ah. Failure. What led to her bleeding out on her god’s sacred altar like this, again?
Right, the sacrifice failed. It failed so horribly, because a pest just couldn't keep his grievances to himself. Melaine forced her eyes to open and turn her head, to stare at the young girl beside her.
She was young and frail, for someone so stubborn and smart. She wasn't the best vessel for her god, but it was predestined—Melaine didn't want to disobey.
Somehow, somewhere, she mourned that they failed. They failed to make the prophecy into reality, to create the perfect vessel for their god. Maybe it was a bit too ambitious of her, but she did her best to make it real. But now, right as her dreams, her happiness were just at the tips of her fingers, someone had to ruin it.
… It was her fault, in a way. Hesitation will always come at a cost, and she shouldn't have hesitated to cut that man’s throat. Always clean up the obstacles, or whatever that psycho woman said. He was the last of her family, though.
… Family?
Preposterous.
It was absurd for her to bother with something as trivial as family. How could she even call that traitor family? She really should have killed him right then and there, along with the burning manor.
It was too late, now. The sacrifice failed, each of the vessels was either wounded or maybe dead, and everything else will get burned and buried in ash. All her hard work, for nothing.
Curse that man. She swore to haunt him for the rest of his pathetic life, then the next, and she would haunt him forever—until even her soul shattered.
“... Melaine..?”
Just as she turned toward the familiar voice, her vision blurred—and everything was black.