Scenario: One shot. Merely a simple metaphor on Jeanne's opinion of Hao.

Cold Iron

It was the fifth time this month she was called back to the psychotherapy ward. Her beautiful long locks of silver hair were gone. Her hair now rested on her shoulder like a heavy burden. And her eyes, they were redder than they had ever been.

She insisted on seeing him herself. She insisted to them she would be safe.

Safe in a house of people. People who collapsed from their dreams, their guilt, their anguish. They yelled about an epidemic. Apparently they were yelling about a Shaman Fight.

She scoffed at them and glared through the small box-shaped window on the cold, gray door. The windows were barred with wire.

A solemn man greeted her quietly at one of the doors. She touched the metal and it felt as cold as ice.

"I'll leave you with him."

She did not thank him. She opened the door and stepped inside, radiating with a chilly air of hollow emotion.

He was a sick young man. His long ebony hair was unkempt and unruly. He reached out to her and called her 'Maiden'. Everyone here called her Maiden.

He grabs her ankle and she kneels to meet him eye to eye. He cried and sniveled. His body trembled. He began to whimper, curled himself up and allowed himself to rest on her lap. She watched him with cold eyes of conviction.

He trembled violently for several more seconds and whispered a name. "Jeanne, Jeanne." When she didn't hear the name anymore, she knew he was gone.

Apathy in her heart, she took out pen and notepad.

"Day of death, May 23. Time of death, 16:18. Cell number twelve. Name, Hao Asakura."


A/N: Angsty, weird, dramatic, I know. Don't flame me for killing Hao off. He's just a fictional character. I just thought this 'metaphor' could accurately describe Jeanne's heartlessness, how she hated Hao, and how she'd want him to suffer, die, etc. If you like it, please leave some feedback. Thank you!