The difference was striking, Minako thought, as she walked alongside Shizuka down the quiet street, pleasantly shadowed beneath the evening sky. Only a week had passed since the battle at the park, but the girl beside her was practically unrecognisable. Her face had all but healed, with only a few bruises here and there the only residual effects of her ordeal.
But more importantly – and more noticeably – was the change she had undergone inside. Her broken heart was mending itself. It was almost visible to the naked eye. There was a sparkle in her eyes, eyes that had been dull and lifeless when they had first met only seven days previously. She smiled a lot more, too, a very nice smile, as full of vitality as her eyes and the spring in her step.
Minako didn't think Shizuka would have any trouble finding a new boyfriend. In fact, she had plans to that very effect already in place. Not now, of course. It was very important for Shizuka to recover fully from her first love. After that, Minako would subtly introduce her to a nice boy at school, spend a little time with them, and then make her excuses and leave to let them get more acquainted. Of course, Shizuka was a little shy, so she'd have to find a boy who wouldn't intimidate her. He'd have to be laid back, easy to talk to. He'd have to be talkative too, to lead the conversation. She'd start screening potentials tomorrow at school. It was a difficult job, with many factors, but as the Goddess of Love, Minako felt she was more than capable of handling the task. In fact, it was her obligation! If she wasn't qualified to play Cupid for her friend, then who was?
The voice of Artemis spoke in her head, drolly pointing out her own failure in the world of romance, and the spontaneity of it made her giggle. She stopped as she realised that Shizuka was looking at her with a smile of her own, her expression somewhat quizzical.
"Mina-chan?" she asked curiously.
Minako waved her hands dismissively. "It's nothing, nothing. I was just thinking about something Artemis said."
"Artemis?" asked Shizuka, confused now. "Your cat?"
Minako's eyes widened with realisation at what she'd said, and she laughed, as loud as she could, as if somebody had just told a truly fantastic joke. This only served to deepen her friends confusion, until she finally shook her head. "You're weird, Mina-chan!" she said, her smile and tone of voice indicating this as a bemused compliment rather than an insult.
Reaching their destination – Shizuka's house – they stopped and stood facing one another. "So, I'll see you in the morning," Minako said with a smile.
"Mm," replied Shizuka, punctuating the sound with a nod.
"Goodnight, Shizuka-chan!"
"Goodnight, Mina-chan! See you in the morning!"
Minako grinned, and then something impossible happened.
Without a word, Shizuka raised her hand and, with the shocking suddenness of a gunshot on a silent night, slapped her in the face.
A few days previously, as Shizuka sat at a table at the Crown Fruit Parlour, draining her second soda and playing a role, albeit minor, in the conversation between Minako and Hikaru, another presence had been in attendance. Deep inside her chest, the shadow that had wrapped itself around her broken heart on that cold night in the park finally regained a state of consciousness.
Zetsubun was still inside of her. She had been weakened, severely damaged, by that child… by that bitch, Sailor V. Those words V had uttered with her pathetic, gasping little voice, that rubbish about love, somehow they had penetrated Zetsubun's shell, and the small shred of hope that remained in her host's heart had been rekindled. A sudden surge of warmth had passed throughout her being, and then oblivion had seized her.
How much time had passed, she wondered? She had no way of measuring it. Time was extremely important. Despite her claims to the contrary, wounds healed over time, both physical and emotional. It was then that Zetsubun had realised, with a wave of what could be described as nausea in a human, that her host was happy.
Happy.
It disgusted her. All of her effort, all of those nights where her host had wept and sobbed and hurt herself, doing anything she could to stem the impending tide that led to death for her, and new life for Zetsubun. All of those nights had been for nothing, because now she was happy.
Happy.
Zetsubun could feel it, burning her like a flame. She was nothing more than a slight tint now, a shade. She was a healing wound. This sickening happiness that her host was experiencing, and all the elements that comprised it – friendship, hope, resolution – they were poisons to her. It wouldn't be long now before she would finally wither and die, return to the nothingness where she had once emerged from.
Anger flared up inside her. To be defeated by a child, to be cast aside and forgotten, to be labelled as a half-dreamt recollection and nothing more, it was just as sickening as the warmth that threatened to eradicate her. She wouldn't lay down and die. This one would crumble, this one would suffer, just like all the others.
This one would die, just like all the others.
Even the most conspiratorial of people would not have been able to see a link between the many ruined lives Zetsubun had cultured until their end. All kinds of people, young and old, from all walks of life, had been her hosts throughout the generations. The reason that allowed Zetsubun access to them differed: the loss of love, like with her current host, was merely one of them. Bereavement, tragedy, loneliness, there were many ways in which the heart could become vulnerable. And then she filled that wound and slowly, deliciously, contaminated them from within, until any hope that remained, any semblance of happiness, had been extinguished. After that line had been crossed, it was only a short amount of time before they expired.
The ways in which they did it were even more varied than the reasons for their broken hearts. Zetsubun anticipated the final moment more than anything. The cold barrel of a gun inside a mouth, the throat choking and gagging, the eyes streaming with tears, until the shaking finger pulled tight and it ended with a definitive, final explosion of crimson and sound. Or slowly sinking deep into an abyss, down into the blackness, slowly drifting free of consciousness as they willingly relinquished their lives. Or perhaps, the frantic struggling and writhing as the body fought to free itself from the noose it had helped assemble.
All of them were a source of great delight to Zetsubun. But more importantly, all of them were a source of energy. Of life. A source of power. For that was how she continued to exist, by feeding from the suffering of this pathetic species. And nothing nourished her more than a lonely, miserable death.
This one had almost been the same, had almost ended her own life in the throes of abject despair, but she hadn't succeeded. She had been interrupted. In her anger, Zetsubun had risen up, gathered all of her strength, taken control of her host to rid herself of the interruption. But then the bitch had appeared with her cute blonde hair and her cute red ribbon and her love and beauty, and now her host was happy.
Happy.
She struggled to haul her way out of blindness and survey the world through her host's eyes, as she usually did. In such a weakened state, even a task as simple as this proved difficult, but she managed it nonetheless. The shapes were vague and out-of-focus, the colours blurred and indistinct. It would be a while before she would be able to synchronise fully with her host. Regardless, she could see that they were sitting in a bright room lined with tables. Some kind of diner, perhaps. Her hosts head turned, to look down at a round object with something protruding from it. It took a few moments for Zetsubun to realise it was a cup with a straw poking out. Her viewpoint descended, and she knew her host was drinking.
A sudden stab of loathing rushed through her, the loathing she felt for all living beings. Weak, pathetic, beings, their entire society structured to distract them from the darkness that resided in their hearts and lurked deep within the folds of their thoughts. Finding solace in other people, in friendship. Raw anger rose in her but she quelled it. There would be time for anger later.
She realised that she could hear, too. First, the single sound of her host sucking liquid through a straw, stretched and alien, like her vision. Other sounds followed it. Voices. Female voices. One of them belonged to her host, she realised.
A sharp, disturbing sound that Zetsubun assumed was laughter assaulted her, and her hosts head moved to focus on the source of the din. A girl sitting on the other side of the table. Zetsubun's vision afforded little detail, but a stream of yellow surrounded the blob that must have been her face. Blonde hair, most likely. A lump of red sat atop it, and for a moment Zetsubun was confused as to what it was.
Then, she realised.
A shrill voice. Blonde hair. A red ribbon. The girl sitting across from her host was the bitch, Sailor V. She couldn't make out the girls face, it was nothing more than a shifting blur of geometric shapes, but that didn't matter. Her enemy had worn a red mask anyway. But somehow, she knew this girl was the one. Another wave of anger seized her, more powerful than before. The bitch hadn't been content with her victory, she was now laughing and joking and drinking with her host. This bitch was the reason her host was happy.
Happy.
If Zetsubun had had anything resembling a physical form, she would have smiled bitterly. It wasn't over yet. She still existed, however weak, inside her host. She would still win the battle. It all seemed simple now. If the blonde bitch was the reason her host was happy, then all she had to do to make her host unhappy was get rid of her.
The smile that wasn't on the face she didn't have moved away from bitterness and towards malice.
The moment of sharp silence that had passed in the wake of the slap had seemed to stretch on indefinitely. Shizuka stood, staring with wide eyes at Minako's face. Her beautiful blue eyes had widened, and tiny, hard tears lingered at their edges. Her right cheek was stained a blazing, painful red.
Every part of Shizuka's body was numb, save for her right hand. She could feel it by her side, heavy as a lead weight, her palm throbbing.
Had it even happened? Surely it hadn't. Minako's face was red because of some other reason. Her hand was throbbing for some other reason. Time had stood still for some other reason. Something, anything other than what she thought had happened. She hadn't slapped her best friend in the face. Something else had happened. She wasn't sure what, but she was sure it would be a very funny and interesting story. Hey, Mina-chan, remember that time I thought I slapped you in the face, but it was actually something totally different?
The moment still hadn't passed. She willed something to happen. It didn't matter what. Anything to get out of this moment, anything to free herself from this one moment in time. She wanted Minako to smile and laugh, and explain what had really happened, and then Shizuka could go into her house, and do her homework, and tomorrow she'd get up and go to school and everything would be fine, because she was okay now.
But Minako didn't smile, nor did she laugh. She didn't raise a hand to her face, to feel her flaming cheek, or to wipe the tears from her eyes. Words – of anger, of forgiveness, of explanation, it mattered not – did not form in her mouth. Her feet did not turn and guide her legs down the street and around the corner and out of sight.
And still, the moment had not passed. It was becoming strained now. She could feel the air around her thickening, tensing up, ready to explode from the pressure of being stretched for so long.
And then, it did, and Shizuka could hear her own feet pounding down the path that led to her front door, she could feel her eyes stinging with tears, and still, above anything else, she could feel the palm of her hand, red and sore. She didn't look back as she opened the door, darted inside and slammed it behind her in one fluent motion. She didn't say a word as she ascended the staircase, without even removing her shoes, vaguely aware of her mother's voice somewhere far away. She didn't stop until she had reached her bedroom, bolted the door, and collapsed face-first to her neatly made bed.
The tears came then, hot and burning, causing her eyes to close in protest and her cheeks to itch miserably. With the tears came the familiar sound of her own voice, sobbing and wailing wordlessly, an uninterrupted cacophony of despair and solitude. For how long this continued, Shizuka did not know, nor did she care. Again, she was vaguely aware of her mothers voice outside the door, but the words sounded alien to her, and they eventually stopped altogether. The sky outside the window darkened further, until night came.
As the room around her slowly turned black, Shizuka stood and made her way to the window that looked out at the street, her tears and whimpers continuing unabated. She stared down at the gate in front of her house, hoping desperately to still see her friend standing there, rooted to the spot, and then Shizuka could go to her and apologise and everything would be fine, because she was okay now.
Minako wasn't there. The dark street was empty. She was gone.
Despair gripped her with such intensity that she clutched a hand to her chest, and she stumbled back, tripping over her own feet, still wearing her school shoes, and tumbled backwards onto the bed to land in a messy heap. As the darkness around her solidified, as the shadows gained substance, the tears came again, and Shizuka was not aware of how long they continued until she lost consciousness and spiralled down into a thick, black sleep.
