Etched
by SMYGO4EVA
Machi knew what it was like to be in constant motion; all the chaos, the volatility, and falling away to nothing just to survive. She wasn't used to staying in one place, to having an anchor to this world. Those who weren't Spiders regarded them as aberrations, as those to be wiped out, as nothing. Her threads shone in the moonlight, shimmering and glistening as blood slid down gently, as she tugged and pulled, until the struggling ceased to be.
Pakunoda knew how it felt to find her place, to feel as if she belonged. Even when the world told her otherwise, when her lipstick was the same color as the blood upon the ground, she swore she made her mark. Her gun in her hand felt heavy, but then there were times when it felt light, when she felt nothing, nothing at all.
Machi knew she liked the satisfaction, stitching broken things together, to make them whole, until she would easily undo them. Pakunoda was aware of such pride in taking lives, dancing in the devil's grasp, her bullets deadly as they were quick. Being in motion, they often wondered how they made it this far, even when blood pooled in their hands, in shared sins, taking what wasn't theirs to begin with.
It didn't matter, though, and it never really did. Pakunoda was Machi's constant, yet it was a matter of time before one of them would be lost. Until then, the woman's touch etched itself on Machi's skin, not leaving her anytime soon.
