The fire crackled, breaking the sudden silence that had fallen upon the three silent figures: a young girl, a boy who looked about the same age, and a middle-aged man who, although he sat cross-legged on the ground like the others, gave off the impression of being "on the edge of his seat" as he gazed avidly at the boy. The man's expression—his eyes feverish, his nostrils flared, his mouth all but slavering—resembled that of a weasel who'd just found the tempting remains of a carcass already picked to the bones by his cousins once-removed, the jackals. It wasn't surprising that his companions chose to sit a little distance away from him.

The girl, calmer in demeanor than the man, would nevertheless betray herself to the observer careful enough and quick enough to note the surreptitious glances she sent the boy's way. Not many observers would be able to do so, and many of them would forego staring at the boy for the chance to gaze with rapt befuddlement at the beauty of the girl. In the soft glow of the campfire she looked ethereal, luminous with the light catching glints in her yellow hair, and playing up her almond-shaped amethyst eyes. Like a moth to the flame, a few chance observers had unfortunately sought to possess that beauty and perished in their efforts.

Unapparent at first glance, a quick temper coupled with an uncanny ability to create and use explosives, as well as the skill to wield a variety of weapons (star-shaped iron shuriken the most favored), made the girl as dangerous as she was beautiful. Of course, some observers (most of them men) proved pig-headed enough to persist on merely seeing the obvious, and she had long ago gotten into the habit of wearing the hooded cloak thrown back on her shoulders, whenever she left the privacy of her home camp. People tended to gawk, she tended to get impatient, and well, it was really too much bother to end all rudeness (not to mention messy and overkill). The disguise was off-putting, clearly stating that the person within would brook no botheration from curiosity-seekers. At night, the cloak simply became part of the uniform of an assassin. A fringe of dark fabric would be all that her targets would see, and only if they could distinguish the material that almost perfectly resembled the night.

The boy, who happened to be her cousin but who was the closest she had to a brother, gazed at the fire but not because the girl would be uncomfortable with his stare, they were too close for that. In fact, he'd once teased her that she may be as beautiful as her mother, but she couldn't hold a candle to her father's looks, which was true enough to have irked her a tiny bit, although she hadn't let on. Not content with that insult, the boy's younger self had amended the statement that since she had her father's coloring, perhaps she did resemble him more, especially because she could be as manly as he when it came to fighting. That would have earned him a black eye, if the girl had not hit upon the perfect comeback: the boy must know what he was talking about since "beautiful" was an adjective that fit him exactly. "Uniquely beautiful", if one didn't count that his father had the same mismatched eyes and too-long lashes, "stupendously" if one counted the pretty auburn curls from his mum. At that age, he had hated being called that, even without the additional adverbs, and only his mother was allowed to call him that to his, yes, comely face.

That had resulted in one more workout that demonstrated both their fledgling fighting skills and the bad temper they'd inherited from their parents, who despite knowing where to lay the blame (namely, themselves), insisted on confiscating weaponry and forbidding fight lessons for a month. Not that the tussles halted after that, of course.

At sixteen, neither Sana nor Rui seemed to have changed much, except maybe that they were too used to their remarkable faces (and the predictable reactions) to remark upon them anymore. Sana had learned more caution with maturity and was less likely to fly off the handle, and Rui, though still provoking, was more sensitive to others and as always protective of his "twin sister". They knew each other so well…Rui had realized at once that his cousin had worried over his absence and belated return, the relief had been that apparent, packed in that wallop of a punch she'd bestowed on his worthless self. His guilt at what she must have gone through was quickly translated into their familiar teasing pattern, and Sana had gamely taken it in stride. Sana, seeing Rui's abstraction, held off from uttering the burning questions on her tongue, and prevented herself from initiating mind-communication. He could not be rushed, and though she wanted to know exactly what happened in the three years they hadn't seen each other, she would wait. Rui was on the verge of revelation, and she wondered just how much he would disclose with the inquisitive Kusanagi present.

In the end, it was the reporter who jumped at the first sound of the crackling fire, and broke the silence. "Boy, you'll find me decidedly hard to shock." Excitement had loosened his tongue and given his speech an incautious bravura. This was it. His big break. An exclusive! A doomed romance, the judgment of the gods, life and death, all the threads of a fine story…Oh, goodie!

Rui lifted his gaze from the fire towards Kusanagi. Again, he gave that faint smile reminiscent of his father's. "We shall have to see, old man. You know only of my parents' reputation, therefore I must begin at the beginning. To understand their story, you must understand who they were."

"Yes, yes, do get on with it…" Kusanagi's impatience withered beneath Sana's baleful side-glance. "Er, I meant to say, I would very much like to hear about them, no hurry, take all the time you need." Just make it quick. And let me live to retell the tale.

"To start with, my mother Hinata…"

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Hinata had been born with the mark of the dragon at the back of her left shoulder. It matched that of her nee-san, Yukaeshi, whose dragon-mark had appeared at the back of her right shoulder. Nothing more than a few lines shaped like talons, but it had immediately set them apart. They were half-sisters actually, already branded by having a deity as their sire, but the birthmarks prophesied that the gods had particularly chosen them, the reason as yet unknown, but already feared. Would the gods exact vengeance through them, or would they be harmful only to themselves? No one knew. But at each birthing, the respective midwives surmised that it would be better if the children of the dragon were drowned at the spot, else great suffering will occur. Perhaps a god will be reborn in the body of one so marked, a god as much likely to be evil as good.

After her gloomy pronouncement, Kaeshi's midwife, having been told off by Kaeshi's mother to cease being hysterical, was struck by lightning while taking a breather right outside the house. The midwife's assistants (for she was the best midwife in town and trained apprentices) found her toasty corpse, and no more was said about drowning. Kaeshi grew up wondering why people were uneasy in her presence, and when her mother committed suicide, why no one expected her to grieve. Their accusatory glances were enough to dry Kaeshi's tears, who had felt her mother's absence even before her mother had become mad and had ended her own life. Kaeshi had known no other family, and set out in search of her absentee father, finding instead his other wife, and learning of other children, none at all like her, excepting Hinata.

Luckily (or so it would seem), Hinata's midwife didn't die so dramatically and not as quickly. It was speculated that she merely got lost in the woods on her way home and got into some kind of accident. Since she'd insisted on living in such an isolated and dreary spot, no one commented on the fact that she'd just disappeared. And no one knew exactly when she disappeared, although a rather jumpy little boy saw her swaying about after Hinata's birthing and thought he heard the braying of wolves after the midwife had reached the end of the road, crossed over to the woods, and out of his sight—supposedly the last anyone saw of her. Since the jumpy little boy was also a renowned storyteller (ergo, a good liar), they paid him little mind. Only the superstitious few would cross to the other side of the street when Hinata would be passing by, and their children would also be the ones who tormented the young Hinata, much to the annoyance of her older siblings who would defend her.

Akaze, Hinata's older brother whom she was closest to before her nee-san came, would often be seen chasing after the village brats, picking them up by the scruff of their necks and shaking them until they apologized to Hinata, whose shorter legs took longer to join the fray. She'd usually arrive just in time to receive their sullen mumblings of insincere apology while Akaze watched over with a dour expression and a vigilant eye. On one such chase, things didn't progress the usual way: Hinata saw Akaze's strides falter, him kneeling on the ground, doubled-up with a hand to his mouth, and the village kids, emboldened by the sight of the fallen giant, moving in a half-circle and jeering at him. Seeing one of them pick up a stone to hurl at her brother, Hinata tore a branch off a nearby tree and ran the fastest she had run, screaming that she'll make the lot of them sorry, just you wait, if they hurt her brother. Coming from someone who had never before issued any threats despite extreme provocation, the child with the stone hesitated, then looked to his companions for support—but the rest of the little monsters had dispersed and so he'd dropped his burden and nefarious intentions, and ran like hell.

Akaze was laughing and wheezing at this display of cowardice in the face of Hinata's martial blandishments when she reached him. Smiling a little at her brother's hilarity although she didn't get the joke, Hinata asked if onii-san was okay and why was he kneeling in the dirt? Akaze would've replied but for a fit of coughing that went on and on, Hinata had to thump him on the back, which made him spat out the blood that had bubbled up his esophagus and would've choked him. Aghast, Hinata asked if she had made him bleed, to which he forcefully said no, shaking his head for added emphasis. The child Hinata hadn't been reassured, and thereafter would experience guilt at his every cough; when Akaze finally died after a painful bout with tuberculosis, she was heartbroken, and though she knew it was illogical, half-believed the little horror (he of the stone who never quite got over his undignified retreat) who accused Hinata of causing her brother's death. It was around this time that Yukaeshi discovered the existence of her other family, and by keeping her imouto busy with training (so Hinata may better defend herself without her brother's—or for that matter anyone else's—aid), Kaeshi was chiefly responsible for Hinata letting go of her grief.

Yukaeshi was a rather rebellious teenager, mouthing off and not trusting authority, and having little to do with anyone but Hinata. Learning that she and Hinata were considered the cursed sisters, Yukaeshi persuaded Hinata for both of them to have a tattoo done of a dragon to complete the marks, seeing as they were there already. Hinata, wanting her sister's approval and possessing a defiant spirit of her own, readily agreed. The tattoos cemented their bond but also caused their break-up. Hinata's mother was saddened at the valiant efforts of her daughters (she'd come to look upon Yukaeshi as a daughter, although Yukaeshi, rather guiltily, spurned this well-meant "mothering" out of loyalty to her own mother) to come to terms with what she considered was her punishment for loving a god; but her relatives, at whose behest they depended on as a family, were none-too-pleased at the reminder of what they considered an abomination. They saw it as embracing a fate that was forced upon the daughters of a sinful god, and reprimanded Yukaeshi harshly for being the instigator, overriding Hinata's protests that she should be equally punished because she'd really made her own decision. Yukaeshi had already been "chastised" early on for having "too many drawings" on her body and engaging in "strange activities" with gang members (this from an uncle who had seen a suspicious-looking character waylay Yukaeshi—in fact, Kaeshi had been repulsing invitations for years, choosing to study martial arts on her own and living close to her imouto). For Yukaeshi, who unbeknownst to Hinata, had borne the brunt of the abuse from the relatives for her imouto, this latest development was the last straw. That was the night that Yukaeshi ran away from home, deciding that she would join one of the well-known (and greatly-feared) clan-gangs and vowing never to return, hesitating only to exact a promise from Hinata that they would meet again, a year from then, in the city.

Yukaeshi was therefore not present when the rest of Hinata's family died, all violent deaths, the worst of all, her imouto Myoumi, the even-tempered one, unwaveringly serene no matter how many times Hinata or Yukaeshi would tease her without mercy, envied for her resemblance to their okaasan and the unconditional love it garnered for she was neither a reminder of the past nor a burden to the present. Neither of her sisters would have swallowed her pride and apologized if Myoumi had not extended the olive branch each and every time, to their shame. Neither would they have admitted to the affection they had for the youngest sister, that Myoumi's quiet presence also gave them a sense of peace. If they had but known that they would not be given the chance to say what they felt, beyond that night of terror, when in the light of the sickle moon, Myoumi was raped and then murdered. She was found the next day, a little distance from where the rest of the family lay, again closest to the mother but rendered almost unrecognizable—her body lay like that of a broken doll, lily white hands scratched and bleeding, the fingernails she'd used to claw at her attacker torn, ragged like her clothes, her face a fixed mask of purple bruises with mouth gaping open in a scream that existed without sound, and her eyes looking soullessly on anyone who presumed to glance upon the remains of her pain. In death, Myoumi had been cheated of her serenity.

Hinata had retched at the sight, used her own bloodied hands, one to hold her splitting skull and the other to wipe at her mouth, retched again, and thought of crawling away from it all, but knew she'd only crawl back again, because she had to see it all, bury it all, as witness and survivor and mourner. Hinata remembered little of what had happened, only glimpses of violence that would appear in her dreams ever after, and though she would awaken hearing her family's screams, total recall seemed impossible, for the trauma had erased memory retrievable in full consciousness. She tried to rid herself of the memory block and find the faces of the killers so she may avenge their deaths, but it was like turning into what seemed a familiar corner and unexpectedly finding oneself in a maze of dark alleys, one after the other, each leading endlessly nowhere. 

Because Hinata alone had survived, she believed that somehow, their deaths could have been prevented if she had not been there to draw bad karma, if she hadn't resented them for pushing Yukaeshi away, if she hadn't at times hated them for treating her differently. The day she woke up an orphan was the day she truly believed in her curse, and all the hinted-at forebodings coalesced into conviction. She may have loved them, but that hadn't been enough to save them, and she swore never to make herself vulnerable to hurt and make others vulnerable to fate by caring for anyone else. These thoughts kept circling in her head as she drifted in and out of consciousness, trying to gather the strength to move, while the corpses of her family gathered flies and dust, at the one and the same time reproaching her and keeping her a macabre sort of company. Hinata did not appear at the meeting place Yukaeshi had set the next night, and her nee-san, who by now had violent and disillusioning experiences of her own, became worried enough to search for Hinata…but how Yukaeshi felt upon returning to her spurned home and its escalated nightmarish aspect, how she was able to find Hinata digging the last of the graves as a sort of penance, is another story altogether, in the keeping of Kaeshi's daughter and not Hinata's son.

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It was at this point that Rui halted his narration to ask the eagerly listening reporter a question. "Tell me, Kusanagi-san, would a woman who knew violence at such an early age, who promised not to open herself to anyone, be likely to spare someone like Homura, who had no mercy for the foes he murdered?"

Kusanagi blinked at the sudden change of track. He wondered a moment if Rui was being rhetorical, but glancing at the narrator and his quizzical air, Kusanagi's heart sank. Er, I…well…hmmm…it would seem…" This was tricky. No matter how indifferent Rui appeared to be to his father, and no matter how objective he sounded, they were still talking about the boy's parents. It would do him, Kusanagi, good to be tactful. "It would seem that your mother would have found it difficult, in light of her experiences you understand, to be violent with anyone, even, as you say, a mur—, a killer. But she did, after all, become the Goddess of death…and we hear accounts of her exploits even before that…"

"I'm not asking for 'accounts', mind you, I already warned you not to put so much store on reputation, but if you insist, then I am giving you *the* account." Rui's voice was quietly severe. "I am asking you, based on your opinion alone and as I am the next best authority apart from my parents on the subject, based on what I have just imparted, whether you think my mother capable of harming my father."

Kusanagi hunted in his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his sweating brow with, but came up with nothing. He looked over at Sana, but it appeared that she had ceased being interested in what he had to say since her cousin had sauntered into the camp and interrupted their tête-à-tête; she looked neither encouraging nor particularly discouraging. The cloak may as well have veiled her features from him, for all the reaction she showed. His little diversionary tactics proving ineffectual, Kusanagi opened his mouth to speak. "I…I don't know your father, do I? Not really, I just met him that one time. Nor do I know how your mother felt for him…" He continued hastily… "Although I am sure she must have, er, loved him?"    

"Good answer". Kusanagi breathed in relief. He didn't see Sana relax her stance slightly. "You're right, at this point in the story, no one can be expected to make an educated guess as to the goings-on between my mother and father. And you have raised a valid point—did my mother in fact, love my father? What could possibly have made her love him?" The last question was asked in the softest voice Rui had yet used. He shook his head and stared into the flames. Sana, in her assumed inconspicuous role, continued to watch over him silently, a trifle worriedly.

"My father…Homura…"