Kaori lingered near the front of the building, the looming shadow from the moonlight grazing over her eagerly, willingly. She clutched her coat, and along with it the present she'd been hoping to give to the mysterious designer. Warily, her pupils kept darting here and there, her mind never once coming away from her anxiety. She neither felt the howling wind, nor the brittle cold that so desperately attacked the stone's side, nor the humidity that wrapped itself so recklessly around everything else that existed. Darkness cornered her vision, and from then, she bit her lip, as she stood there, watching the orange sun disappear, the last traces of pink left in the sky. When even that disappeared, her eyes widened, and she pressed her hand against the glass, and opened the door.

The lobby was empty, for some odd reason. Columns protruded their elongated shadows along the metal window frames, the starlight shimmering ahead near the entrance. Spiraling stairwells came across the middle of the room, and potted plants draped their insignificance from across something as majestic as that. Crystallite chandeliers hung high above the ceilings, the see through balconies alone making it difficult for Kaori to move, the awe alone everlasting in her features.

Along the windows were posters of clothing, of brands the girl recognized from the start; Feral, Haunted, Night, Monster. Models were adorned with the same fashion she and Yasuhiko-san wore at the school talent show, and she couldn't help but feel a bit of pride in upstarting the designer's fashion career. Still, it was a vanity she'd rather do without, and no sooner had it entered her mind did it disappear altogether.

She walked toward the middle of the lobby. Yasuhiko-san said room 58, right? Fifth floor? She might be a bit busy, but there was nothing Kaori could do about it. "You can wait there if you want," he said once.

She stared up at the spiraling interior, the models alone all seemingly glaring down at her with their cold, unwanted thoughts. She stared right back, and tried to imitate their own, frightening arrogance, only to stop short of meeting their expectations. She sighed then, as she walked toward the elevators, her mind wandering around the thick ebony.

Megumi kept revisiting her mind, her face echoing from beyond her thoughts. Corrupt beauty swarmed its venomous fangs around the girl, and with it, vengeful thoughts not even Kaori knew had existed. That slow, twisted smile continued to prod her mind, jabbing their already broken friendship with another eager stab. She was always so picky about her outfits, ever since they were little. She was constantly redressing herself, staring at the spoiled girl in front of the mirror without the slightest concern of the time she was wasting. Her rosette eyes were only on herself, the selfishness radiating from beyond her fragile frame. She kept telling Kaori every day she was going to become a big pop star when they were kids. She was going to do whatever she could to get out of the village, and though she never said it, when Kaori looked back, the disgust was still ringing from her voice, towards everyone in the village, towards Akira, and towards Kaori.

She tightened her grip on the bag. The elevator doors finally came down, and she climbed in, that one lone light shallowly guiding her through the midst of shadows. She stared down at the buttons for a bit, before pushing 5.

She held her breath as the elevator began rising, the smooth chains dragging her weight away from the spoiled earth. If Kaori was going to have any luck tonight, at the very least Miyuki-san should know something about Sotoba. Why else would she have designed the dresses the way she did? Everything about those patterns reminded her of the fire, of the okiagari. There was no way she could've just come up with it from her imagination. There had to be something more to it, something Kaori was not quite grasping.

She needed to know if that monster was still alive.

The elevator stopped, and slowly, Kaori walked out, the present still very much in her hands. Quietly, she observed the environment around her, before stepping down the hallway. Stray, dim lights from the tired designers shown onto the walls, their shadows busily scratching out the clothes for which not even the public would wear. From the corner of her eyes, she could make out beheaded mannequins who were wearing the latest spring fashions, the frilly dresses and sophisticated t-shirts descending away from the hem. Furious pins stabbed the outfits ridiculously, taking note of the frustrating, last minute changes to the designs.

When she walked past those rooms, she saw a corner that rounded off the hallway. On the edge of the sides were windows that allowed her to gaze out at the now lifeless city. There was a picture marring the macabre view however, a newspaper article, with the words, Worthington does it again! plastered all over the headlines. Kaori couldn't tell how the boy looked, since his face was angrily marked out by red and green pins, followed by two devil horns planted firmly to the side of his head. Kaori had to giggle then, as she walked up to the frame, feeling a tiny bit sorry for the UK idol.

From the rumors, he was a brat, and he would always come up with the most ridiculous of requests for the assistants to do, the orders ranging from licking the soles of his feet to stalking potential threats to his career. He was good no doubt, but probably the only reason why people even watch him is because of his talent and his looks; take that away and the audience wouldn't acknowledge him in this society. Even Yasuhiko-san found himself tired from the idol's constant, berating songs; he could only listen to Worthington for about thirty seconds, before shutting off the radio altogether.

She spun her heel and continued on her way, her nervousness relieved then. She passed french doors, the kind that let you see into the offices, and regular, plastic curtains, something she found a bit odd in a place as high classed as this. Golden plates hovered above the frames, their craved elegance calligraphy in Kaori's eyes. Even the numbers seemed fashionable here, not like the trash she etched out whenever an assignment was due.

Finally, she found herself at room 58.

The door wasn't like the others. It was brown, oak, and rather than glass it merely possessed a small, silver peephole. The handle was iron, and when Kaori gripped it, the bitter cold stung her palm, so much so she jerked away. She looked up again. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. "Hello?" she asked hesitantly. "Ms. Miyuki?"

There was no answer.

Kaori held herself apprehensively. She stood on her toes, and tried looking through the peephole. No one was coming by, and there was no eye to surprise her either. She came back down and knocked again. "Ms. Miyuki?"

Again, there was nothing.

Kaori bit the inside of her cheek, and once again, wrapped her hand around the handle. Her thumb pressed against the lock, and slowly, she opened the door. Surprise briefly flashed her face, replaced by a certain cautiousness for whatever the invisible veil hid from her. She leaned in, and peered inside.

Golden walls stared back at the callous deadness, while the bookshelves planted themselves against the window, blocking out the sunlight for which otherwise might've caused that same, simple dread Kaori so easily recognized. There was a desk at the front of the room, a big, wide one with papers scattered all over the surface. When she walked in, she could see the rough outlines of a sketch for yet what appears to be another outfit. A purple, velvet chair sat behind that desk, along with a small, white, peculiar door. Kaori left the gift near the door, as she strolled further in, her hands already collecting the age old dust. The floorboards creaked underneath her, and that archaic scent draped its lovelessness around the room.

Aside from the desk, and the chair, and the book shelf, there was no other furniture Miyuki-san seemed to have. If not for the sketches, Kaori would've taken this room to be abandoned, haunted, locked away by rumors and gossip, the false pretenses of the supernatural swirling around the front door. Well, if Miyuki-san was staying in a room like this, maybe she was a history buff? If that was the case, perhaps something as gruesome as Sotoba would've interested her. As for the bookshelf practically slammed against the window… Yasuhiko-san did say she was allergic to the sun. It'd be easier to design if she just worked from home, or if she pressed the bookshelf against the windows like that.

But all the same, Kaori couldn't help but feel a tiny bit relieved. She scratched the back of her head, and laughed awkwardly to herself. Maybe she was just hallucinating that night. People were running all over the place, and there was that police shooting…Mr. Saito's death added to her further repressed mind, and the way he'd been acting from before, the way he kept accusing her of doing something so horrible, so terrifying, must've put a very big burden on Kaori's heart. Coupled with the emotional stress from Yuki's death, as well as the bullying from her school, it was probably just some coping mechanism her brain came up with to deal with it all. She learned about it from Mr. Yuuki the other day.

Carefully, she tiptoed over to the present and left it on Miyuki-san's desk. Unfortunately, she can't wait for the designer. They were having a hotpot for dinner. Ken-kun said he was going to show up too, and if she didn't come home soon, it was going to be awkward for all of them, especially since Mori-san was joining the table. So she nodded contently, and began walking out of the room, her fears now settled.

She stopped when she felt those hot, heavy breaths down her back. She blinked, before spinning her heel and gazing around. There was no one there. Then she caught sight of a shadow from above.

And she looked up.

There was a creature entrenched onto the ceiling, its faceless expression gazing down at her with malice and envy. What seemed to be eyes underneath kept wandering around here and there, its frozen smile fixated on her with a hateful grimace underneath it. Loose stitches held together the arms for which the creature moved, with tiny drops of blood escaping from fatal wounds. Blue veins wrapped around its black heart, its skin revealing the depth for which the creature existed, its own internal systems almost completely absent. Its claws kept on growing, moving to the sounds of a silent dirge only Death could hear.

A scream built up in Kaori's throat. Her legs weren't moving, her body shaking, as she watched the creature slowly coming down toward the room. Her senses froze, and though every instinct told her to move, to run, to leap off the balconies if only to get to safety, she still stayed, watching the strange thing in agonizing horror.

When it screamed, she turned back, and ran.


Megumi crouched down near Mr. Murakami's filing cabinet, the three photos still in hand. Her eyes shifted from one picture to the next, all the while putting back candidates for which that spoiled idol would have to deal with later on. The man was behind her, busily writing away the business deals which resulted not only in national fame, but international pride as well.

She stood up, and walked in front of her boss, her confused stare very much intact. "Sir?" she asked. "I don't understand. What did you want me to do again?"

He never looked up at her, never gave her a sign that he was listening, save his answer. "Put all the models back into the cabinet, including those three."

She laughed nervously, as she placed the photos in front of Mr. Murakami. "Sir…I've never seen these employees before. They're all-"

"-located in another country," he finished easily.

She blinked then. "Mr. Murakami, my friend has a…hobby with detective work. As far as I'm concerned, they're all criminals that were put down years before." She narrowed her eyes. "I don't see how we can simply just add them onto Worthington's list, however appropriate it may seem."

The man never did give her any other reaction. "Ms. Miyuki, I would like for you to put those photos back. I'll send it to our little guest later."

"Wouldn't that ruin the company image though?" she countered. "This seems a bit harsh, even if it is just a prank."

The man kept writing. "They're all located in another country." he repeated aimlessly.

She shook her head. "No, they aren't. The resemblance is uncanny, and by now practically everyone in Japan knows them. Please, if you don't believe me, check the police files yourselves. My friend still has-"

"They're all located in another country."

"Sir, I'm telling you. They're-!"

A piercing scream echoed throughout the corridors.

And along with it, a familiar scent not even Megumi would welcome.

She paused, the shock dragging whatever words were still left in her mind. That was a woman's scream just now. That was a woman's scream, and that was Kaori's scent.

That was Kaori's scent.

She turned back then, bringing herself around the desk and toward Mr. Murakami. What was she doing here? What could she possibly be thinking? Wasn't she supposed to be with her little brother tonight? And her other friends from school? What about the hotpot Haru kept telling her about?

She grabbed Mr. Murakami's arm and started dragging him upwards. When he refused to comply, she scowled. "Mr. Murakami!"

"They're all located in another country."

"I know that! Sir, we need to leave-!"

"They're all-"

She heard that dreadful crack, and all too soon did Megumi leap away from the chaos, was Mr. Murakami underneath the rubble. his eyes stared blankly out towards the girl, his pupils silently reclaiming whatever lie was left from the reality. No sooner had he done so did the monster on top of him begin gouging those same eyes out.

It was the same monster from before, the one from Fawn Industries.


Akira swung his legs to and from the table, his elbows nestled against the table, as he stared at the stranger from Kaori's school. Light brown hair covered his skull, and his golden skin kept the tiny boy watching him from afar, the same tone present in his classmates whenever they spent too much time at the beach. He was dressed in a black sweatshirt, his hood settled against his neck, and he wore torn, black jeans that matched perfectly with the styles everyone else was wearing. He had skull earrings enamored on the right side of his ear, and from the way he kept looking at everything, it seemed he a common criminal in Akira's eyes, a suspect among suspects.

Mori-san wasn't here yet, and Mr. Yuuki said he'll be working late again today, though they'll still be able to have the hotpot. Right now, Kaori wasn't picking up her cellphone either, and it was something that worried him. Ever since Mr. Yuuki bought the thing for her, she'd managed to pick up every single phone call or text Akira sent her. Now, however…

"Your folks still not back?" the man asked. Akira did all he could not to scowl then, and instead, turned his head away.

"They'll be back soon," he answered stubbornly.

"Okay, okay. No need to get so testy."

"My sister talks about you," Akira stated haughtily then, a concerned eyebrow raised. "You're Ken, right?"

He smirked back. "Yeah that's right. We're friends."

Akira scoffed. "No way," he muttered. "Whenever she talks about you, it's always stalker this, stalker that."

"She invited me."

"You threatened her."

Ken leaned against the chair then, steadying himself with two legs on the floor, while stabbing the innocent refrigerator behind him with the chair's frame. "Look," he spat. "We're friends, alright?"

He looks down, and closes his eyes, apparently giving up in frustration due to Kaori's sudden silence. "I like Yasuhiko-san better."

"That freak? Please, you don't like him."

"Kaori likes him, so I like him."

"She doesn't even know a single thing about the damn monster," Ken whispers then, stretching his arms and placing his hands behind his head. The action was irritating enough Akira gripped his knees tightly, resisting the urge to strangle the classmate. "You don't know him either!" he screams.

"I go to school with him. Of course I know him."

"Yeah…right."

Ken's eyes twitched with annoyance. He steadies the chair onto the floor, as he leans over across the table then. An irritated smile grazes his lips. "I know everything about the guy. I know all his dirt little secrets and-"

"Yeah right," Akira repeats, glaring daggers at the man.

"I do."

"No way."

"I actually do kid."

The boy kept shaking his head, that same, bored face resurfacing from the depths. He smacked his lips then, just to infuriate Ken. "You're a liar."

The argument lasted for hours on end, even when Mr. Yuuki and Mori-san made their way through the door.