Sanguine Falls
Part VI
The Aoiya was quiet.
Briefly.
"I can't believe we have to leave so soon! I'm not ready!" a female voice squeaked.
"Oh, Omasu, shut up! Let's hurry and quiet down! Misao was out late last night, we want to let her sleep today!"
Minutes later, the Aoiya was empty, the mysterious outing unexplained. Upstairs, he listened, curious but it didn't move him. He stayed still. The room was darkened, cloth pulled over the window blocking most of the sun.
Hours ago he'd watched her die, her last breath, her last stirring of life. She never woke from her slumber; she had remained blissfully asleep since she sank against him the previous night.
She now lay pale and cold upon her bed. Her hair lay on the floor, a tight braided cord sweeping back to the back of her head. Her capriciously tossed blanket did not cover her delicate collar bones. The hard bone ends pressed gently up against the flesh creating the smooth perfect lines under his fingers.
Such perfect, straight bones, her skin soft… far too thin, but beautiful…
On the bed linens beneath her cooling body dark stains were almost hidden in the shadows. They couldn't hide from him. He wanted to drink from her… to sink his teeth into her flesh, to feed from her…
She had, however, expired. Stale. That was the word he'd heard for bodies that had died and were cooling. They were stale.
The scent of blood filled his nostrils. She did not smell of rot, not yet, she was not bloated with decay… she was still beautiful in her cold pallor.
It was late in the morning, nearing noon. The sun was up and bright and sunlight, more than all else made him tired. He stayed close to her but he was tired, deeply fatigued…
If she woke it would be hours and hours away. Content in his assertion, he slept.
Her head ached, as did her shoulder. She reached up and covered the wound on her neck with her palm. She hissed in pain as it seemed to burn. Fluttering a moment, her eyes finally snapped open. The lids had felt heavy, almost stuck shut. Now, she stared out into darkness… familiar darkness. She recognized her room, the feel of it, the smell of it, it was hers… a monster always knew its own lair, she thought irritably.
Slowly, she moved. Her body felt heavy, extraordinarily so. Bringing her knees up she saw she was naked, as if some pervert had come in and had his way with her while she slept. But the bed was dry, there was nothing between her legs, nothing to indicate anyone had been there or touched her at all. With a groan, she stood and stumbled toward her bureau, yanking it open. She pulled out the first thing she came upon, a blue yukata and she tugged it on.
Without having one of Shiro or Kuro's yukata sashes to steal she leaned her head against the bureau and slowly, very slowly, tied an obi stiffly around her abdomen.
Why hadn't anyone woke her before now? Why'd they let her sleep ALL day long? Or... wait, was it the same day? She padded toward her door and then abruptly stopped when she felt a tingling along her spine, a curious something she'd never felt before… it was…
She half-turned and peered back. Someone… a man … her eyes widened… her clothes! Was this…?
Shock and anger enveloped her, followed quickly by shame. How could he, how could anyone…? Had he wanted to rape her and been appalled by her lack of figure, by her sheer… ugliness?
She turned completely and stomped forward, but no greater than two steps from the door she stopped. She knew that silhouette, that frame…
"Aoshi-sama…"
"I am not." His voice was smooth and silky and perfect. She knew that voice, it was Aoshi-sama. She came closer and stared. Hair, eyes, face, jaw line… she reached and snatched his hand inspecting it as well as she could in the dim, dim light.
"Aoshi-sama…"
"I am not, " he repeated.
His hand, cold, slipped from her fingers and he stepped out her window and onto the roof. Not willing to let him escape, she quickly followed. It was Aoshi-sama, she knew it! He could deny it, well, he couldn't deny it she'd prove it to him!
When she scrambled out, he was already on the ground and walking away.
Not Aoshi-sama?
Not?
Absurd, she thought.
Quickly, she hurried after him. On the loose gravel, her footing slipped and she slid. Pain split across her abdomen and she doubled over, clutching her arms against her stomach, her eyes wide. She gasped as if she couldn't force enough air into her lungs. Her knees gave way and she collapsed onto the ground, her face in the dirt. She breathed in a mouthful of dusty air. She felt it coat her throat and get sucked down inside her, powdering the inside of her lungs.
Her chest burned with pain.
"It…" she started but stopped as the pain intensified.
"You're too weak to be out. You need to feed."
"F-eed?" she could barely speak. She curled herself helplessly into a little ball and turned her head away from the ground to rest. Maybe if she could curl her body tight enough and stay very still, the pain would go away…
It didn't.
It flared, wildly, rapidly.
"Get up," he ordered.
His voice was cold and stony. If nature could speak it would sound like that just before a storm threatened…
"Get up, " he repeated. "Or die there."
Misao, wracked with pain, was now trembling violently. Her body shuddered while trying to remain the tight curl on the ground resulting in a uneven quiver. She quaked.
The man stared, his eyes bright, cold and hard. She didn't seem him fade into the night; she didn't see a butterfly flitting away leaving her alone.
"Monster? What is this talk of monsters?"
"Why do you bring this girl among us? This child?"
"She's cute in a lost, sick puppy kind of way… but those puppies always die."
"If she doesn't feed she'll die."
"Do you really think that weakling can kill? Absurd. Put her out of her misery now."
"The sun will kill her if the lack of food doesn't. She's just a baby."
She imagined them, faces connected to the voices. Female faces, male faces, Japanese men and women and foreign ones. They looked odd, pale almost gray with the same strange eyes… her pain… her eyes fluttered. Was she asleep? Her eyelids flickered with movement and then abruptly flew open.
She felt disoriented.
Disconnected.
She was no longer out on the ground in front of the Aoiya; she was lying on a tatami floor, a futon pad beneath her body. The room smelled old, of moths and dust. It was softly lit with one candle; she could see it from the corner of her eye.
Before her was him.
Her Aoshi-sama look-a-like, her love… the man who was confusing in his perfection. He sat at her bedside, his legs crossed, his face impassive. The room was clean, tidy, and empty.
He turned and grabbed something; she heard the slide of glass on wood.
She couldn't move her head to see. She felt like someone else was controlling her body. Watching she saw her hand reach out and take a tiny cup. His hand seemed massive against her own. She watched her hand bring the cup to her lips. She could only see the inside was red.
As it came to rest under her nose and she breathed in the scent, she gagged but her hand remained steady tipping the cup into her mouth. She knew before it touched her tongue it was blood, the smell gave it away.
She cringed, but she was forced to swallow. Her conscious was alert but forced backward by something she didn't understand. She couldn't even be afraid. Her entire body was paralyzed. She felt full as if she were being forced to cram her entire self into only a portion of the space that belonged to her on the inside.
Greedily, her traitorous tongue flicked out and licked the inside of the tiny cup as if to savor every drop of the tangy liquid. She wanted to be nauseous, instead, she felt sated as if a deep hunger had been satisfied.
The horrid, slashing pains had vanished.
The squashed feeling inside her eased and then faded entirely. She drew in a deep, ragged breath. Had she been holding it before? Had she forgotten to breathe?
She turned her head and narrowed her eyes. "You!"
"If you don't feed, you'll die. Don't play stupid," he chastised. "You know what you are, don't you? You heard them speak."
Speak?
Them?
Fear pricked along her skin.
"I'm a monster," she murmured, bringing her hands up to her face. She pressed her cool palms against her cheeks. "A weak monster, a baby… a baby monster… I just… I just wanted to be with Aoshi-sama, why can't I have that?"
Tears warmed her eyes.
It was the only part of her that felt warm.
They fell down her cheeks in perfect, clear droplets. He leaned forward and captured the droplets on his fingers creating wet smudges.
"Cherish this," he whispered. "It is the last time you will ever cry these beautiful crystal tears."
She stared at him confused, watching, torn between fascination and horror as he licked his finger. Then, before she could think to evade, he cupped her face in his hands and began licking her cheeks.
The pressure of his fingers made her feel weak, her head light. She closed her eyes to ease the floating sensation.
"Am I going to die?" she whispered.
"Not tonight," he answered.
His hands drew away and she fell back onto the mat. She fell hard, like a log striking the ground. "I want to. Take me to Aoshi-sama!"
The coppery taste of blood flared suddenly in her mouth and she shattered.
"TAKE ME TO AOSHI-SAMA!"
Her shriek rattled the hut and the blood stained cup on the table, cracked and split down the sides.
"Has anyone seen Misao yet?"
The others looked up, their smiles fading. The day off, away from the Aoiya had been a blessing to their strained lives. Misao had last been seen sleeping peacefully in her bed that morning. Okina, looking weary stood and prepared to mount the stairs to check. Shiro stopped him.
"I'll go. I haven't talked to Misao in a while; I'd like to see how she is."
The old man frowned but nodded and Shiro quickly skipped up the stairs. Misao's sickness had been a burden upon them all. It seemed to be sapping the life from all of them.
At her doorway, he stopped and dutifully knocked. Thinking she may be still resting, he softly called to her. "Misao, it's Shiro, I'm opening the door, okay?"
She didn't respond and he slid the door open and peered into darkness.
Silence.
He padded inside and kneeled down; patting the table for the candle and matches she kept at her table. Quickly, he lit the stick candle and glanced at her bed expecting to see her lying there softly sleeping.
The bed was empty.
His spine straightened. Had she gone out looking for them? No one had told her where they were going…
Grabbing the candle he kneeled beside her bed. A yukata was lying over her bed very oddly. It was flat, as if she'd peeled it open and simply slipped out of it while laying there and left it. His eyes drifted higher, examining the bed when it caught a brown stain near the head of the bed.
He reached and traced his fingers over it. It was stiff, crusty. Slowly, he brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed.
Was… it blood?
He turned to get the others standing and turning toward the doorway, the light sweeping over the table and catching on a flash of white. One crisp sheet of paper smeared with the same ugly shade of brown… the kanji clear, distinct…
"Goodbye."
Panic seized his heart and clenched hard. He scooped up the paper and ran.
"OKINA!"
AN: Terror! I'm upping the rating to "M".