All righty! Chapter two! Expect some M-rated warnings for disturbing imagery and moderate smut (Haji finally…finally…gets past Second Base XP). Also, feel free to correct me on any inconsistencies about O-Bon in Okinawa—my knowledge of how it's celebrated in the Rykyus is based on hearsay, not personal experience.
Additionally, if there are any corrections to be made to some of the French dialogue, inform me immediately. My French was so-so a half-decade ago, and I can't imagine how mediocre it's gotten since then.
Hope you guys enjoy! Review, pretty please!
"There's no use trying," Alice said. "One can't believe impossible things."
"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."
-Lewis Carroll, "Through the Looking Glass."
Koza en fête.
The carnival is a palette of living colors. Rows of lanterns hang in multicolored spheres. The floral patterns on the revelers' yukatas are a swarm of butterflies. The warm air is suffused with the bready aroma of Okinawan dango and the tangy sweetness of tonkatsu sauces. Drumbeats and music boom, the night vibrating with laughter.
Although celebrated throughout Japan, Obon's customs differ in Okinawa. In most of Japan, the holiday is typically celebrated each year from August 13th to 15th. For Okinawa, however, the festival dates correspond with the lunar calendar.
Divided into three days, the first, Unke is referred to as the welcoming day. Families clean out their homes and place offerings on the butsudan for the visiting ancestral spirits. In the evening, lanterns are lit at the entrances of houses as beacons to guide them home.
During the second day, Nakanuhi, people meet with relatives to pay respects and exchange gifts. Haji imagines that, like at Christmas or Halloween in the West, stores make a smashing success in sales. The last day, Ukui, marks when the visiting spirits are escorted back to their own realm. Families offer prayers, asking for forgiveness and protection from their departed ones. Paper money or uchikabi is burnt so that the spirits do not return empty-handed to their own world.
In a majority of Japan, this final day is marked by Toro Nagashi, a tradition in the spirits are sent off with candle-lit lanterns floated down rivers. But in Okinawa, it is done through the Eisa, a festal prayer-dance to escort the ancestors to the afterlife.
Considering Obon's somber origins, Haji is amazed by the merriment.
And aware too, why it might disturb Saya.
Perhaps this was a bad idea.
He moves beside Saya through the pathway. People flow all around them. Stalls are vibrant with exotica, aromas wafting in sensory banners. Colorful triangles of apples and oranges, the fragrant bouquets of flowers, the rows of bottles and toys, all hold their curiosity.
But Haji's gaze is on Saya.
"Y'know," she licks her watermelon popsicle. "This was a good idea."
"Oh?"
"Mm. I never thought I'd do this. Usually I'd be moping at home. Thinking things... I shouldn't be thinking of. But at least this is a good distraction."
"Distraction?" Half-serious, he teases, "Are simply you indulging me on tonight's outing?"
"Of course not! I wouldn't have eaten those tuna eyeballs just to indulge you."
"You did not seem to find them objectionable."
"Actually, I didn't." She giggles. "They tasted pretty good. Kind of like caviar." She licks the dripping end of her popsicle. "It's not something I'd usually try. But with all the impossible changes in my life so far..."
"Those eyeballs are by far the strangest."
She sticks out her tongue.
Haji wants to tell her she looks like a hybrid cat-gargoyle when she does that. Instead he smiles. Why complain about her snatches of joie de vivre? If she is happy, so is he.
A fact that, itself, is a novelty.
She seems... happy.
For the first and thousandth time, his eyes drink her in. Her dark hair swept up off her neck with a decorative comb, gleaming in the secondhand wattage of the lanterns. The flowery pink-and-lilac yukata, its hem flowing around her ankles. Her twinkly eyes and the glowing tones of her skin, as if she is lit up from within.
So beautiful.
There was a time when he'd been forced to keep the thought, and the incredible yearning that came with it, to himself. But now he can whisper it in her ear. Can draw her in to feel the heated press of her body, kiss her until she is flushed with the same bottomless excitement suffusing him.
He doesn't think he will ever get used to it.
He doesn't want to.
After everything they've endured, this impossibility cannot be taken for granted.
Their hours together have been a psychedelic blur. They've explored the luminous shopfronts, sharing takoyaki dumplings and scoops of shaved ice. They have played (unsuccessful) games of goldfish-scooping, watched the graceful parade of Tii-udui dancers and applauded the clownish antics of the chooginaa actors. At a ring-throwing game, Saya has won an elaborate Japanese noh mask, and bagfuls of confetti-colored candy. Beneath a shadowy awning, they have shared kisses like of pair of teenagers, their sighs and murmurings blending with the quieter notes of the carnival music.
It is surreal, exhilarating. He has seldom seen Saya so absorbed, except by battle.
But there are no battles tonight. This is Saya laughing and frolicking, enjoying herself. Yet lost as she is in the revelry, she keeps him in the center of her attention. Such an unexpected, innocent attention; she is like a little girl at play rather than a woman with her lover.
Haji cannot say he minds. Her girlish delight is almost reassuring. He feared the war had crushed that sprightly facet of her nature. But it is still intact. Each passing hour coaxes it back out.
Haji wishes for more nights like this. More chances to reawaken The Real Saya.
Keep her forever.
Yet despite her lightness, she gives off a vibe, sporadic, of being not fully here. Sometimes, Haji thinks he catches her scanning the crowd with an anxious eye. She will be talking to him, laughing, then suddenly break off and drop her gaze. If he strains his ears, she seems to be humming sometimes. That same mysterious refrain:
Sommeil, sommeil, viens viens viens
Sommeil, sommeil, viens de quelque part...
Finally, Haji asks, "Is something wrong?"
"Wha—?"
"You seem distracted. Should we sit down?"
"N-No." She shakes her head. "I was just—thinking about something. But that's no good. I shouldn't spoil our evening by thinking."
"That depends on what you are thinking of."
Although he can imagine what.
Saya sighs. "It doesn't matter. Tonight's been perfect, just as it is. I'm not going to let anything else in my mind. Right now, I just want to be a normal girl. With her—her normal ex-monster-killing boyfriend."
Boyfriend?
He hides a smile. "What would you like to do next?"
She glances around. Her eyes alight on a game-booth. A group of teenagers, laughing and jostling, aim oversized lasers at electronic bulls-eyes. A row of colorful plush kittens hang around a big sign:
2 Shots: Candy Bag!
4 Shots: Beigoma!
6 Shots: Stuffed Toy!
Haji watches the teenagers fire, one by one. Multicolored lights pop. Each of them misses the bulls-eye.
Saya huffs. "Amateurs. The target's barely fifteen feet off."
"Why don't you try?"
"Maybe I should." She smiles, showing her pretty white teeth. "You've been so sweet. I should win you something."
"What?"
Popsicle in mouth, Saya steps upto the booth. The enormous laser-gun is easily half her size. When she hefts it, the middle-aged vendor chuckles. "Maybe your friend would have better luck?" He points to Haji.
Saya merely grins, as if bursting with a wicked secret.
She aims for the bulls-eye. Haji knows that her trajectory is crystal-clear. A Chiropteran can see in perfect darkness. Eyes narrowed, Saya fires off a shot. Red lights flash. Cacophonous music signals that she's hit the target.
The vendor's jaw drops open. Five rapid bulls-eyes later, the stuffed kitten is hers. Preening, Saya presents it to Haji like a trophy. It would be ridiculously embarrassing, if her smile weren't so bright.
Haji regards the Kanji symbol on the kitten's belly.
"Kichi," Saya says. "Lucky. That's what it means."
"It is appropriate."
"You think so?"
He nods. He feels immeasurably lucky tonight. Saya's vivacity makes all the difference.
He smiles. "Perhaps I should win you something?"
"Maybe later. Let's take a time-out. My feet are getting tired."
He follows her to a distant bench. Away from the crush, the air is cooler here. Tall lush trees shade the pathway, creating an aura of quiet secrecy. Settling side by side. Saya places her bag of goodies on the bench. She offers Haji her popsicle. But he bites a little off the top and hands it back.
"Go on," she says. "Have more."
He shakes his head. "I have never liked these things. You know that."
"Oh." Her eyes drop. "I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"Just—I guess you'd have enjoyed food, if you were human. If I hadn't made you a Chevalier. There's so many little things you can't appreciate anymore."
He tries on a smile. "Such as what? Arthritis and dementia?"
"No. I meant—y'know. Things like sleeping. Having good dreams. Being drunk for more than one measly hour." She sighs. "You can't even enjoy sweets anymore."
"Saya, that is not true."
"No?"
"I never liked sweets as a boy. Don't you remember? Joel once gave us a lecture about cavities, and I thought he meant mouth cancer. Afterward, I never touched a chocolate if I could help it."
"Oh. Right." Laughing, she finishes her melted popsicle. "I remember. God—I have to stop being so mopey. I can't just let every little reminder of the war upset me. I have to move past it."
"There is no stringent rule for recovery, Saya. You must do it at your own pace. I have had thirty years to make my peace with the war. But for you, it has barely been a few months. You cannot help it."
"Maybe so. But I should help it. I don't want it to ruin this." Shyly, she fits both warm palms against his face, pulling him in. Her lips are sweet and cool, like the watermelon ice-lolly. Melting him inside.
When they break apart, she giggles.
"What is so funny?"
"Nothing. I just finally get what all the fuss is about. Going out someplace with a boy. Letting him gorge you on kisses and treats. It's...it's nice." Her tone is ambivalent, as if she has purchased goods that have proven costlier than expected.
"I suppose the experience varies, depending on whom you are with."
"I guess." She twines her fingers with his. "But I can't imagine doing this with anyone else. I-I never even thought we'd have this. I'm not sure you thought so, either. And you've waited—suffered—even more than me. For this impossible thing."
"We could argue for hours over impossible things, Saya. But in the end, I would rather concentrate on where they have landed us."
Nodding, Saya threads her arms around his neck. Dots kisses along his cheekbone, the side of his mouth, before whispering his name. It is almost an endearment.
In that moment, Haji relives that first time he'd seen her—the black-haired imperious girl by the Zoo's fountain. Frightening and fascinating him at once, then establishing herself as the figurehead of all his future obsessions.
A mute wonder seeps through him.
Here she is now.
Here I am, finally with her.
He wants to tell her, but doesn't dare. Squeezes her fingers instead, absorbing the subtle melody of her pulse.
Ahead, on the raised platform, performers go through the airy motions of the Eisa dance, to the rhythmic thumping of the shime deeku drums and the bright strains of sansin. The singers are chanting a reverberant song Haji cannot translate.
"Mirukumunari," Saya murmurs.
"Pardon?"
"The song. It's the Mirukuminari. I guess they're being uber-traditional this year." A giggle. "Sora says that last year, there were a group of performers who did the Eisa to "Who Let the Dogs Out?"
He has no idea what she means. But her smile is enchanting.
"I'd like to join the dance myself," she says. "But I'd probably trip over my yukata like an idiot. These clothes aren't for me."
He shakes his head. "They suit you."
In terms of taste, he is a confirmed European. But even he appreciates the aesthetics of the demurely-elegant fabric on a pretty girl. The embroidered white obi, the floral prints of pink and lavender azaleas on the skirt and sleeves, make her seem even more delicate than usual. A waft of springtime.
Saya smirks. "How come you're not in a yukata?"
"I cannot pull it off. Japanese clothing looks on me like pajamas."
"Pajamas?" She giggles. "Come to think of it, you never liked those, either. Even at the Zoo, you preferred those baggy trunks. The ones that looked like boxers." She taps her chin. "I think you might've been ahead of your time where underwear was concerned."
A faint smile. "Perhaps."
"Too bad I can't say the same for myself. If there's one thing I don't miss, it's having to wear seven different layers of clothing everyday."
"I would not know about that," Haji says innocently. "After all, half the pleasure of receiving a present is in unwrapping it."
Her cheeks flame. But she dares a minxy grin. "In that case, maybe I should've worn a ball-gown."
"Can that be arranged?"
She flushes, chewing her lip. Stops when she notices him staring.
Haji knows what his expression must seem to her. Half lit, half shadowed by the ambience. Eyes locked on hers with a hungry fixation he cannot repress. Just having her so close makes the air warmer, makes his surroundings seem more distant.
He wants to look away. Wants tonight to be lighthearted and innocent. All for Saya, not about him.
"Y-You look so serious," she whispers.
He clears his throat. "Forgive me. I—"
Saya moves then, sliding across the bench, her hands coming up to frame his face again. Her mouth, small and hot, absorbs the words. A flare of heat shoots up through Haji. The same dazzling reaction, everytime, because this is Saya kissing him. Not out of despair, or a need for comfort—but because she wants him.
It is mind-bending.
Their arms tangle as he pulls her closer. Warm and scented, tasting of watermelon and dumplings. Redolent with Life. Her kiss goes through him in a sunburst, lighting him up. She sighs in the back of her throat, as his right hand strokes down her jaw and neck. Slowly, he traces the hollow of her throat, the line of her collarbone. Slips his hand, after the briefest hesitation, under the folds of her yukata. Her skin is warm and smooth under his cool fingers.
He wants to venture further, but it is a public place. He does not want to offend her.
Saya breaks the kiss. Lips against his ear, she whispers, "No one's watching."
An oblique invitation.
Carefully, he strokes her breasts, covered by her slip. Perfect little handfuls, warming his chilly palms. Her breath comes hot and soft against his ear. He pulls her nipples and takes her shaky sighs into his mouth. Her whole body radiates energy. Cheeks flushed; heart racing. It is as if there is a direct circuit between them; his own pulse thrums, echoing hers.
He wants to do this forever. Feast on her mouth and skin; devour her mindlessly. Make her all his.
Because she has made him hers. Catalyzed his life, so without her he is half-dead.
Saya breaks off to inhale. "Haji..."
"Hm?"
"W-we should go."
His lips trace along her ear. "Do you wish to?"
"No. But someone might come here—"
Gentlemanly etiquette dictates that he answer: Yes. We should stop. But her delicious warmth, the beat of her blood, overwhelms him. Tipping her chin up, he kisses her again. Her lips are plump and sweet, half-parted. She makes a startled sound, her scent simmering with excitement.
A secret message for him alone.
Music skirls. Plants rustle and exhale. Gradually, Haji grows less tentative. Still kissing her, he draws her onto his knee. A warm armful, silk and cotton. Making him feel at once possessive and greedy. Clasping her tighter, he slips a hand up under the yukata's hem.
Dimly, he knows this is unwise. It is a crowded place. Anyone can stumble upon them. Considering the festival's sobering import, it might even be a tad disrespectful. But lust overcrowds logic. Beneath the dress, the layers of petticoat, his hand explores. Gliding up her knee, slipping along her thighs. Saya starts.
"Wait—!"
He freezes. "I-I am sorry."
"It's okay." Her trembling hand covers his. "But—I don't think y-you should—"
"Ssh." He kisses her hair, her eyes. "I will not do anything to hurt you, Saya."
"I-I know. But there's people out here. If anyone—"
The bench creaks as he shifts, away from the carnival. Saya cradled in his lap, the shadowy grove a dense intimate curtain. To passersby, they seem like just an embracing couple, glimpsed from behind. Gently, his hand slides up her leg. Her warm skin blooms into goosebumps. She shivers.
"Ssss!"
"What is it?"
"Your hands. They're c-cold."
He smiles. "I am sorry. I should have fed before we left." He lifts his palm to her cheek. Warms it against her radiant skin. Saya hesitates, then turns her head. Presses soft kisses to his palm, sending shivers through him.
This time, Haji knows she welcomes it when his fingers glide up the inside of her leg. Sheaves of bunched-up cloth. Smooth warm flesh. His hand slips higher, to the lacy fabric of her panties. Saya shivers, sinking against him. One arm around his shoulders; hot little face buried in his neck.
"H-Haji..."
He kisses her again. Lets her taste his patience, his yearning. His fingers lick across the cotton fabric, drawing tiny gasps from her. The maneuvering room is awkward; he cannot see what he is doing. But Saya's shiny eyes and glossy lips, her sawing gasps and the heat of her small squirming body, fill his sensorium in an erotic swirl.
In a few moments, he's pushed the panties aside. Stroking her with the whispering movements of his bare fingers. She is wet and vibrating. Intensely hot. The imperfect darkness makes everything hushed and illicit. He is aware of his hardness, caught—painfully—beneath her body. Embarrassing that his desire should be so obvious. But he is too lost to care.
He teases her, caressing, exploring. Just the heel of his palm and the tip of his slick index finger. Hanging onto his neck, Saya squirms. Her teeth are sunk into his collar; he feels her panting, trying not to cry out. A fantasy blossoms vivid; to make her spend for him, amidst the oblivious merriment.
A naughty secret, just between them.
But risks outweigh the thrill. It is too crowded. He wants her in a proper bed. Wants to memorize all her charms, every detail of her expressions, as she falls apart for him. As overheated and overwhelmed as he is, he knows when too far is far enough.
Diplomatically, he withdraws his hand. Saya whimpers in disappointment.
"Haji—wait—"
"Ssh." He daubs his fingers, wet with her, over her lips. Swallows her gasp on a hungry kiss. Tart and slick and so luscious. Shuddering, Saya presses against him. Haji feels the vibration of her needful moans. His blood leaps, his mind dissolves, and all he wants is to take her home, pull her clothes off and fall into her.
Gasping, they finally break, gulping in air. He smoothes her tangled hair.
"Saya, I—"
She pales. "Oh God."
"What is it?" Did he do something wrong? "What's the matter?"
Her eyes are pinpricks. He feels the terror crackling off her.
"Saya—?"
"I-I'm sorry! Something—something's here! I have to—"
"Saya!"
In a whirl of pink fabric, she rushes away.
Stunned, Haji watches her vanish amid the crowd. But before he can follow her, a piping voice says:
"Elle veut se réveiller."
It is like a cold pebble flung against his nape. Haji shivers, jerking around.
"What?"
The speaker is a little boy. He is dressed in a traditional happi-coat, a noh mask strapped above his head. In the darkness, he regards Haji with a bright and fixed stare, like a cat.
Haji blinks. How did the boy get here? He did not hear anyone coming.
"What—are you doing here?"
"Elle veut se réveiller." The boy speaks in a half-whisper, as if sharing secrets. "Laissez la tranquille."
It is then that Haji realizes he is speaking French. His head swims with the strangeness of it. Where did this boy come from?
"Where are your parents? Are you here alone?"
"N'ayez pas peur. Ca va bien se passer."
Haji frowns. "What do you mean by that? How did you get here—?"
There is a sudden shrill noise.
What on earth—?
Saya's cellphone. Tucked in the bag she left on the bench. Haji hesitates, then pulls it out, turning away from the child.
"Yes?"
"Hey, Saya?" Kai's voice is half-lost in skirling music. "You there?"
"She just left." Haji senses the anxiety in Kai's tone. "What is wrong?"
"Who is this? Haji? Shit—where's Saya?"
"Somewhere in the park. What is it?"
"Haji, we got a problem. You need to find Saya."
"Find Saya?"
"Look. One of Red Shield' vehicles was in Koza. Shipping Chiropteran test-subjects to a containment lab. But there was an accident of some kind—there's no time to go into the details now. Long story short, the Chiropterans got loose. There were three in all."
Haji's blood runs cold. "Chiropterans? Impossible."
"Oh yeah?"
"Saya or I would be able to sense—" He breaks off.
Oh God.
Is that why Saya fled? Had she intuited danger in the park?
"Do you have any idea where the Chiropterans are?" he asks.
"Not yet. But given past cases, we know where they're likely to go."
Understanding crashes. "Saya."
"Bingo. Find Saya, wherever she's at. Tell her she needs to—Hey, Haji? Hello?"
The phone clicks shut. Pocketing it quickly, Haji offers the child a half-glance. "You should not be out here alone. Go find your parents or—"
He breaks off. The grove's sudden emptiness sends a chill to his fingers' ends.
The child is gone.
But in the shadows, a black cat slithers away.
The carnival is alive with phantoms.
She sees them crouched in shadows, eyes pale and eerie. Sees them standing under the lanterns, spilt blood glistening. Sees them playing hide-and-seek between the revelers, their inside spilling out, their moth-eaten clothes fluttering.
Surrounding her.
She has no idea where they've come from. No idea what they want.
The entire evening, she was free of them. Her mind was buoyant, sailing through the moment. The ugly memories had floated nearby. But she'd refused to let them drown her.
But now...
Now a door somewhere flies off its hinges. All the ghosts resurface, floating up vivid and distinct out of the blackness.
And she is there. Caught in a cesspool of memories she yearns to erase. Palm trees, distorted faces, skyward flares, splatters of blood. She hears the barrage of gunfire, the shrieks and sobbing. Air stinking of fire and sweat, damp soil, an amalgam of chemicals, an undertide of blood and shit.
And Haji's wan face. Pain glowing in his eyes.
Saya... Don't you recognize me?
A dazzling flash. She is in a stone corridor. A hall, cobbled floors, walls luxuriant with blue roses. Sunlight glowing from the tall windows. Her footsteps echoing.
Sturdy oak door. A key fitted into a lock. Forbidden evil unleashed.
Sommeil, sommeil, viens viens viens
Sommeil, sommeil, viens de quelque part...
Memory slices away like paper, tatters flapping.
Wincing, Saya stumbles through the crowd. The sensation of those days and nights in the war erupts through her. Her head pounds as if about to explode. Swaying, she covers her eyes.
Oh God.
So much bloodshed. So much ugliness and death.
Another flash—hot and prickling. There are elegant ballrooms, a crowded dancefloor, everyone in gowns and tuxedos. Solomon approaching in his white suit. He catches her hand, swings her in. Awkward at first, but then they are gliding like swans. Perfect synchronization. Both trading smiles—his soft and pleased, hers full of shy delight.
I can't believe this is your first time...
White lights strobe behind her eyes. She shies from scissoring images—Riku lying nude and stone-dead on the floor. Joel's corpse hanging from Diva's bloody jaws. George crystallizing in frantic spasms. Red Shield's ship igniting into flames. A wild miasma of sensation—intensifying, overlapping, shattering.
All different, all synchronic, popping and flashing over and over.
She tries to evade the pain. But the images are inside her, playing in a sickening film reel.
Stop! Please stop!
Bumping and staggering, avoiding peoples' stares, Saya races from the carnival. She wants to crawl and hide. Dissolve someplace dark.
Free of them.
She throws herself down a pathway. Stumbles, legs caught in her yukata, through high weeds. At length, she reaches a lonely spot. In the background, the carnival lanterns are glowing blurs, the music tinny and indistinct.
Panting, Saya leans on her knees. Her spine still tingles with that awful premonition of something enormous chasing her.
It's okay. It's okay.
Forcing her breathing to slow, she straightens. Tall trees surround her, rustling in the breeze. The air is warm with the pungency of mud. The bushes give off a chirr chirr chirr of insects.
Exhaling, Saya rubs her eyes. Sweat runs hot and ticklish down her back.
I'm safe. Nothing's out there.
It's all in my mind.
Those ghosts aren't real. They are beyond all reach. Miles and decades away.
Tears blur her eyes.
But then why...?
Why do I keep seeing them?
She fights for air, sobs tightening her throat. In the sky, the stars are a twinkling field. She stares at them as if transfixed. Dimly, her skin still races to Haji's caresses. She is energized and brimming, absorbing her own disappointment.
She wishes she hadn't taken off. But in the midst of kissing Haji, she'd been seized by such an awful terror.
As if someone—something—was watching her.
Ready to attack.
A Chiropteran?
It is impossible. She inhales the warm dark air, clearing her mind. Focuses on that distinct zing in her blood.
On watch for predators.
A tangy breeze kicks up, stirring the treetops, crackling the leaves against her legs. Her hair, damp with sweat, falls from its updo, fluttering around her face.
And she hears them.
Roars.
Her eyes snap open.
The sound—dreadful and familiar—is like an icy blade slicing down her spine. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps.
It can't be.
There are no Chiropterans inOkinawa. Red Shield's reports confirmed it.
Except she can hear them. The guttural roars she'd heard every night in the war. Their recollection brings everything back. The glowing yellow eyes. The riptide of blood and spume. The creature's paralyzed bodies as she drove her sword home.
But how can they be here?
It's impossible.
Suddenly, her sea of ghostly specters return. Cold hands brushing her clothes; cold eyes traipsing her face. Breathless, amorphous, dancing around her one by one. She hears their collective chants.
'Nothing is impossible, Saya. Haven't we've proven that enough?'
'The only impossibility is escaping us.'
She squeezes her eyes shut.
No.
Please stop.
A branch snaps behind her.
She whirls.
It is a black cat. It pads through the weeds, bright-eyed and mrrrowing. In the gloom, its eyes are like yellow marbles.
Relief floods Saya. For a moment she is delirious with it.
Managing a smile, she crouches low. "Pssst? H-Here kitty."
She half-expects the cat to bolt, as all animals do. But it meows, fur sleek and glossy in the moonlight. Graceful, sinuous, it circles the area. Saya feels almost as if it is watching her.
"Yoohoo? Kitty? Come here."
Another meow. The cat's tail rustles among the reeds like a black snake. The rest of it is perfectly still. The eyes glow; liquid amber.
Bit by bit, Saya grows afraid. Is the cat even real? Maybe it is another ghost. An emissary of one of her victims. She has never seen any like this—they've all shown themselves to her—shown her their gaping mouths, their maggot-soaked flesh, their dripping blood and white eyes.
But what else could it be?
"Voir au delà des apparences, Saya."
She jerks as if whipped. Her eyes dart from side to side. But she cannot see who spoke.
"Who—who's there?"
Silence.
"Who's out there? Come out!"
Whispering leaves. The chig chig of insects.
Swallowing, Saya returns her eyes to the cat. But space is empty, the reeds undisturbed.
What...?
Spots dance fore her eyes. Her breath hitches, failing her. She thinks she might scream, and it would be a loud welcome scream. An outlet for tonight's grotesque impossibilities.
Then, through the blackness, she makes out a bulky shape. It crawls, on all fours, through the tall trees. Large. Dense. Fetid.
She sees the eyes glow.
Oh God.
A surreal familiarity climbs up her spine. That is no cat-phantom. It is too big, too solid. A physical manifestation of all the ghosts, who have vanished to stare collectively at her through its eerie red eyes.
Thanatos incarnate.
Saya's blood runs cold.
It is only when Chiropteran lunges that she realizes:
I don't have my sword.
Again, inform me if the French is wonky, and I'll fix it. To keep things safe, I'd have used German, (which is actually better than my written/spoken English XP), but in context to the fic, that would've made no sense (or even less sense than this chapter already makes).
Edit: Also, here are the translations to the French dialogue. I thought I'd included them in the AN, but apparently I forgot XP
Elle veut se réveiller: She wants to wake up.
Laissez la tranquille: Leave her be/alone.
N'ayez pas peur. Ca va bien se passer: Don't be afraid. Everything will be alright.
Voir au delà des apparences: See beyond appearances.
Hope you guys enjoyed! Next chapter will fall either next Monday, or next-to-next Monday. Haven't decided whether I'll be updating this fic by a weekly or bi-weekly basis. (SCREW YOU, RL! DX).
FEEDBACK MAKES ME SQUEE! ;)