For Hana Izuru, p3nny, leaping-leeches, Lovelykitten2093

like I said, I haven't forgotten about you.

:D


52) Perfect Stranger

She'd realized--and maybe a little too soon--than sleep just wasn't for her. While the rest of Varia toiled away in the communication room, she paced the hallways restlessly, slipping in and out of each room that caught her attention. The maids scampered away at the sight of her, disappearing into their chambers. Mira raised an eyebrow as she saw one literally trip over her own feet while trying to run away from her. She smiled ruefully, shaking her head in amusement. News travels fast.

She'd already visited Mammon's and Levi's rooms, so she moved on to Lussuria's. His room looked like a freak show carnival, and she couldn't help but stare at the eye-popping colors on his walls. The place reeked of potpourri and formaldehyde, making her wrinkle her nose and frown. Nevertheless, she ignored it, making her way to his closet. While clothes dominated one side, his grotesque collection dominated the other--male bodies, all naked save for a few strips of cloth that were utilized as underwear. Mira fought the urge to throw up as she ran out of the room.

That sick little fucker, she thought, entering Bel's room. She'd barely been there before, even when she used to be a resident of the house. The Prince's room was bathed in purple, and everything was so coordinated that any stranger who'd walk in there would think a girl owned the place. Mira fought the urge to laugh as she flung herself onto the massive King-sized bed. Bel, you're such a fruit, she thought, hugging one of the velvet throw pillows on his bed. As she was about to throw it aside, something sharp dug into her palm, making her yelp.

She was off the bed in a heartbeat, staring down at her bleeding hand. What the fuck? Snatching the pillow once again, she ripped up the velvet fabric, feathers spilling from its interior. In its core was a bundle of knives, one of them its tip shining with her blood. Okay, seriously-- what the fuck?

She cleaned up before she left the room, making sure that there was no sign of her ever being in there. Then she went into Squalo's room to find some bandages. She knew exactly where he kept them in his closet, and she just helped herself to a single strip. Wrapping her injured hand, she sat on the window sill, marveling at how the moon shined perfectly from that spot. She smiled, tracing a finger on the dust that had accumulated on the glass pane. She remembered when Squalo used to visit her in her room back at the academy. Ah, the good old days.

She decided to move on before she started reminiscing about their time together. Consequently, this brought her to Xanxus's door. Almost instantly, her hands went cold and clammy. Holy shit, she thought, willing herself to push the door open. Calm down, Mira. It's empty. The fucking room is empty. He's not there because he's in Japan.

His absence made the room smell nicer that it usually is when he's home. The decanters on the table next to his favorite armchair were well-stocked with his favorite liquor. Sitting down on the armchair, she helped herself to some vodka, drinking out of the glass that he might have thrown at her or Squalo had he been there to do it. She smiled to herself, sloshing her drink around in the glass. Damn, he's got everything here to make his own bar.

A flashback occurred out of nowhere, back towards the night when she first kissed him. Immediately, she felt her blood rise to her cheeks. In an effort to keep it down, she finished her drink in one gulp, preparing to pour herself another one. "Alla salute", she whispered, chugging it down for another refill.

She'd already finished off at least three of his decanters, going halfway onto the fourth one. By then, she was already seeing two of everything. Swaying, she struggled to walk a straight line towards the door. Huh. So this is what it happens when you get too shitfaced and you're not asleep.

Her stomach burned like crazy,and she knew what came next. Oh shit. Mustering up the remains of her sobriety, she ran straight for her room and puked in the bathroom sink. She retched and retched, acid burning her mouth and making her gut feel like a used hacky sack. The last time she threw up like this, Squalo was there, holding her hair away from her face.

By the time she was done, she smelled like God-knows-what, with chunks of gross matter hanging from the ends of her hair. Fuck, she thought, holding up a strand in front of her eyes. That shit's disgusting.

With one free hand, she rummaged the medicine cabinet and found a pair of scissors. Taking a deep breath, she snipped off the vomit-stained ends. She kept going till her waist length hair came up to a mere inch below her shoulders. Adding the final touch, she gathered her hair in front of her face and cut bangs long enough that she somehow looked like Bel's older sister. Needs a little bit more, she thought, as she saw a changed face in the mirror.

Mira ran to her chest drawer, reaching into the very last one and pulling out a box of black temporary hair dye. Quickly, she got to work, moving faster than she'd expected, being as drunk as she was. By the time she finished, a pale, brunette stared back at her with a satisfied smirk on her lips. Her eyes, however, were still piercing and extremely noticeable. Just a little but more.

She ran back to Lussuria's room, going straight into his closet. She didn't mind the corpses anymore; the vodka made her feel invincible. Rummaging his shelves, she finally found what she needed.

She sprinted like never before, her feet barely touching the floor as she ran back to her room. Holding the small plastic case in her hand, she tried to remember how to put on contact lenses, having seen people put them on TV. Okay, here we go, she thought, sticking the first one in her eye. Then the second. Her eyes stung, but she didn't care; she blinked the tears away as fast as they manifested themselves.

From the mirror, a stranger stared back at her. Her hair was dark, contrasting greatly with her pale skin. Her eyes, though partially hidden by her dark hair, were an odd shade of muddy green. Mira's dead. For now, she thought, a finger tracing an icy path down the length of the mirror. "Isn't that right, Sarah?"


The more I think about it, the more it looks like I just diagnosed Mira with a personality disorder.

XD

K, so I can't find a picture of how she might look now. So feel free to let your imaginations run wild!