Monsterous Things

by ElaEnchanted21

Misao is a criminal and an outlaw of her own people. Waiting for the council to decide what is her fate, she meets the one person who might save her. Nonetheless, it doesn't mean that they have to like each other. While she is spiteful and hard, he is the very opposite. So can they work together or will they tear each other apart before all is said and done?

1. Prolouge: Behind bars

The sun here is thick with a blood like red that clings to everything. It is the kind that paints and ruins colors, and it made me want the blue again.

I could barely see the streets from behind the iron bars of my cage, but I knew what was there. I knew exactly what I would see. However, my attention was caught on the dust filtering through the cracks. The light from the sun turned the white of my kimono into a hideous bright pink. It is the same every day. There is no dawn here, just the same damn blood red.

My eyes scanned my cell, looking for something out of the ordinary. Bits of straw and gravel are strewn about the area. A sheet among more straw serves as my bed, and yet there is only one thing I can think about.

As I lie there mixed among the dirt and gravel, I dream of a world I once knew. One that was not tainted with hideous colors, but one that knew something of night and of day. One that had blue skies that mirrored the oceans, and one that was more home than I could ever imagine.

I could still smell the airs of that world, as if it were here with me now. But I was millions of galaxies away from that one, much to my own dismay. And so I sit here, remembering and dreaming of a day that I will return. Though, my future doesn't look that bright.

My tails fan out behind me, like a trail of snow with small imprints of baby pine cones at the very edges of them. There are five in total, and two identical small white ears lining the top of my head. I can feel them twitch this way and that as I listen for the footsteps of the guards or hear the conversations that they have.

Sometimes I swear that they think I am deft. Like I can't hear what they say about me. Though, I suppose that it gives me something to do as I wait for the council to decide what to do with me.

I am tired even though I am but five hundred and seventy- nine, and as I curl up into a ball on my sheet and straw. I feel a small hopeful smile creep onto my lips. They hadn't killed me yet. I thought, as I let the deep abyss engulf me until all that was left was darkness.