Chapter Text
Cleo spun the cylinder of her revolver. She clutched Yuki's index finger in her right hand, feeling the creases of the leather glove with a tense, methodical motion.
She could still taste the sourness of the plum they shared earlier under her tongue.
It lingered, not enough to be bothersome but remaining an unshakable constant, like the strange warmth spreading like cancer under her skin after Yuki kisses her.
They had lay tangled in the backseat of their car that was definitely under their legal ownership and not at all stolen, catching a last catnap. The scent of old tobacco and citrus perfume seeped from every crevice of the vehicle.
Yuki's gaze was pinned to her and flickering over every joint and corner.
Cleo looked scared, didn't she? She felt as much. A case disturbing, I mean, I'm already dead. But this trip wasn't nearly as simple as the usual putting a bullet in someone's forehead. Nothing had been more wrong than driving here, watching for that familiar sinking sensation in her chest like catching a glimpse of your date as they cross the street outside your arranged cafe.
—Cleo's next thoughts left her. Was she finally
—Cleo shivers.
It was so very rare for the easygoing her to feel this strongly. And it wasn't really the past that weighed so much on the precipice of Cleo’s mind, but rather Yuki's trailing after like a dog. Yuki was in every way possible too good for the world. For Cleo, for anyone else—but Cleo had never been ashamed of being the occasional selfish brute, has she?
Her selfishness had meant digging into the very centre of Yuki's amateur heart. But despite all they'd seen of each other, to be dependant was to be weak, was it not? Cleo was anything but weak.
The imposing mansion before them casted a grim shadow, and Cleo shook like a leaf though she had long forgotten what the cold felt like. Tangles of muted green wove together to form a blanket over the mansion's intricate exterior.
She couldn't find it in herself to approach the door first. Truthfully, she'd considered coming alone. She wondered now if she should have stuck with that instinct.
Cleo liked to think of herself as impermeable, even now.
Yuki walked up the stone steps as if approaching an altar. For someone as elusive as Cleo, this place may as well be her heart, and for the time being this was the most she could afford to give Yuki.
Shriveling vines barring the entrance gave away under Yuki's blade, edge sharpened hours prior hacking easily through fibre. Precision wasn't a trait that came naturally to Yuki, and in the irritated way she stabbed at a particularly pesky burr Cleo could see her usual habit itching to rear its head, but somehow it's like she knew this place was different—special, though Cleo really didn't give a damn what method she used to peel back obstacles in their way. Yuki was something of an anomaly. So human, so real, so very different from Cleo. She liked that about her.
Feigning ignorance to the odd look Yuki shot her, she called for them to get a start on it. When Cleo knocked, only a halfhearted whistling of wind responds. A few seconds passed as they wait motionless, but the entrance showed no sign of budging.
Yuki suggested picking the lock.
A pit opened in Cleo's stomach. Of course, she didn't want to, but what if that was the only way? Well, surely it's not a big deal. Cleo owed that girl courtesies but not quite comfort.
Cleo agreed.
Yuki handed her the pin and she got to work.
Soon enough the doors swung open with a wail, condemning their intrusion. The dim foyer awaited, still like the surface of a lake where crocodiles lurked, gliding beneath muddy waters. Yuki inhaled.
She seemed to wince as Cleo began explaining the basic mechanics. Her speculations about it, anyways. It all sounded far too convoluted for what it's worth. No doubt Yuki thought the same. Shifting architecture, unstable paranormal structure, altered states…
Cleo made her way through the stoney expanse that was the foyer. There were two sets of carved stairs, left and right, leading up to the same platform, which had a corridor on each end. Corridors that watched them with the same unwavering pressure as those eyes from the Reverie, unrelenting and invisible.
Yuki's gaze darted from one smiling cornice to another, then another, and another. She clasped her blade with a vise-like grip. When Yuki met Cleo's searching eyes, she gave Cleo a small smile.
Wordlessly, Cleo reached for Yuki's fist—the one that held her blade. She pried aside each finger, loosening her grip but letting her dagger dangle still in a slack hand. Cleo fixed her crumpled collars and straightened her tie with a satisfied exhale.
The barest hint of an embarrassed smile flashed across Yuki's face.
Cleo leaned in, holding Yuki's sheepish face between her gloved hands and planting a quick kiss on her chapped lips.
They make their way to the left set of stairs. The mansion creaked, a slow viscous sound like the grinding of wet flesh and wet bone. They were in the mansion's maw, right between its jagged teeth, and something told Cleo loitering was a terrible idea.
She held onto Yuki's fingertips as they headed for the left corridor, breaching the heavy shadows. Yuki dug in her shoulder bag for two flashlights, tossing one to Cleo. Uttering a quiet "thanks" Cleo turned it on, swiveling the scope of light to survey their surroundings.
It's just a stoney tunnel. But at the end was a small wooden door, square and proper and already a little ajar, a sliver of bright light squinting through. She made her way through—smaller tunnels branched out but she kept her sight on the door—and pushed it open. Light flooded her vision mercilessly.
The architecture swallowing them now was akin to a section of a massive cathedral, all unbelievably distant carved ceilings and extravagant columns. The wall to their left was lined with a few doors, the right occupied by towering windows displaying nothing but even more stark white light. Yuki's mouth hung open as she stared. It did not look much different from the cathedral Cleo died in, an odd little coincidence, though this one had a carpet in some pleasant shade of deep crimson.
A faint click echoed from one of the doors. Cleo watched, a sinking dread clasping her as the door was pushed open, inch by inch, as if it was exceedingly heavy.
Behind her, Yuki shifted in surprise.
A small girl stepped out from behind the door, bowing her head once, silver platter in hand. Her shoulder-length blonde hair fell in gentle wisps, framing her face and catching light—with her frilled white dress, she looked so much like an angel.
The left side of her face was concealed by a swoop of hair.
Cleo blanched.
The girl politely presented herself as Maria, though Cleo hardly needed an introduction.
Maria uncovered her platter with a subtle flourish, an array of fruits and snacks arranged with the artistry of an impressionist painting. It smelled as it should. But in the surface of each fruit, parts had sagged in, spots of black and grey lined minor lacerations, and in the pomegranate—the centrepiece of the plate—maggots writhed in the centre, slimy fleshy bodies stained pink by the bursting of juices.
Maria stood still as a doll.
Cleo bit the inside of her mouth. She had to explain, right? She owed Yuki that. But somehow it felt awfully late.
She started speaking. She barely knew what was coming out of her own mouth, some nonsense about about unfinished business and settling the dust.
Yuki seemed to get it. She said as much, though the lines on her face didn't form the most confident impression. Even so, the "I understand" she uttered seemed to carry a certain weight, akin to a contract. The validity of the contract was another can of worms.
"You do," Maria piped up cheerfully.
Suddenly, under the young girl's unblinking gaze, Cleo felt very small.
•
Maria brought them through sets of stairs until they reached a small room in a plain white corridor. So much for aesthetic consistency. It was a neat little place, a simple small white bed, a simple desk, simple white walls dotted with the occasional fissure, white, simple—like a crumpled sheet of paper with only a few faint pencil smudges. Maria introduced it placidly as her bedroom.
This was not her bedroom. It was, however, a neglected section of one of her father's buildings that she had transformed, with Ana, into their own hideout. There was a large window emanating sky light at the centre of the far wall—back then it had always remained halfway open, and she and Ana would sit on the edge, blowing smoke at each others faces while their parents talked business. She'd wince when the smoke flowing from Ana's lips stung her eyes.
Walking around the room, running her fingertips over the imperfections in its white paint, it felt like museum of fabricated artefacts. Cleo didn't miss it. Maria gazed at her, the cynical air swirling amidst the three of them. An absence is palpable.
Where is she?
"Everywhere," Maria said, smiling, kicking her feet halfheartedly. She swung her feet back and forth from where she was seated neatly on the edge of her bed. "She's everywhere, you know. So she can keep an eye out, on everything, and keep us safe. I guess."
After that, Maria fell mute.
They left Maria's room, the heat of that girl's piercing stare itching on their backs even after they shut the door. Yuki let out a long exhale. They continued along the dim, velvety red corridor for a few minutes, not exchanging a word. They came close, with the way Yuki's mouth opened and then closed like a fish out of water, but any phrase seemed stuck behind her teeth.
Cleo fidgeted with the cylinder of her gun, slowing to a halt.
A selfish part of Cleo claimed the heart of this place as her own. But it was true, wasn't it? Anastasia's last conscious act had been to save Cleo.
She blinked.
No, well, Ana didn't know Cleo. Ana only ever knew the first act of Maria. And her Maria was so happy and soft spoken.
Cleo explained, though she'd become much less certain than before. Such a monument was nothing but a smudge of what will never be.
The corridor continued on for what felt like a mile. Cleo's vision rippled at the edges, as the walls breathe around them, as the velvety red bled more red.
At the end was a set of double doors.
As soon as Yuki pushed it open, a choir of clicks erupted from every corner of the vast dining hall lined with long tables and tidily arranged cutlery.
The light flickered off, rendering them blind. Cleo huffed. She grabbed Yuki's head and ran a straight line. When the amorphous lashed out at them, Cleo sent sharp smouldering bullets tearing through flesh. One after the other until her cylinder is depleted, the lights turned back on and it took Cleo a moment to realise they were in the very same spot as before.
She checked her gun—the six bullets were back, though she felt every impact of her shots buzzing up her arm.
"Yuki?"
Behind her, Yuki swayed. Streams of deep red splattered from her nose and out the corner of her mouth. She coughed, a rough, grating sound like nails against chalkboard.
Yuki shook her head, reaching out to cradle Cleo's face. Her hand came away with a matching crimson. Cleo's face was just as warm, just as wet, and she felt it now—doubling over, she coughed blood, specks spraying across Yuki's shoes.
The doors behind them opened again.