Bound - A Short Sylus Story
(Loosely based off of Sylus’s dialogue if you don’t login for 30 days (based off the tiktok I saw, I could never leave him for a DAY let alone a month but I wanted some angst) Side note this ends abruptly because I stop writing when I lose inspiration so this is just me getting out the little scenario that played in my head :<).
TW: Mentions of blood, death, sadistic sylus, hurt mc, dom!sylus (?), etc.
(Let me know if I need any other tw's. I haven't had to do this on tumblr in forever!)
Mʏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ʜɪᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴀs I ғᴜᴍʙʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀɴᴅᴀɢᴇs, ᴍʏ ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ᴛʀᴇᴍʙʟɪɴɢ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ. Tʜᴇ ᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴜᴛᴀʟ, ᴀɴᴅ I ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅʀᴀɢ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀᴘsɪɴɢ.
Mʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴡᴀs ʟɪᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ғʀᴇsʜ sᴄᴀʀs, sᴏᴍᴇ sᴛɪʟʟ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ I ᴡᴀs ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ I ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ʜᴀɪʀʟɪɴᴇ ғʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʀɪʙ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ sᴇɴᴛ ᴀ sʜᴀʀᴘ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇʀ ᴏғ ʜᴏᴡ ғʀᴀɢɪʟᴇ ᴍʏ ʙᴏɴᴇs ғᴇʟᴛ. I’ᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴠɪsɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏsᴘɪᴛᴀʟ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ, ʙᴜᴛ ғᴏʀ ɴᴏᴡ, I sᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀᴀᴘ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅs, ᴡɪɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴀs I ᴅᴀʙʙᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴛɪsᴇᴘᴛɪᴄ ᴏɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ɢᴀsʜ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴀʀᴍ.
I sɪɢʜᴇᴅ, ᴄʟᴏsɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴇʏᴇs ғᴏʀ ᴀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜsʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ ᴀsɪᴅᴇ. Tʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴡᴀs ǫᴜɪᴇᴛ, sᴀᴠᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏғᴛ ʀᴜsᴛʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴀɪᴅ ᴋɪᴛ.
I ʜᴀᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪssɪᴏɴ—ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʜɪᴍ.
Mʏ sᴛᴏᴍᴀᴄʜ ᴛᴡɪsᴛᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ʜɪᴍ, ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ. Wᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ғᴏᴜɢʜᴛ. Nᴏᴛ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀɴʏ ғɪɢʜᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴇғᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴅs ʟɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ʜᴇᴀʟ. I ʜᴀᴅ sᴛᴏʀᴍᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ N109 ᴢᴏɴᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ʙʟɪɴᴅ ғᴜʀʏ, ɴᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜғғᴏᴄᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴇɴsɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜs. Tʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʜᴀᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, sᴏ I ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ɪᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ. I ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʜɪᴍ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ I ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ. I ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴡᴏʀᴅs ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴅɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴀʟ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ.
I ʟᴇғᴛ ᴍʏ ᴘʜᴏɴᴇ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴏɴ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇ. Tʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ʜɪᴍ ᴍᴇssᴀɢɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ, ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴇxᴀᴄᴛʟʏ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ I ᴡᴀs, ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ ᴄʀᴀᴡʟ. I ʜᴀᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋᴇᴅ ɪᴛ sɪɴᴄᴇ. Iᴛ sᴀᴛ ᴀᴄʀᴏss ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇsᴋ, sɪʟᴇɴᴛ, ɪᴛs sᴄʀᴇᴇɴ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴍɪɴᴏᴜs. I ʜᴀᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ɪᴛ ᴜᴘ, ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʙᴏᴍʙ ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴘʟᴏᴅᴇ. I ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ sᴜʀᴇ ɪғ ʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴅ I ᴡᴀs ɢᴏɴᴇ. Bᴜᴛ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ᴅᴏᴡɴ, I ᴡᴀs ᴛᴇʀʀɪғɪᴇᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ—ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ. Aɴᴅ ɪғ I ʜᴀᴅ sᴜᴄᴄᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴘɪssɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴏғғ… I ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ I’ᴅ ғɪɴᴅ.
I ᴅᴇʟɪʙᴇʀᴀᴛᴇʟʏ ᴀᴠᴏɪᴅᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ɪᴛ, ғᴏᴄᴜsɪɴɢ ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀsᴋ ᴀᴛ ʜᴀɴᴅ. Wʜʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ I ᴘᴏᴋᴇ ᴀ sʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ʙᴇᴀsᴛ?
I ʜᴀᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ɪᴛ ʜᴀʟғᴡᴀʏ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴘᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ᴜᴘ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛs ғʟɪᴄᴋᴇʀᴇᴅ. I ɢʟᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪᴍᴍɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴀɴᴅᴇʟɪᴇʀ, ᴀ ғᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʀ ᴄʜɪʟʟ ᴄʀᴀᴡʟɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴍʏ sᴘɪɴᴇ, ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʜᴀᴍᴍᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴄʜᴇsᴛ. I ғᴇʟᴛ ғᴏᴏʟɪsʜ. I sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ’ᴠᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ғɪɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ I ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ, ᴡʜᴇᴛʜᴇʀ I ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛ.
I ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ. I ʜᴀᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʜɪᴍ.
Tʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ sᴘᴜᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ. Dᴀʀᴋɴᴇss ᴅᴇsᴄᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ, ᴛʜɪᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ sᴜғғᴏᴄᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴀs ɪғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ɪᴛsᴇʟғ ᴡᴀs ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ʜɪs ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴀʟ. Eᴀᴄʜ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ɢʀᴇᴡ ʜᴇᴀᴠɪᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇɴsɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴛʜɪᴄᴋᴇɴᴇᴅ. A ғᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴀs ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ, ғʟᴏᴀᴛᴇᴅ ɢᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴍʏ ғᴀᴄᴇ. Tʜᴇɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ. Aɴᴅ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ.
Mʏ ᴘᴜʟsᴇ ǫᴜɪᴄᴋᴇɴᴇᴅ. Tʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ғʀɪɢɪᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪᴄᴋᴇɴɪɴɢ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡs, ᴄʀɪᴍsᴏɴ ᴇʏᴇs ʙʟᴀᴢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟɪғᴇ, sᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋɴᴇss ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴇᴍʙᴇʀs.
“Y/N,” ᴀ ʟᴏᴡ, ᴍᴇɴᴀᴄɪɴɢ ɢʀᴏᴡʟ ғɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ. Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴜɴᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴀʙʟᴇ.
Mʏ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ɪᴄᴇ. Tʜᴇ ғᴇᴀʀ I ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ sᴏ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜʀʏ sᴜʀɢᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴍɪxᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs—ᴀ ᴘᴜʟʟ, sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴsᴛɪɴᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ғᴜʟʟʏ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴ. I ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴇᴇʟ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ, ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜsʜ ʙᴀᴄᴋ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ—ᴍʏ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴛʀᴇᴍʙʟɪɴɢ, ᴍʏ ᴘᴜʟsᴇ ᴇʀʀᴀᴛɪᴄ. Tʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴀɪᴅ ᴋɪᴛ sʟɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɢʀᴀsᴘ, ʜɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ғʟᴏᴏʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ sʜᴀʀᴘ ᴄʟᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʜᴀᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ.
Hᴇ sᴛᴇᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴅ; ᴛᴀʟʟ, ᴍᴇɴᴀᴄɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢʟʏ ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜs, ʜɪs ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘʀᴇᴅᴀᴛᴏʀʏ. Mʏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴏᴡɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ᴏғ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇss, ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ʜɪs. Hɪs ɢᴀᴢᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴏɴᴛᴏ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sʜᴇᴇʀ ɪɴᴛᴇɴsɪᴛʏ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴇʏᴇs ʟᴇғᴛ ᴍᴇ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀᴇᴅ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴘʀᴇʏ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴀᴡs ᴏғ ᴀ ʙᴇᴀsᴛ. Hɪs ᴍᴇʀᴇ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴄᴇ ғɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ, sᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ʟᴜɴɢs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴘᴀssɪɴɢ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ғʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ғᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ.
I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀɪɴᴛ ᴛᴇɴᴅʀɪʟs ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴇᴠᴏʟ ᴄᴏɪʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ, ᴄʀɪᴍsᴏɴ sᴡɪʀʟs ғʟɪᴄᴋᴇʀɪɴɢ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡs. Tʜᴇʏ ᴡʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜɪᴍ, ᴘᴜʟsɪɴɢ ᴀs ɪғ ᴛʜᴇʏ, ᴛᴏᴏ, ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀᴇᴅ. Hᴜɴɢᴇʀᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛɪᴏɴ. Fᴏʀ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ.
“Yᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴅɪsᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀ?” Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀs ʟᴏᴡ, ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ ʀᴇsᴛʀᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ғᴜʀʏ.
Hᴇ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ sᴛᴇᴘ ғᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜsᴄʟᴇ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴛᴇɴsᴇᴅ. Mʏ ғɪɢʜᴛ ᴏʀ ғʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴsᴛɪɴᴄᴛ sᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ, ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ I ᴡᴀs ᴘᴀʀᴀʟʏᴢᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴡʜᴇʟᴍɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏғ ʜɪᴍ—ʜɪs ʀᴀɢᴇ, ʜɪs ᴘᴏssᴇssɪᴠᴇɴᴇss, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇsᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ, ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʜᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs sᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀʀʙᴏʀ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ.
I sᴡᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ʜᴀʀᴅ, ᴍʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs sᴄᴀᴛᴛᴇʀɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄ��ᴀᴏs ᴏғ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀʀʀᴇᴅ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ᴍᴇ. Hɪs ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴡᴀs sᴜғғᴏᴄᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴘᴜʟʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ. Fᴇᴀʀ, ᴅᴇsɪʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪɴᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴀʙʟᴇ, ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜs sᴡɪʀʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ, ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴛɪᴅᴇ ᴏғ ᴄᴏɴғʟɪᴄᴛɪɴɢ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs.
“Yᴏᴜ’ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ,” ʜᴇ ᴍᴜʀᴍᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴀs ʜᴇ sᴛʀᴏᴅᴇ ғᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ, ʜɪs ᴛᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏᴄᴋɪɴɢʟʏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ʜɪs ɢᴀᴢᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ. Hɪs ᴇʏᴇs ᴡᴇʀᴇ sʜᴀʀᴘ, ᴡɪʟᴅ. “Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ʜɪᴅᴇ ɪɴ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇs ᴇᴠᴇɴ I ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ғɪɴᴅ.”
Iɴ ᴀ ғʟᴀsʜ, ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ɪɴ ғʀᴏɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ, ʜɪs ʜᴀɴᴅ ɢʀɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴄʜɪɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴡɪɴᴄᴇ. Hɪs ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴀɴᴅ sᴋɪᴍᴍᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴀʀᴍ, ɴᴏᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀɴᴇss, ʙᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴘᴏssᴇssɪᴠᴇɴᴇss ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴇɴᴛ sʜɪᴠᴇʀs ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴍʏ sᴘɪɴᴇ. I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ sᴛᴏᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜɪᴍᴘᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ʟɪᴘs, ᴛᴇᴀʀs ᴘʀɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀs ᴏғ ᴍʏ ᴇʏᴇs.
“Sʏʟᴜs, I—”
I ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ, ʙᴜᴛ ʜɪs ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ᴛɪɢʜᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴄʜɪɴ, sɪʟᴇɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ. Hɪs ᴇʏᴇs ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ, ʟɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄᴜᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ғᴇᴇʟ ʜɪs ʀᴀɢᴇ sᴡᴇʟʟ, ғᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ᴏғғ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ғᴜᴇʟ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ғɪʀᴇ.
“I ᴡᴀs ᴀғʀᴀɪᴅ ᴍʏ ᴋɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ɢᴏᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ.” Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴅʀᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴠᴇɴᴏᴍᴏᴜs ɢʀᴏᴡʟ. “Sᴇᴇᴍs sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ʜɪᴅɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅs.”
Hɪs ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴡᴀs ʜᴏᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ ᴀs ʜᴇ ʟᴇᴀɴᴇᴅ ɪɴ, ʜɪs ᴄʀɪᴍsᴏɴ ᴇʏᴇs ʙʟᴀᴢɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴜɴʙʀɪᴅʟᴇᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ. Tʜɪs ᴡᴀsɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜᴇ Sʏʟᴜs I ᴡᴀs ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ. Hᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴏsᴇᴅ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ. Tʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ɢʀᴀᴄᴇғᴜʟ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ɪᴛ—ɢʀᴀᴄᴇғᴜʟ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴜɴʙᴇᴀʀᴀʙʟʏ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ. Bᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ, ʜᴇ sᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋɪɴɢ. Yᴇs, ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇs I ʜᴀᴅ ɪɢɴᴏʀᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴅɪsᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡᴀs ғᴀʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴡʜᴀᴛ I ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ, ʟᴇᴀsᴛ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜɪᴍ.
“Dɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ? Nᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I’ᴠᴇ ᴇɴsɴᴀʀᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ?” Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜʀʏ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴄᴜᴛ ʙʏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs—ᴅᴇsᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.
“Yᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ.”
Hɪs ᴡᴏʀᴅs, ᴀs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs, sᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ ᴀ ᴄʜᴏʀᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴍᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ғᴇʟᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴘɪᴇʀᴄɪɴɢ. Hᴇ ʜᴀᴅ sᴀɪᴅ ɪᴛ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴡᴀs ʜɪs, ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅɪᴅ ʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴ? Oᴜʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴡᴀs ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴇғɪɴᴇᴅ. Iᴛ ғᴇʟᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇғɪᴇʟᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀsʜɪᴘ—ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇs ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏғᴛᴇɴ ᴛʜᴀɴ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴏʀ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀʟʟɪᴇs. Aɴᴅ ʏᴇᴛ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴛʜɪs sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ, ɪɴᴇxᴘʟɪᴄᴀʙʟᴇ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴜs ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪɢɴᴏʀᴇ.
Dᴇsᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʀsʜɴᴇss ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴡᴏʀᴅs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇɴsɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ʜɪs ɢᴀᴢᴇ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟsᴇ ʟᴜʀᴋɪɴɢ ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ. Sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ɢʀᴀsᴘ. I ғᴇʟᴛ ᴀs ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ I ᴡᴀs ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴡᴇʙ ᴏғ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴇs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴜs ʜᴀᴅ ғᴜʟʟʏ ᴜɴʀᴀᴠᴇʟᴇᴅ. Hɪs ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ—ᴛʜɪs ᴄᴏɴsᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴅᴇᴄʟᴀʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴡᴀs ʜɪs—ʜᴀᴅ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ᴍʏsᴛᴇʀʏ. I ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴡʜʏ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ sᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴘᴜʟʟ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜs.
Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴠᴏʟ-ʟɪɴᴋs, sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴇᴘᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʟ. Iᴛ ᴅʀᴇᴡ ᴜs ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғᴇʟᴛ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴍᴀɢɴᴇᴛɪᴄ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴅᴅᴇɴɪɴɢ. Mᴏsᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ I ғᴇʟᴛ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀʟᴇss ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ɪᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ᴡᴀs ᴅᴇғɪɴɪᴛᴇʟʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇs.
As ʜᴇ ᴘᴜʟʟᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇʀ, ʜɪs ʜᴀɴᴅ sʟɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ɴᴇᴄᴋ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴘᴏssᴇssɪᴠᴇ ʜᴏʟᴅ, I ғᴇʟᴛ ʜɪs ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ᴅɪɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ, ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴏᴠᴇʀᴡʜᴇʟᴍɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴄᴇ. Hɪs ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀʀᴍ sɴᴀᴋᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀɪsᴛ, ᴘʀᴇssɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴍʏ ʀɪʙs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴇɴᴅ ᴀ sʜᴀʀᴘ ᴊᴏʟᴛ ᴏғ ᴘᴀɪɴ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍᴇ. I ɢᴀsᴘᴇᴅ, ᴀ ᴄʀʏ ᴇsᴄᴀᴘɪɴɢ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ sᴛᴏᴘ ɪᴛ.
Sʏʟᴜs ғʀᴏᴢᴇ, ʜɪs ᴇʏᴇs ᴡɪᴅᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇʏ ғʟɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʙᴀᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ’s ᴜɴɪғᴏʀᴍ. Hᴇ sᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇs ᴀʟʟ ᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ, ʜɪs ɢᴀᴢᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴍɪx ᴏғ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʟ.
"Tᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴏғғ. Nᴏᴡ." Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅ, ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴʏɪᴇʟᴅɪɴɢ.
Tʀᴇᴍʙʟɪɴɢ, I ғᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀɴᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴇxᴄʀᴜᴄɪᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴀs I ᴘᴀɪɴsᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢʟʏ ʀᴇᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇs. Mʏ sᴋɪɴ ғʟᴜsʜᴇᴅ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ʜɪs ɪɴᴛᴇɴsᴇ sᴄʀᴜᴛɪɴʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀsᴛ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ғᴇʟʟ ᴀᴡᴀʏ, ʜɪs ᴇʏᴇs ʀᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍᴇ, ʜɪs ᴇxᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴ ᴜɴʀᴇᴀᴅᴀʙʟᴇ.
“Cᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ. Lᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɢᴇᴛ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ.”
Mʏ ᴋɴᴇᴇs ᴡᴏʙʙʟᴇᴅ ᴀs I sᴛᴇᴘᴘᴇᴅ ғᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ, ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇsᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ. Hɪs ʜᴀɴᴅs—ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ɴᴏᴡ—ɢʀᴀsᴘᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ʜɪᴘs, ʜɪs ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ʙʀᴜsʜɪɴɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴜᴛs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟɪᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ. Gʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇ ʙᴏᴜǫᴜᴇᴛs ᴏғ ʙʟᴜᴇ, ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʙʟᴏᴏᴍᴇᴅ ᴀᴄʀᴏss ᴍʏ ʀɪʙs, ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇs ᴍᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴛʜɪɢʜs ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀʟᴠᴇs. A ғᴇᴡ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɢᴀsʜᴇs ᴅᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ, ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏɴᴇ ᴀs ʙᴀᴅ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀsʜ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴀʀᴍ.
I ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜʀᴏᴡɴ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʙʏ ᴀ Wᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜɪɴs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴜʙʙʟᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴀɢʀᴇᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ sʟᴀᴍᴍᴇᴅ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ɪᴛ.
Sʏʟᴜs ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪs ɢʀᴀsᴘ, ʜɪs ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ᴄᴀʟᴄᴜʟᴀᴛɪɴɢ ɢᴀᴢᴇ ɪɴsᴘᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ɪɴᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ. Hɪs ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ᴛʀᴀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴜᴛʟɪɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪs ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀ, sᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴠᴏʟᴜɴᴛᴀʀʏ sʜɪᴠᴇʀs ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍᴇ. Hɪs ʟɪᴘs ᴛᴡɪsᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ɢʀɪᴍ ᴇxᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴ, ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴀᴍᴜsᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴜʀʏ.
"Yᴏᴜ ᴅɪsᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ, ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ɪɴ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ɪɴ ᴛᴀᴛᴛᴇʀs, ᴋɪᴛᴛᴇɴ."
"I'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ," I ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴏᴀᴋ, ᴍʏ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴀʀsᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀᴇᴍʙʟɪɴɢ. Gᴏᴏsᴇʙᴜᴍᴘs ʀᴏsᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ ᴀs ʜɪs ғɪɴɢᴇʀᴛɪᴘs ɢʜᴏsᴛᴇᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍʏ ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇs. Tʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴋɪɴᴅ ɪɴ ʜɪs ɢᴀᴢᴇ ᴀs ʜᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴀᴛ ᴍᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇ sᴀᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴅ. Hɪs ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴛɪɢʜᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴀʀᴍ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ sᴜᴅᴅᴇɴ, ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ, ʜᴇ ʏᴀɴᴋᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ. I ᴄʀɪᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀs ʜᴇ ᴇᴀsɪʟʏ ғʟɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ, ʜɪs ʟᴀʀɢᴇʀ ғʀᴀᴍᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍᴇ, ᴘɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ.
Hᴇ ʟᴇᴀɴᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ, ʜɪs ʟɪᴘs ʜᴏᴠᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜsʟʏ ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ɴᴇᴄᴋ. “Yᴏᴜʀ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜʟᴇss ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ,” ʜᴇ sᴀɪᴅ, ʜɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴛʜɪᴄᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ᴘᴀʟᴘᴀʙʟᴇ. I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ sᴇᴇ ʜɪs ᴇxᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇɴsɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ʜɪs ʀᴀɢᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴜɴᴅᴇɴɪᴀʙʟᴇ, ʀᴀᴅɪᴀᴛɪɴɢ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜɪᴍ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀɴɢɪʙʟᴇ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ. I ᴡᴀs ᴘᴀʀᴀʟʏᴢᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ғᴇᴀʀ, ᴛᴏᴏ ᴛᴇʀʀɪғɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ᴏʀ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ. Hɪs ᴜɴᴘʀᴇᴅɪᴄᴛᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴡᴀs ᴏᴠᴇʀᴡʜᴇʟᴍɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ I ᴋɴᴇᴡ I sᴛᴏᴏᴅ ɴᴏ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏғ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴘᴏᴡᴇʀɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪғ I ᴡᴇʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ɪɴᴊᴜʀᴇᴅ.
“Aɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ.” Hɪs ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇ, ɢʟɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ʜɪs ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ᴄᴜʀʟᴇᴅ ᴘᴏssᴇssɪᴠᴇʟʏ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴛʜʀᴏᴀᴛ, ʜɪs ɢʀɪᴘ ғɪʀᴍ ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴛ sᴜғғᴏᴄᴀᴛɪɴɢ. “Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴅɪᴇᴅ,” ʜᴇ ʜɪssᴇᴅ, ʜɪs ʟɪᴘs ɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴠᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ ᴍʏ ᴇᴀʀ. “Aᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ. Bᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴍʏ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ.” Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴅʀᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴡʜɪsᴘᴇʀ, ᴀ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ᴛᴇʀʀɪғʏɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ. “Tʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.”
Hɪs ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴡᴀs ʜᴏᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ, ʜɪs ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴘʀᴇssɪɴɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴍɪɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ʙᴏᴛʜ sᴜғғᴏᴄᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴsᴜᴍɪɴɢ. Tʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀs sʜᴀʀᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴʏɪᴇʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴀs ʜɪs ɢʀɪᴘ, ᴀɴᴅ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ғᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜʟʟ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs ᴘʀᴇssɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇғɪᴀɴᴄᴇ, ᴍʏ ᴀʙsᴇɴᴄᴇ, ʜᴀᴅ sᴘᴀʀᴋᴇᴅ ᴀ sᴛᴏʀᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ʜɪᴍ—ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴡᴀs ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ, ᴡɪᴛʜ ɴᴏ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴏᴜᴛ.
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“𝚈𝚘𝚞... 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.”
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6.4ᴋ
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs/ᴛᴀɢs: ᴀɴɢsᴛ! ʜᴜʀᴛ sᴏᴍᴇʜᴏᴡ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴛ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜs, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴡᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇʀs ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴇʀᴀ (ғʀᴏᴍ 500 ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴛ), ғ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴋᴀʙᴜᴋɪᴍᴏɴᴏ ᴄᴀʟʟs ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʜɪs ᴍᴏᴍ♥︎), ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ʀᴇɪɴᴄᴀʀɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ғᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴᴇ ᴄɪᴛɪᴢᴇɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴋᴀʙᴜᴋɪᴍᴏɴᴏ, sᴄᴀʀᴀᴍᴏᴜᴄʜᴇ, ᴋᴜʀᴏɴᴏsʜɪ, ᴋᴜɴɪᴋᴜᴢᴜsʜɪ, ᴡᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇʀ, ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ, sᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀ!! ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴡᴇsᴛ ᴛʀᴀɪʟᴇʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ғᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴘʜᴇᴄʏ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴅʏɪɴɢ/ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜs! ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴏʀ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ sᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀs. ғʟᴜғғ + ᴀɴɢsᴛ.
sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ғɪɴᴅ ᴀ ʟᴏsᴛ ʙᴏʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴏᴅs, ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs sʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇғᴜʟʟʏ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴀss. ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ᴡᴀᴋɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴜᴘ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ʜɪᴍ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴀʏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ, ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ ᴄʜɪᴇғ sᴄᴏʟᴅᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴄᴀʀʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ʙᴏʏ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ. ᴇᴠᴇʀ sɪɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇɴ, ʜᴇ ɪɴsɪsᴛ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʟᴘɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴛᴀsᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴇᴅs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ɴᴏʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴏɴ. ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀsᴋ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴘᴜᴘ ʜᴇ ɪs, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟsᴏ ғɪɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴏᴅᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇs ɴᴏᴛ ᴏᴡɴ ᴀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ɴᴏʀ ᴄᴀɴ ʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ, ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴋᴀʙᴜᴋɪᴍᴏɴᴏ. ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ʜᴇ sʟɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ “ᴍᴏᴍ” ᴏʀ “ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ”, ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴛʀᴀɢᴇᴅʏ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ. ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʀᴀɢᴇᴅʏ ᴄᴏsᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪғᴇ ᴏʀ ᴄᴏsᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ sᴇᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴏᴜs ᴋᴀʙᴜᴋɪᴍᴏɴᴏ?
ᴀ/ɴ: ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴛʜɪs, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴛʜᴀᴛ, ʜᴏᴡ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ ʀs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇʀs ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴇʀᴀ ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʜɪs ᴍᴏᴍ? ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ʜɪs ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴇʀᴀ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛɪᴄᴇ, ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜɪs ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ ʀᴀᴍʙʟᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʜɪᴍ ʟᴏʟ. sᴏ ɪ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪs, ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴇʀʀᴏʀs ᴀʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴏᴏᴋɪᴇs;) ᴅᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇᴅ ғᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴᴇ ǫᴜᴇsᴛ ʏᴇᴛ ʙᴄ ᴍʏ sᴄʜᴇᴅ ɪs ᴘᴀᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ɪs ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ʟᴏsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴍɪɴᴅ ɢʀʀʀʀʀ. ᴅɪᴅ ɪ ᴄʀʏ? ʏᴇs, ʏᴇs ɪ ᴅɪᴅ.
It’s funny how you got yourself in this situation, it felt like you adopted a puppy than a helper. What’s his name again? Kabukimono? Cute little innocent guy you took in. It was funny when he slipped up and called you “mom” or “mother.”
“Here, mom.” Kabukimono took the wood you have gathered, “let me help.” He insisted as a smile spread across his face, the sun illuminates with his smile as if the sun was also smiling upon him. You gave him a pat in his head, “I can handle this.” You assured and tried to get the log of woods back.
He took the logs and pressed it against his chest, as if he’s hugging it and not wanting to let go. He insist, he wanted to help you like how you helped him.
You could only sigh and pinch his cheeks gently, a soft sigh as you see him walk away with the logs, your eyes went a little wide when he almost trip himself—he turn around to face you from the distance and gave you a thumbs up. What a cute little guy.
After placing the log to its rightful place, he runs up to you and hugs you around the waist as you were taller than him, “very good, Kabuki.” You praise and caress the back of his head, feeling his dark purple hair. He beams with a smile like a ray of sunshine, you noticed that his sleeves were a little dirty.
“Did you trip into mud or something, dear?” you asked him with a worried you, also noticing that he had a little bruise on his left elbow. “I’m fine.” He said, his brows knitted together as he doesn’t want you to worry too much about him.
“How about you?” he tilts his head, his arms still around your waist and his chin resting on your chest—where he can happily hear how your heart beats, you don’t know why but he said that hearing it beat makes his mind at ease.
A yell was heard from the distance, it was the village chief. “Kabukimono!” he called out for the boy, “coming!” Kabukimono yelled as he looks up at you again, meeting eye to eye as you brush a strand of hair away from his baby soft face. He looks like a sad puppy when someone needs him, where he’ll be only a few minutes away from you.
“You planning on going?”
“But I don’t want to leave you.”
“It’s ok, I’ll take it from here.” You assured and kissed his forehead—sweet, soft, and gentle. Just like how he loves it. He nodded and was now off the run. He was running happily as he help the village chief bring and sort some supplies for the people.
Look at that sweet child! Always helping other people when they need him, you always see him hanging around the blacksmiths. Helping and learning to make iron weapons and chatting with the other boy there, his name? You didn’t get to know him but all you know that Kabuki was always on his side, maybe a friend?
Sometimes, his naivety and willing to help always worries you. His willingness and wanting to be helpful… you can’t form a word to it, because sometimes you’ll hear him say weird things nor that some insult was a good compliment. As if, you worry that he’s easy to manipulate.
Maybe you worry too much, but it’s better to worry when that kid seeks your presence, sees you as his “mother” and wanting to be held close to your warmth. He’ll politely ask whether he could even cuddle with you to sleep.
In your sleep, you were blessed by the gods above, the heavenly principle—Celestia.
“What does it do?” Kabuki asked, poking the hard glass of the electro vision where it’s hanging on your right side of your chest. You could only chuckle when he observe and awe when you match your clothes to your vision before he catch your waist again and nuzzle his cheek against the fabric of your new attire, “soft.” He murmur and deeply inhale and exhale as he buried his head in your chest.
“To answer your question, my dear Cecilia.” You pressed your lips on top of his head and pinch his cheeks as he holds himself close to you, as if he wants to be part of you on how he’s being passive-aggressive, “It’s a vision, given by Celestia when you are acknowledged by them.”
“It’s purple.”
“because it’s an electro vision.”
“you can choose visions?”
You want to laugh at his remark, but seeing how dear and innocent he is—you hugged him tightly as he is hugging tightly to you, you answered, “No, you can’t choose visions, if Celestia gives me that option then I could’ve picked the anemo vision by now.” You laughed.
“why didn’t you?”
“Because I can’t, Kabuki.”
“a certain vision will only be given, maybe it’s because of ‘the key is people’s desires.’” You added and patted his back, “why don’t you go and play?”
“I rather take care of you.” He murmur against your chest, not moving or even budging one bit as if he’s glued into you. “please.” There it is, the eyes that he knew you love so much, that you can’t even say no to him. He knows this.
“You haven’t taken your medicine, again.” He slightly frowns and rest his chin against your chest, his brows knitted in genuine worry. You smiled sweetly at him, “It’s hard to have a grab of a medicine nowadays, dear.” You trace your fingertips along to his hair, soothing his head as he let out a soft sigh against your touch.
“You need to be in shape or else the chief will scold you again.”
“I know.”
“Take your meds then.” He buried himself yet again against your chest.
He’d be like a lost puppy with you, everywhere you go—he’ll be there to follow.
Every sight and venture to the woods, he’ll be there to prepare your needs as he wants to look after your health.
After all, you are an ill person, a sick vision holder. And since he learned that vision has powers, he is worried to you as you are worried to him.
In the night, when the stars are visible—he will ask you to come join him stargazing, simplest things and small gestures makes him happy. Nothing too fancy, nothing too big nor small. Just you and him, under the stars till the two count a thousands of stars.
You were everything to him. And he was everything to you, as if the world had gone small and only left the two of you.
Would a day come where you have come to meet your demise? As this happiness and endless of laughter with this sunshine has been a little too good to be true. As if, the sun was smiling too much upon the two of you.
Was it smiling? Or was it mocking?
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You were making some food and cutting up fruits, accidentally cut your index finger and hiss brought Kabukimono’s attention to you as he hurriedly got up to you, “Are you okay, mom?” he asked as he confusingly stared up at you when you brought your bloody finger uo to your mouth to suck the blood out.
“I’m fine.” You stated, almost a muffle as you suck your own finger off. You glance at your ingredients and you lack of Lavender melons, “By the way,” you pulled your finger back from your lips and got to the nearest pond to wash your finger, “Can you find me more lavender melons, Kabuki?” you asked of him. He nodded and sat beside you when you wash your finger off, you smiled and mouthed that you are fine.
He was worried, but did what you asked as you assured him you are fine.
He had picked a few Lavender Melons, some trees were a little high for him to reach—resulting him to use one of his sandal and throw it at the melons. After a few fail attempts, the melon falls as he quickly got into his feet and caught the falling fruit that might explode when falling from a very high surface.
He was… messy. Dirt around his white kariginu outfit with a lavender veil, somehow, he didn’t pay attention to his dirty attire. All he thinks about was the delicious food you’ll be making and desserts with these fruits, even he, himself knew that he doesn’t need food to full himself nor get energy from them. Why? He’s a puppet, of course.
Does he feel bad when you prepare him food even though he doesn’t need it like humans do? No, in fact. He enjoys the food you made for him, he loves your cooking and loves it more when you eat with him while he listens to you talk.
The fact that you sent him out to gather a few lavender melons for ingredients, it delights him that you stay at home while he is useful and helpful to you. He was delighted that you found him first and took him in.
You treated him with kindness that he never knew needed nor know about it, he felt like he could trust you completely—but doubt crawls over to his mind, if he told you that he’s a puppet. How would you react?
Would you hate him? Throw him away? Tell the whole village that he’s not one of you? Would you turn your back on him and leave him behind? Abandon him?
A lavender melon fell onto his head, snapping him back to reality. It looks like he zoned out for a bit. He brush the back of his head and chuckle to himself, keeping a positive energy and took the lavender melon to his arms as he stood up and hops his steps back to the village.
How delighted he will be when he comes home having two to five lavender melons he had taken… and thanking the tress for it. He loves hearing your praises when he did something good and that made you smile, he would cling and watch you slice those fruits up and feed him a slice and make a little mini jump of excitement.
It was a nice walk way back, he swung open the door and greeted with a huge smile in his face, “Mother, I’m back!” he yelled and run up to you on the table where you bandage up your small cut wound.
Your smile and the touch of your warm hand was the small thing that’ll keep him happy, your voice that’s been singing praises will play in his ears as you acknowledge his help and usefulness, “Very good, Kabuki.” You place a quick kiss against his forehead and took the lavender melons from his arms.
“Kabuki, how about you go help the chi-”
You fail to form your sentence as screams were heard outside, your heart dropped. Fear overcomes as you move by instinct and pulled Kabukimono by his arm, directly going towards to the other door where you go out and train with your wooden dummies. You look back and see to him, those screams…
He was terrified.
“W-What’s happening..?” He manage to ask, his tone mix with confusion and concern. You wanted to get away, get Kabukimono away from this horrors. Turning sharp to the corner, a sharp breath caught to your throat—as if you have forgotten how to breathe. What did you see?
Someone, you tried to push Kabukimono away from the scene—trying to turn his back away but it was too late, he had already witness a horrifying scene that will haunt him every night.
A village person, dead, on the ground. Their eyes were bloodshot as if they are shredding blood as their tears. Crimson blood dripping down from their forehead as they lie lifeless to the ground—their head to the side as if they’re staring at the both of you, as if they’re saying, you’re next.
You and Kabuki were hiding behind your small house, having the shadow covers up the two of you, to not be revealed by some monster, or rather. A unwelcomed guest in the village, who has come bring chaos and bloodshed within the village, your home.
You turn to Kabuki, he was confuse—he does not know why there’s crimson in that persons head, dripping down as they lie lifeless in the ground with their own pool of blood, you palm his cheeks, forcing a smile as you tried to steal his gaze away from such horrifying scene.
“Kabuki, dear, listen. I want you to do something for me, hm?” you try to remain calm, not wanting to scare the boy who has his gaze on you. His brows knitted together in worry, his eyes visibly scared on what he had witness. You grab a hold of his forearm as you got on one knee to kneel down, your eye to his, “Everything’s going to be fine, I want you to run and get help.” You kiss his forehead.
“what about you?”
“I’ll buy you time, I can fight after all.”
“You’re still not in good condition.”
“I know,” you smiled and stood up—cupping his cheek as you pull him in an embrace, “But I’ll be fine, now go.”
He nodded but his eyes darted to another person that’s been getting chase down, sword pierce right through them as a bloody scream escape from their mouth, coughing blood as the sword was retrieve—leaving that person in their own pool of blood.
He could only close his eyes and tighten his arms around your embrace, he wants to cry, to yell, but he needed to do what you said, get help. He thought of coming to the shogun and ask them for help.
Pulling away as he ran from the opposite direction, those “guest” noticed the boy as they try to come after him, you block their direction as you pulled out your bow—merging your element to form an attack. Buying Kabukimono some time to run.
He saw you fight one on one or more, you were going on defense more than offence, his can feel his skin shudder and his heart and mind race with worry. He wants to help you, but he needs to get help.
Kabuki ran, he ran as tears were filling up his vision and try to get help—but his mind wanders back to you, what if you get hurt? What if something worse happens to you?
These thoughts what made Kabuki stop his tracks, would he want to go back and ignore your favor don‘t get you out of there, he wants you to run away with him.
And so, he ran back. And the moment he did, he witness something that terrified him most.
“Mother..?” he called out, his eyes wide and his brows knitted with worry as tears were starting to form in his eyes. You rest your back against the tree as you sat with your own pool of blood, breathing heavily and your eyes heavy.
He ran towards you, tears rolling down his cheeks as he held you by his arm—cradling you like how you cradle him, he inspect your injury, your right hand covering your stomach to the side, trying your best to stop the bleeding.
Your half-lidded eyes darted to his worried and scared gaze, you could only smile and took your right hand off of your bleeding figure and use it to cup his face, staining him with your warm blood.
“There you are.” You manage to utter weakly, trying to manage that lovely tone that he loves so much. “It’s ok, I’m still alive.” You assured, wiping a tear off of his cheek using your thumb. You took something off of your shoulder, your vision then a paper, probably a letter. “Have this, open the letter when the time comes.”
Time? What time? He could only ask himself in his mind, what can he do to help you? He felt so low.. so vulnerable and helpless, as if he failed serving and following you, help. “H-Help..” he manage to voice out, “I n-need to get you help.” He says and kneel as he tries his hardest to get you on his back, but you didn’t budge.
“It’s ok… It’s just a small wound..” Small? It can’t be that small when you’re losing too much blood and when you’re desperate trying to get air as you were breathing heavily, “you were the best thing that has ever happen to me, Kabuki.”
He could only weep, bury his head against your neck. Trying his best not to cry out loud, you patted his shoulder in a weak manner—as if you’re slowly losing energy. He noticed that the light of your vision is slowly fading, but he pay no mind as he’s only focus on you and you alone.
Tears keeps coming as they slide down from his cheeks then drop to your cheeks, your thumb always wiping them off as his glassy eyes stared to yours—you were wasting your last energy talking to him and wiping off his tears and telling something humorous, to make him laugh right? You could hear him make a few slight chuckles in between his silent sobs.
He has you in his back, carrying you all the way to get help to the shogun herself—telling him sweet nothings as he communicates with you, thinking it’d be a good idea to keep the conversation to keep you entertained and alive. Help is on the way.
“W-We’re here!” he exclaimed, his legs almost going to give out on how much items you carry within your attire, “h-hey..” he called and nudges you lightly, to his horrors. You weren’t responding. He gently lay you down to the ground and held you in an embrace, tapping your cheeks and shaking you gently, “M-Mom..?” His heart dropping, his eyes widening and his breathing becomes rapid.
“H-Help..” he choke on his words, he screams for help—grabbing people’s attention to him as they saw the poor frightened boy covered with your dried blood—messing up his kariginu robe, along with his lavender veil as tears fails to form in his eyes, seeing that you are now lifeless in his arms and now that your vision is no longer glowing, no more life.
Time slows down, as if people are moving slowly around him—sounds of panic and urgency became a muffle as his own ears ring and his breathing rigged. He could only hold on tightly to the vision that has lost its light, as it felt like it died with you.
With you gone, he doesn’t know what to do—what task he’ll help with or errand to run. With the village turns to a bloody ruin, an unwanted war brought to the peaceful environment. He found himself in front of your bed. Where you and him cuddle to sleep, where you tell him little stories to help the two of you to fall asleep
“Gone.” He mutter, his tone flat as he’s tired. So, so tired. He misses your touch and warmth, your voice and your lovely smile that greets him every time he ran home after finishing an errand. He missed your presence, so much.
Your scarf around his neck, sniffing your scent in it—if there are still that remains. He crawls in bed, hugging his knees together as he look at the bedside table, a picture frame of you and him; smiling. Finally, he finally shred one last tear, as he hug himself to sleep. He imagines that you are here with him, in bed. Cooing him, soothing him, assuring him, that everything will be alright. He imagine that you were humming him to sleep or telling him folktales, how your hand on his back as you caress him to sleep.
But now? He’s alone, your poor Kabukimono, hugging himself to sleep as he pretends you are still with him. Silent sobs escapes from him as he falls from a deep slumber.
And thus, how his life began, or how his life began to be a living hell. To be an experiment.
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Five-hundred years, it has been that long. For him, and that’s how long you have been dead.
The poor boy has been through so, so much… Pain, misery, despair, loneliness, betrayals, and how he witness humans and his surroundings evolve to something new every year.
He became an experiment to The Doctor, a fatui harbinger, and needless to say that he had gone through many names.
Kabukimono, the boy who you once adored. A naïve and helpful child that who is willing to do anything that you ask.
Kuronoshi, then Kunikuzushi—where he starts his vengeance where he was betrayed three times and saw the ugliness of human society, yet he desire to be one of them. But, in this case, he doesn’t know whether to take your ‘death’ as a betrayal, as in every era he pass through—he would always thought of you.
Then comes The Balladeer, or Scaramouche per say. He became a fatui, he became a cruel and cunning harbinger—the boy who you couldn’t even recognize anymore, as he was experimented many times to the promise of the divine power, that made him lose himself in sole way. But he only desire a heart of his own, if only he wasn’t a puppet.
Shouki no Kami, who he has been use as the subject and has the power to rival Teyvat’s gods, and is known to be an artificial divinity, but alas, he was defeated by the Goddess of wisdom—Nahida, due to the loop she did to defeat him. But he soon enough when he gain consciousness after his coma, he agreed on helping Nahida to some way in Irminsul—thus him removing his past to the world.
But at some point, he never did erase the him you met in the past first five-hundred years, he only kept Kabukimono in Irminsul. As if, his own mind couldn’t erase you. He wanted to hate you despise you and curse you for leaving him. But he didn’t understand the concept of death, he didn’t understand.
All he knew, is that… you were a wonderful experience…
In which now, he became ‘Wanderer’ that the people in Akademya and the traveler knew now.
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His arms crossed and his eyes close as he rest his back against the wall, feeling the cool wind hit him. A flying companion and blonde traveler approach the boy who seems to relax on his own, “Teyvat to wanderer!” the flying ‘thing’ spoke to catch the boys attention, “what now?” the boy sigh and turn to the blonde traveler. His peace of mind was disturb by a certain someone, he was busy—busy reminiscing the past.
“Oh.. So you’re heading to Fontaine next?” Wanderer raised his eyebrow, arms still cross against his chest as he spoke in a surprise tone. The flying ‘thing’ nodded, who’s name is Paimon, “uh-huh! Nahida says we should take you with us.” The traveler nod and smile, “she says you need some time off and come with us to enjoy Fontaine.”
He could only stare down to his anemo vision and fix his hat as a sigh escapes from his lips, “fine, I’ll come.” He agreed and gave a faint smile, “lead the way, traveler and Paimon.”
“Safe travels for the three of you, and keep an eye on Wanderer.” Nahida remarks with a giggle, “It’s not like I’m going to commit a crime or something.” Wanderer replied, the Goddess of wisdom only giggled and bid both Wanderer and traveler goodbye and wish them well for their travel to Fontaine.
The ride was quiet, his attention was at the sea where the view was just water. No mountains or such, as Paimon and traveler held conversation. His mind wanders back to you, always has been. He looks down at his vision yet again, palming it to his two hands and caressing the thick glass as it glows. He remembers how much you love the wind—how the cool breeze hits your skin and messing your hair, how refreshing it feels and more.
He remembered when you told him that you wish to have that kind of vision, but you were given an electro one. But it’s been five hundred years, that moment had pass and if he could, he would do anything to bring you back. If he had the power, he would demand even the Celestia to give you back to him. He miss you, it hurts him to admit it.
“Uh, hey Wanderer?” Paimon called out, still floating as ever even in the boat. He let out a small hum to answer Paimon’s call, “me and traveler thought that you’re too quietly, is something wrong?” a hint of concern in Paimons voice, he shakes his head and sigh. “It’s nothing,” he says, as he looks at the two then back to his vision, “I just miss someone that’s dear to me, that’s all.” He mumbled and put his vision back to his shoulder—where you too, used to put your vision from five hundred years ago…
“Huh?” Paimon puts her finger to her chin, trying to make out what the boy just said, “Oh!” Paimon nodded, “I get it! You miss someone you know that they hold dear to you,” the boy could only hum in response as the boat still sails towards their destination, “So uh,” Paimon turn to traveler then back to him, “Who’s this person?” she finally asked.
Before he could response, he says, “Oh look, we’re here.” He got up from the boat and look up to the view of Fontaine. Paimon groans and whines at the traveler for Wanderer not answering her question. The people of Fontaine are… unique as they have a modern like and advance technologies unlike other regions, this piqued his interest, but then again—stepping foot here felt like he will wish he did not come here or he was glad he step foot here.
Wanderer felt a sudden of uneasiness as he close his eyes and folds his arms to his chest, “Huh? What’chu standing around for?” Paimon asked, “It’s nothing, I just felt something heavy—like a sudden of uneasiness.” Wanderer turned to them, “It’s just probably nothing.” He gave a shrug and Paimon nodded, how her brows knitted together either a sense of worry or confusion.
“You say you two looking for the Hydro archon?” The boy asked and both traveler and their flying companion nodded, “I feel like you’re in luck, looks like the Hydro archon came looking for you two.” People came bustling and gathering, this is going to be interesting.
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The following days has been… well, a roller-coaster ride, I suppose. It was one hell that the Hydro archon that goes by the name Furina. Lady Furina; which how her people address her, Wanderer was both surprised and shocked when that blonde traveler wanted to duel that god. You couldn’t even imagine how he noticed that the god was shocked and terrified.
He spent most of his time walking behind the big shots: Paimon and the blonde traveler, after all—these two has been awfully graced by the hydro archon herself, which makes them more and more of a celebrity if the archon themselves shows up for them.
But every walk, every click of his shoe, his mind still wanders—how he kept having this feeling, as if he was searching for something but couldn’t point it out, causing him to bump into Paimon and Traveler. “Heeey!” Paimon crossed her arms and turn to the seemingly-lost-in-his-own-thoughts-Wanderer, “Apologies.” He said, putting his hand onto his chest to show that he didn’t mean to and that he’s sincere.
Paimon huffs and puts her hand to her hips, “What has gotten into you, Wanderer?” she asked, Wanderer gave a few good pause before answering. “It’s nothing, I just got this feeling that I’m connected with someone here in Fontaine.” He sigh and turn his head to look at the signs of different shops.
“Oh? That’s weird. You’ve never been to Fontaine before, right?” Wanderer nodded to Paimons remark, “That was what I find odd too.” Wanderer express, his brows knitted—showing either he’s troubled or frustrated.
“Ooh! By the way, you forgot to answer my question!”
“What question?” Wanderer raised an eyebrow, silence filled the air as he made an ‘oh’ expression, “That question.” He said and nodded, “well, it wouldn’t hurt telling a little since it’s been five-hundred years.”
“There was this girl, she was like uh…” he cleared his throat first, folding his arms to his chest, “She was my mother, who treated me as her own.”
“Mom? Like your creator or something?” Said by confused Paimon, her eyes squinting as she looks at her blonde companion: the traveler. Wanderer shakes his head as a faint smile tug from the corner of his lips, “No, you misunderstood.”
“But, you say ‘mom’ then I thought you are calling your creator as your mother. Didn’t the Raiden Shogun created you… No, no. Raiden Ei, I believe.”
“You’re right, Ei created me.” He emphasized his creators name, “But you are still wrong,” both of his hand fell from his sides and shrugs, “Ei created me, I have every right to call her my mom. But she’s not my mom.” This causes Paimon to not understand more of it.
“Ei didn’t treat me as her own, abandoned me and left me to rot.” He pauses, then continues, “While my ‘mom’, the one whom took care of me and took me as her own is my ‘mom.’ Do you get my point now?” The boy tried his hardest to explain.
“She was human, you’d be surprise—of course, since the one who I call my own mother is a human while I’m a puppet.”
“it was indeed shocking that a human took you in, not to mention you call her your mom too.”
“Her name is y/n… Pretty name, yeah?” He chuckle, his brows knitted together as he recall the past, “She was a stubborn fool, always acting out before thinking.” He sighs, “But if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t become what I am now. Probably going to continue as a harbinger or a test subject.”
He looks at the blonde traveler, “And if it weren’t for you nor Buer, I wouldn’t realize that what I was in the past—she would probably be in shock.”
“why?”
“Because her precious Kabuki faded away, she wouldn’t recognize me no more.”
“aww.. Then what happened to her..?”
Sharing isn’t his best forte nor expressing something so deep to someone, it just hurts.. You know? The boy who longed for a mother and feel her love suddenly disappear right before his eyes as he watch you use your last breath. Your last breath where you did not regret wasting it upon him.
And so, the three sat by the nearest bench. He recall and tell the traumatic tale from five-hundred years ago.. How you two met, how it was going—how the your stories progress to a loving mother-son trope. Then, how he lost you..
As he tell his story, he couldn’t shred a tear. Maybe it’s because he’s now immune to the heartbreak and pain? Or maybe there’s no longer tears to shred?
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Time passed, his face remains with that same expression ever since he started telling his sob tale. The traveler could only nod through the whole story, while Paimon cried and sob against the traveler’s shoulder.
3:00 pm.
Checking the time, he lifts his head up to look at the blue sky. The air picking up as he turns his gaze to the two companions, he spoke, “shouldn’t you both better be on your way?”
Paimon weeps, brushing her tears away with the back of her small little hands, “T-That’s so s-sad..” she sniffle, “She’s so nice and.. and..” the next sentence came out gibberish and Wanderer, the blonde traveler—couldn’t make sense of what this flying companion is saying.
He rolled his eyes and breath in, inhaling the air of Fontaine… or it’s just sweets that he smells? Oh, he hates sweets.
He used to love them, with you making them for him. He used to eat all the desserts you make just for him, and he will gladly share and eat them with you in the same table—in the same roof, where he used to call home.
It took some time to have Paimon come down from her overwhelming emotional burst from the boys story. “Didn’t we have some business with the shopkeeper?” Paimon turn to the blonde traveler in which the traveler nodded, the two stood up and asked him if he could join them, extra company wouldn’t hurt.
“oh? You want me to come?” Wanderer asked as he stands up from his seat, brushes the fabric of his shoulder and folded his arms. The two companions nodded with a smile, “It’s best to keep your mind off of a bit, a distraction from your thoughts… Maybe?” Paimon says.
Wanderer chuckle and returns the smile, “If you insist, then sure.”
The walk was nice, it did keep his mind off a bit from his thoughts and this memories because Paimon can’t keep her mouth shut, he only replies with a simple nod, shake, a simple hum and ‘ok’ to her as they finally arrive at the shop they’re suppose to have business with.
“An antique shop..?” Wanderer tilts his head, Paimon nodded and hum, “yup! We were gonna pick something up for monsieur Neuvillette.”
“The chief justice of Fontaine?”
“Yup, he’s the one.”
Slowly nodding to what Paimon said, the three step inside the antique shop.
Your antique shop.
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A familiar voice was heard when they entered the shop, the insides were well-maintained and cleaned. The aroma was sweetly refreshing, and the moment he laid his eyes upon the shopkeeper, he was confuse, surprised, and other emotions that he couldn’t explain—it was overwhelming.
“Hello! Welcome to y/n antiques, feel free to look around.” Your voice, that sweet melodic voice that used to sing for him—that used to look out for him and call him. He couldn’t believe it…
A vision? Anemo, probably a catalyst wielder and an antique owner.. You were alive, much healthier, not ill, full of energy and your voice filling the room of the shop.
“M… M-Ma…?”
“huh?” Paimon looks at the boy, whose face was troubled, full of question and doubt. “Are you alright, Wanderer?”
“I’m fine.” He cleared his throat and looked at the ground, shifting his weight and height to distract himself for a bit. Paimon nods and pay no mind to his troubled thoughts, “Uh, we’re here to pick something up for monsieur Neuvillette.”
“ah! I see, please give me a second,” you spoke with a delight tone and got under the desk to reach out to something.
How..? He thought, looking at you while getting the thing that Neuvillette asked for to the traveler and Paimon, neatly knotting a ribbon beautifully and giving it to the two.
Spending his days from the Akademiya, he know something about this… ‘reincarnation’ something about that, but.. How? He keeps questioning himself, after all these years you’ve come back, alive and well and living the life you dreamed of since the past.
He wanted to hug you, the urge too powerful but he remains in his position—not wanting to scare you, well, since… you don’t remember him. That’s reincarnation, sometimes.. Probably.
“…derer… anderer.. Wanderer..!”
A voice calling out to him when he daze out, finally snapping back to reality, “hm?” he hums a response, “you seem out of it, we got what we needed..” Paimon showed the neatly beautiful ribbon box to Wanderer, “Let’s go! We still have to show you around in the opera house and meeting the chief justice.”
Wanderer blinked and shakes his head, “.. no.. I’ll stay here.. You go.” He said unexpectedly, “you sure?” Wanderer was sure all right, Paimon nodded and sigh, “all right then, meet you later!” And so, the two companion waved and bid farewell to the boy.
“Oh! You’re still here, sir?” you chuckle, “how can I help you?”
“Nothing,” Wanderer replied, “o-oh..!” you smiled and dust off the old book on your hand, his eyes scanned the whole shop and sees that most antiques aren’t properly cleaned yet and some old tale books aren’t in their proper position yet.
It gave him an idea, an idea to get closer with you again, to feel you again. Starting from square one, as if—the universe gave him a chance to be with you again.
“It looks like you’re the one who needed help, miss..” he almost said your name, “y/n, I believe I already introduced myself, but it’s y/n. You are?”
His breath hitches and has this hopeful spark in his eyes, “… Wanderer… Nice to meet you.. y/n.”
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He loves you dearly, still sees you the same as ever. If meeting you like this even after a hundred or thousand of years passes, he wouldn’t mind meeting you over and over and over again. He’ll do anything to be with you, you bring him solace, a safe space and a comforting presence and home.
You only met him the first time here in Fontaine, but for him—he wouldn’t mind meeting you again and again, reincarnation or something. He’s glad he found you, and you found him unintentionally.
No, you don’t know this boy. But somehow felt a connection, as if. You already knew him from your past. As if, he was that little pup in your dreams when you woke up from your deep state of a dream.
He wouldn’t lose you again, no. He’d do anything to protect you like how you have protected him from that village attack. He’s… forever grateful, you haven’t changed much and he… misses you.
A part of him felt complete, like a beautiful tone was complete and the melodies you once sang now carries a different resonance and the past of your last life now fading off of his mind.
And if the prophecy were to be true, he'd watch this nation fall and save you, not wanting to see you die again before his eyes—not wanting to be left again and feel the ache of his... heart. For you, he will choose you over this falling nation.
Now, you’re with him. And he’s with you.
Side by side, capturing every moment with you.
If in the past, he was your wonderful experience and you were.. his everything.
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