KHR belongs to Akira Amano.


It's a gloriously blank canvas, perfect for him to paint his masterpiece on - now he just needs the tools, and they are easily supplied.

That night, a demon's laughter echoes through the darkness, with only the cold, uncaring moon there to hear it.

He's very satisfied with the painting, but he thinks it's lacking something - the splash of vibrant vermilion against the stark white is wonderful, but he needs an element of darkness in there somewhere, though any sane person would say this was dark enough. Ah, of course... why did he not think of that before? He smiles, a smile that is razorsharp and tinted with the edges of madness, and sets out to gather his materials.

That night, a blanket of death swept through an unnamed town, and a Family mourns, unknowing.

Stepping back, he admires the work, his finest so far - oh, the contrast of the red against white, and those empty eyes... Laughter bubbles up in his throat, and he dances among the bodies, unable to stop, any semblance of sanity gone (but then again, was he really ever sane? Not since those nasty, horrible people had first reached for him with their cold, cold hands and their twisted, sick smiles-)

He waltzes among the puppets with their cut strings, with madness as his partner.