Disclaimer: I don't own Durarara!, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Ryohgo Narita and Suzuhito Yasuda. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.
The Shadow's Spell
Somehow, her mind always wandered back to Ikebukuro. It would walk through the streets, turning and taking in the sights that she'd known her whole life through, and then, she would stop, only to end up in that hospital room again. From the window, Masaomi would stand on the street corner, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He would leave as soon as she'd risen from her bed.
He hadn't been there to comfort her, to make her see reason before.
So, she'd leaned fast upon the man, the friend, who had watched over her. Shielded her as though she were one of his siblings. For that, the care he'd bestowed upon her, she'd adored him, believing the words spoken with that silver tongue, never asking questions. She hadn't seen it before, but he had very much enjoyed it, the control she gave him. It was only after the fact, after her undying worship of him, that she'd come to see that.
Now, she had Masaomi's hand on her shoulder, rather than his. A blue sleeve now, not black, would hold her close, help her where she'd gone wrong.
Masaomi had wanted to leave, for them to go off together, but that hadn't been the half of it. Having him with her had been a part of it, but she'd really wanted to escape. When she'd uncovered Izaya's deception, his motive, it had frightened her. That's why she'd alerted people to his scheme. And, because of him, she had known that the city would never be as pretty as it used to be.
She hadn't wanted to stay in a place that would be overrun with shadow. A wicked spell that, like old myths, called for blood sacrifices.
That's why she'd gone with Masaomi. He could help her forget, and, together, they could escape.