author's notes~ summer vacation has finally hit my school and this is my first fanfic here and I feel very hopeful so here's a bit of "nice" Kuroha. While this chapter is just an intro, for the next one, I'm debating on whether to continue the plot (add Seto) or focus more on their lives. Eh. Onwards! :D
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He was lost, maybe. That's what you would think, seeing him roam the tiny rooms of the cottage. Or maybe a ghost. Pale white skin, shifty black figure, unflinching yellow eyes, at times he even seemed to disappear into the surroundings. His hand traced over paper weights and tea cups, colored books and wooden shelves, knickknacks and papers that meant little to him. Curious objects and desires were foreign to him. Still, though, there was purpose in his search, as among the seeming mess of papers he held up a particular storybook. Brought up to the dim moonlit window, in large, fancy letters, "The Queen's Wolf".
Involuntarily, he gave a thin smile, alone in the dark. He had found himself becoming increasingly sentimental. Recently in these endless summer days, he again entered the cottage, again explored the objects, again read the title of that book at that time, thinking to himself that the book title was fitting. Even after years of meaningless repeats, the book shared his satisfaction.
And then there was the white-haired maiden, asleep in the next room, undisturbed like her little cottage.
Her room was dark, the blinds shut, his figure in the doorway leaving no shadow. Too early for the chirping birds, too early for any noise, she slept in silence. He inched to her side.
"My queen," he whispered.
Her eyes remained closed, her breathing deep and slow. He contemplated again. The number of ways he could displace objects and never have her notice. The number of fingers he could wrench off of her before she faints. The number of birds it would take to paint the room red.
But this was another route.
And as quietly as he came, he left. And as carefully as he walked out, the sun rose, and the birds sang, and the queen woke. First her body stretched out, readying itself for the day, then her eyes opened, adjusting to the dimness of her room, reminding her to open the blinds. So she stood up. With what bit of will she had, she shuffled to the window, opening the blinds. And she looked back and saw again her room the same as it had been the day before, light invading the vault, removing the smudges of darkness from her painted day.
"Good morning," she mumbled, still sleepy, to no one in particular.
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Pathetic.
Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.
How pathetic he was, watching her patiently from behind, stalking her from the dark recesses, the haunted rooms, dragging his chains but for no one to hear. All of this just for her to die, again and again and again. In the end, if anything, he would be forgotten and ignored, ghost of an abandoned room in an abandoned house in an abandoned town.
But no.
No. No. No.
That is all the more reason she must survive, to let the endless bloody summer days pass, to let there be something new presented to him for his enjoyment—a reward for his restraint. He was not sure whether to smile in excitement of the opportunity or to frown in distaste of the peace, emotions still foreign and volatile to him.
Yet there was something oddly delightful in this situation. The day when finally the queen's wolf comes to protect her and not to bite her head off.