unspoken:
hunger
A black shape against the moon,
three blades ready for a kill.
A tiger on the hunt,
having caught the scent
a sweet and heady scent...
Senses
excited by the nearness of fresh blood.
A tiger
ready to devour
Its unsuspecting prey.
The shadows shifted, and Kuina stirred in her sleep. The moonlight glowed through the rice-paper windows, illuminating her visage with a pearly white glow. Outside the leaves rustled, windchimes letting out a sound of alert... but they did not wake her. Her tearstained cheeks seemed ghostly pale in the darkness, deep lines of sadness etched under her eyes.
Lonely and hurting. Empty.
He crept into her house, moving towards her bedroom, intent on her. He could sense her presence, feel her. Her smell. He just wanted... just a... a taste. Of her.
Inside her room he paused, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He spied her, her futon laid out rather sloppily, her blankets by now mussed from her tossing and turning. Her pillow had slipped out from under her dark head, leaving her neck resting at an uncomfortable angle. She shifted uneasily and her arm slid to the mattress, allowing a glimpse of the parted neckline of her yukata.
Pale, silken skin. Like the moon. It whetted his appetite. He was hungry and he was going to have his meal. He had been starving himself for weeks. And now he was caving in, feeling himself driven mad by his own will.
Don't you know, little girl...?
Don't you know who watches over you when you sleep at night, unaware?
Don't you know who's been waiting for you?
Like a blade being sharpened, over many years. A blade being sharpened, intended for you.
Don't you know how mad you drive me?
Don't you know, little girl...?
You're not a little girl anymore.
Tiger's eyes were upon her as she slept, glowering in the darkness. Her every breath, each rise and fall of her chest. Every unconscious movement, committed to memory. Carved into his mind. Trying to capture the pleasure of just being near her, the action desirable even in its near futility. like trying to catch a scent in a jar. Beautiful and foolish at the same time. Soothing and painful.
He watched over his own heartache, and the cure to it, as she slept. Peaceful in her slumber, unburdened by the weight she carried as such. His thoughts played off of each other, grinding against each other as he comtemplated her. His patience was growing dangerously thinner. But he did not know what he needed to continue... he did not know what kept him from continuing.
He stayed as long as he dared, until the morning light threatened to reveal him. And when the rays of dawn came over the hills, bringing day to the room, he disappeared, like an apparition. It was not real. It could never be real.
Could it?
He longed for a duel. An even match.
A one-sided duel was not a duel. Both participants must be aware, must put their all into fighting. A match meant that there would be a balance struck, and in the balance the strengths and weaknesses would find each other and complete themselves. Fulfillment found in the perfect opponent, one to struggle against and with endlessly. The struggle of two who wanted the struggle equally and who placed equal value on the battle, would give their lives to fight. A struggle must be life and death or it was not a struggle, it was a mere game.
And there was no time for games. No time to waste playing around. It had to be serious, it had to be high-stakes, all or nothing.
There was no other way he would have it.
And now...
He needed to see if it was time.
He thought back to the night he had happened upon her lying in the grass. The moment he had arrived in the village he could feel it on the air. The sky a dark rose, deep burgundy, the air heavy and warm, carrying a drowsy sensation. A gentle breeze, like a stolen caress, drifted around him.
But what had been most striking was the heavy scent in the air. It was like that of full-blown wild roses, or lilies grown heavy with their own petals, about to fall apart under the weight of their own nectar. Sickly-sweet, heady and alluring. Tempting him forward, pushing him onward... he wanted to taste the air, to touch and hold the flower and bring it against his face, breathe deeply of that fragrance.
He had wandered out into the fields, his brain numbed by the sense that he was being led to somewhere he wanted to go.
And as he peered through the sweet-smelling rushes...
"Zoro..."
The sound of her sweet voice, dripping with desire. Desire she didn't yet understand. Her soft, yearning tone, asking for him, calling out to be tended to.
Realization shot through his body like a bolt of lightning. And his body instantly responded, making him feel the worst sensation he could possibly have felt at that moment. Out-of-control.
The urge to show her exactly what it was she was asking for gripped him like an iron-clad fist. The urge to have that innocence, to take that sweet ardor. She was asking, offering. She was willing. And his body was extending an answer to the invitation.
Her soft, blushing lips parted again, crying out to him. "Zoro...!"
And then he saw that her eyes were closed, tight shut. Lost in herself, she did not see him, did not know he was there. She had not been speaking to him.
Suddenly he felt extremely foolish. Her willingness, her readiness, was pretend.
But his was not.
And he became angry with himself, for giving into the urges that easily. He was weak after all. Weak against himself...
He took out his anger on her and regretted it now. It wasn't her fault. Nothing was. But at the same time, a question had been raised. A possibility existed.
He remembered the sweet, ripe smell of a blooming rose, heated by the sun. Was she...
He needed to know.
It needed to be spoken.
And he would not rest until he got his answer.
Owari...
A black shape against the moon,
three blades ready for a kill.
A tiger on the hunt,
having caught the scent
a sweet and heady scent...
Senses
excited by the nearness of fresh blood.
A tiger
ready to devour
Its unsuspecting prey.
The shadows shifted, and Kuina stirred in her sleep. The moonlight glowed through the rice-paper windows, illuminating her visage with a pearly white glow. Outside the leaves rustled, windchimes letting out a sound of alert... but they did not wake her. Her tearstained cheeks seemed ghostly pale in the darkness, deep lines of sadness etched under her eyes.
Lonely and hurting. Empty.
He crept into her house, moving towards her bedroom, intent on her. He could sense her presence, feel her. Her smell. He just wanted... just a... a taste. Of her.
Inside her room he paused, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He spied her, her futon laid out rather sloppily, her blankets by now mussed from her tossing and turning. Her pillow had slipped out from under her dark head, leaving her neck resting at an uncomfortable angle. She shifted uneasily and her arm slid to the mattress, allowing a glimpse of the parted neckline of her yukata.
Pale, silken skin. Like the moon. It whetted his appetite. He was hungry and he was going to have his meal. He had been starving himself for weeks. And now he was caving in, feeling himself driven mad by his own will.
Don't you know, little girl...?
Don't you know who watches over you when you sleep at night, unaware?
Don't you know who's been waiting for you?
Like a blade being sharpened, over many years. A blade being sharpened, intended for you.
Don't you know how mad you drive me?
Don't you know, little girl...?
You're not a little girl anymore.
Tiger's eyes were upon her as she slept, glowering in the darkness. Her every breath, each rise and fall of her chest. Every unconscious movement, committed to memory. Carved into his mind. Trying to capture the pleasure of just being near her, the action desirable even in its near futility. like trying to catch a scent in a jar. Beautiful and foolish at the same time. Soothing and painful.
He watched over his own heartache, and the cure to it, as she slept. Peaceful in her slumber, unburdened by the weight she carried as such. His thoughts played off of each other, grinding against each other as he comtemplated her. His patience was growing dangerously thinner. But he did not know what he needed to continue... he did not know what kept him from continuing.
He stayed as long as he dared, until the morning light threatened to reveal him. And when the rays of dawn came over the hills, bringing day to the room, he disappeared, like an apparition. It was not real. It could never be real.
Could it?
He longed for a duel. An even match.
A one-sided duel was not a duel. Both participants must be aware, must put their all into fighting. A match meant that there would be a balance struck, and in the balance the strengths and weaknesses would find each other and complete themselves. Fulfillment found in the perfect opponent, one to struggle against and with endlessly. The struggle of two who wanted the struggle equally and who placed equal value on the battle, would give their lives to fight. A struggle must be life and death or it was not a struggle, it was a mere game.
And there was no time for games. No time to waste playing around. It had to be serious, it had to be high-stakes, all or nothing.
There was no other way he would have it.
And now...
He needed to see if it was time.
He thought back to the night he had happened upon her lying in the grass. The moment he had arrived in the village he could feel it on the air. The sky a dark rose, deep burgundy, the air heavy and warm, carrying a drowsy sensation. A gentle breeze, like a stolen caress, drifted around him.
But what had been most striking was the heavy scent in the air. It was like that of full-blown wild roses, or lilies grown heavy with their own petals, about to fall apart under the weight of their own nectar. Sickly-sweet, heady and alluring. Tempting him forward, pushing him onward... he wanted to taste the air, to touch and hold the flower and bring it against his face, breathe deeply of that fragrance.
He had wandered out into the fields, his brain numbed by the sense that he was being led to somewhere he wanted to go.
And as he peered through the sweet-smelling rushes...
"Zoro..."
The sound of her sweet voice, dripping with desire. Desire she didn't yet understand. Her soft, yearning tone, asking for him, calling out to be tended to.
Realization shot through his body like a bolt of lightning. And his body instantly responded, making him feel the worst sensation he could possibly have felt at that moment. Out-of-control.
The urge to show her exactly what it was she was asking for gripped him like an iron-clad fist. The urge to have that innocence, to take that sweet ardor. She was asking, offering. She was willing. And his body was extending an answer to the invitation.
Her soft, blushing lips parted again, crying out to him. "Zoro...!"
And then he saw that her eyes were closed, tight shut. Lost in herself, she did not see him, did not know he was there. She had not been speaking to him.
Suddenly he felt extremely foolish. Her willingness, her readiness, was pretend.
But his was not.
And he became angry with himself, for giving into the urges that easily. He was weak after all. Weak against himself...
He took out his anger on her and regretted it now. It wasn't her fault. Nothing was. But at the same time, a question had been raised. A possibility existed.
He remembered the sweet, ripe smell of a blooming rose, heated by the sun. Was she...
He needed to know.
It needed to be spoken.
And he would not rest until he got his answer.
Owari...