She was a dainty lady. As least in her own psyche, she would always be this gorgeous damsel she wanted to be.
Dreams were exquisite while she was lonely. The sounds of a thousand wind chimes with rods made out iron nails kept vibrating in her eardrum while that sunset sky above her head slowly faded into the darkness of evening, and she was all by herself, in this golden cage of her fortunate family, listening to the melancholic melodies spinning round and round along with the rotation of vinyl records playing, spinning around her notions. Ah, yes, dreams of her own, swaying with the winds on a dance floor decorated with meandering golden sand dunes of the same color of her hair, in this decaying world that would soon collide under the dawn of mankind, and she would be there, living and laughing until its end.
She thought of him, her charming muse, sleeping somewhere far away from her, wondering whether he was in the same phantasmagoria with her or not. After all, their shared dream was, in her humble opinion, a little bit too surreal, natheless she would not mind to indulge herself in his fantasy - their fantasy. The dame loved her men ferociously ambitious with their goals set high and their spirits prepared for battles, and among all those men, he was the most nonsecular in the most twisted yet chivalrous manner. His dangerous aura made her tremble in excitement the day they met, when he approached her and simply said, "Work for me."
"For what purpose?"
"For the elimination of this world."
That was what she called an offer which could not be rejected. Who know what he might do if she refuse? She accepted anyway, not with fear but with a rapid interest in the emanation of thrill from him.
To actually admit, she followed the man during her holidays out of curiosity, only to have a secretive pastime spent with someone she found extraordinary and evade from the mundane lifestyle that she had always been participating in as a splendid actor - a successful and erudite son of an elite family. When he decapitated a burglar who tried to snatch her suitcase on a humid June midday while they were walking along a narrow street within a backwater of a town, the thief's blood spattered on her left cheek - filthy yet warm, repellent yet seductive - and she smeared the crimson liquid over her lips as if it was lipstick, then asked him, "Am I beautiful?"
"I guess."
And she smiled, "May I ask the reason for your decision of picking me up?"
"I invited people that possess antihumanistic mentality."
"Nihilists?"
"Murderers."
"Psychopaths?"
"Valuable knives."
"What made you think I'm suitable for your standards?"
"Listen libertine. Since I can track components of your mind, I judge by how your brain is wired. I could scrutinize your biological attributes too if I pay enough attention to assess your values. Your characteristics are rather exclusive, to be honest, I can tell you're a really special individual among the degenerates. There are several genes of yours associated with antisocial personality, such MAOA-L and so on." He paused for a while. "Also, gender dysphoria is present."
"You're really an omniscient man, aren't you?"
"Not entirely." For a while she saw him simper, a smicker expression limned on his lovely face. "But I'm aware enough to adjudge you correctly, as to view who you truly are."
"I'm curious." She asked while wiping away the blood on her cheek with her thumb, a faint trace of red followed her finger. "How does I look like as a human?"
"A threat to your own kind. A behavior-altering parasite that control rodents with your affluence." His eyebrows rose as his eyes widened. "I like you. I cherish spiders who acknowledge their dissolute personalities. It was easier to work with you guys who violate morality openly and admittedly than some self-righteous imbeciles who would betray me quickly for their safety and claim it was for helping humanity after hiding under my wing. Those trashes do not warrant conservation."
As always, he made her shiver with the feeling with every words he said. As she remembered, he never cared of her facade, that eidolon regarded as who she truly was. What was this feeling scintillating in her heart? A rapture, perhaps?
She glared at the headless corpse of the robber. The ground under him blackened with spilled vital fluid, the body lifeless and flabby with scarlet liquid starting to dry on the tips of his lacerated arteries; his disconnected pate was partly bald and the eyelids were still unfolded, leaving his eyeballs motionless and anemic in those sockets. Approaching the carcass, she observed the technique that was utilized in his previous attack. Her dear companion surely cut the man swiftly, with a force sufficient enough not to squander energy and still aquedate to sunder his prey into two parts, with the head bounced onto the nearby wall and rolled over the sideway when the body plummeted immediately onto the earth. The rogue had laid down in a morose tranquility that lingered around the somber atmosphere of a deceased without funeral. Apologize, stranger. She did not know him, but by their mere interaction when he only stole her belonging without assaulting her to the point of severe injuries (she only had a scratch from the fall after an abrupt push), she could tell this guy suffered a consequence much more brutal than his committed flaws. The missy stood still in the complete consciousness of how fragile a human's life was; she had to be stronger in order not to die so simply.
How ironic. She was excited and scared at the same time, but it was fine, because that was when she put a start to boost up her potentials. She was thankful of him for that experience.
In retrospect, she assumed the angel whom she adored would finally be satisfied to know that she had become a frequent contributor who could financially aid him in his plan of demolishing this repulsive planet they were drowned in. His kind would finally be freed from all those constraints caused by humans - humans akin to her (unfortunately) whom she never wished to associate with; their hypocrisies and double standards along with prejudices masked as morality made her want to vomit. She abhorred them, and wondered whether she abhorred herself a bit too, as she had her covert perversion hidden under status of aristocracy. This mademoiselle was determined in every way with no fear no limit no regret and a confidence great enough to sin without any justification, that was how she reminded herself of her distorted values, but she did not know anymore - did she enjoy being the one she was, with this bizarre body she found unfamiliar to her recognition, with the vile personality that was willing to step on anyone for her personal interests?
Yes. Properly. Her selfishness won in the end. The modern society was ruled by the haut monde, and she preferred to struggle in order to maintain herself as the crème de la crème of rats in this rat race than to live an ethical yet prosaic lifetime without ecstatic wickedness.
She climbed on the altar built by her efforts to find a salvation that was worth of her sacrification, to look more of the ultimate merit, to make her realize she was vigorously alive. There was solely him that matched her fascination and met her expectations; she was exclusively interested in him as someone whose principles did not contradict much which made him a terrifyingly radical misanthropist. Every human was equivalent according to him, not equally appreciable but equally abominable, unless they were pragmatically exploitatable then maybe for a little bit they deserved to remain longer on this planet, such as her. She was astonished, unsure whether it was shock or amusement that striked her every time he killed someone, but definitely that 'someone' was never her and could never be related to her, as inside her soul, every other human had been rotten as decaying cadavers - no more than objects dropped on the ground as stairs to be stepped on by them.
Guess she was just crazy, or having a severe case of hybristophilia mingled with her own turpitude. She was a sick fuck, she knew.
Like the love of Bonnie to Clyde, her infatuation was sordid. She understood they could not be melodramatically saccharine as if they were schmaltzy children, and there was no need for that kind of bond anyway. Sometime she questioned herself, did she ever 'love' anyone in a romantic sense or did she sink in another illusion of affection she strived to have? To a certain level, she believed she admired him in a way a devotee would admire her idol, sometimes she thought about him in a Platonic way (in a definition that had been examined in Plato's Symposium - to rise above carnal attraction and ascend to the appreciation of his soul and divine grace, as if he had any soul being such a devil). Right, that man was a devil with charm, villain material, deadly alluring; his life was buried deep under the blazing hell of his hatred remarked with a vow to eradicate every insect he loathed as his idiosyncratic monument. Bad to the bone, best by the skin; every inches of his appearance defined perfection. May the earth judder in his fetching hands.
Such irresistible hands she desired to touch. Beloved lord, may their fingers locked like lemans do?
No. They were not lemans. She shook her head in disappointment with this realization oftenly. Did not matter, with the anatomy she had, she passed the state of desiring for physically intimation a long time ago. Who would want to canoodle with a person bearing incongruity between mind and body within himself?
.
The boy she met was rather iconic, purleish blue hair and golden pupils. He was a walking Mediterranean hyacinth field with Pescara's aurum melting in the depth of his irises and blended in his honeyed skin. Who was this brat with unique appearance again?
"Um, who is this?"
"Master Knives. Who is this?"
Knives looked at them with a plain expression, "Your comrade." and turned his back to them, continued to read the report he was holding, whatever that was.
"My name is Elendira, known by the title of Elendira the Crimson Nail." She pridefully introduced her honorific. "What am I supposed to call you?"
"Legato Bluesummers."
"What kind of name is that?"
"A name given by Master Knives and a part of it chosen by me." He grinned childishly (and she had to admit, that was quite pretty of him to have such features on his face). "Why was you named 'Elendira'?"
"I decided to have that name. I like it."
"Isn't it a female name?"
"It is." She raised her shoulders. "I'm female."
"Elendira. I believe you are mentally unwell."
And she suddenly had an urge to beat him so bad.
.
"Why do I have to work with this guy again?"
"Because Master told us to do so?"
"Excuse me. I'm not asking you."
Knives gazed as the two ducklings, rubbed his index on the back of his left ear, the beauty mark under the corner of his right eye twinkled when he smirked sardonically while thinking of an appropriate answer. Lucky for them that he was joyful enough today not to be annoyed with their immature quarrel and throw both of them out. "Relax. Relax. Think of him as your big brother or something. You told me you would like to have a sibling sometimes, right?"
"Why does he have to be my big brother? How old is him anyway?" She pointed her thumb at the guy next to him, who was monotonously stared at her with an attempt to estimate a number to reply for the question which was not directed at him (even though he naively thought it was).
"I don't know." Legato spoke the truth in a bland tone without giving eye contact.
"Great! You don't know!" For some unknown causes Elendira craved to bully this colleague of her, and so she would. "We work with a guy that know nothing! Not even about himself!"
Of course, as a boss, Knives's intervention was deemed necessary. "I was just referring him as your big brother because I took him in before you, alright? You know what, forget what I just said. Both of you go and decide your own relationship, I don't give a damn about it."
"Wonderful." The corner of her mouth formed a slight curve. "Legato. Remember that I'm higher than you in this food chain."
What made her conclude that? Her wealth.
Legato understood it fully. After all, a baseborn slave was definitely lower than a reputable patrician. She started to like him a bit after realizing he did not chase after privileges for himself. Like a submissive and eccentric pet he behaved, he did not react significantly to her mockery. How cute.
.
Maybe she should call herself Clytie, with her endearment toward the sun deity thrown in vain.
He never reciprocated, he never had to.
Author's note: Elendira was quite ambiguous in many aspects (she is utterly difficult to write), what a pity for that since I was amused by her energetic charm and sarcastic humor, which is why I made a randomized background story for her. You got it right, "randomized", since there were several ideas and I found all of them quite far from original context due to my own retentive mind, therefore this piece of work can be regarded as 'out of character' as I unsatisfiedly went along with this option just to have a base for her representation (that is also the case with Knives and Legato and any possible new additional characters here, hopefully I could write Midvalley one day). Shame on me.
Anyway, I think to a particular degree, Elendira's attentiveness to Knives was similar to a fangirl's fawning adoration toward her idol or even subtle one-sided romance but since Knives was a hateful guy until the moment before his death, I guess she would be aware that she could only pursue a Platonic relationship with him at most (Platonic as the ultimately divine form of bonding, as concluded from Plato's Symposium; I have seen the term used several times in writings yet it seemed like the authors did not have a proper knowledge of its meaning so I decided to state it here, what a pity that people disregard such a refined concept due to lack of knowledge).
The ending was brusque and indelicate, I know. I just got bored for no specific reason. Might improve it later.
