Sudden Near-Death
The past day and a half had been pretty nice. Even great, she might dare to say. Things with Ifrit got... well, they didn't quite get cleared up as neither truly knew what was really going on yet, but Suzuran'd be lying if she said she still felt nervous at the thought of meeting the sarkaz. Thinking about it still made her heart beat quicker, yes, but in a quite different, much more pleasant way. They even managed to not get caught, as far as they knew at least, which was in itself a relief. Why, the little vulpo wasn't actually sure. As for Lappland, she had pretty much disappeared, simply showing up to accompany Suzuran back to the landship and fading away right after, as if she had something really important to take care of. Which was entirely plausible, after all. Probably.
Suzuran's second day in town turned out to be a bit more hectic, as she went on what could probably be called a shopping trip through the town with a few other members of Rhodes Island in the morning. She didn't really buy much in the end, just a couple of books and two souvenirs for Popukar and Shamare, as the former was still stuck studying to not fall behind on her course and the latter was a bit down because her ritual didn't quite go as she had expected. What exactly her rituals were, however, the little vulpo still didn't know. As for Ifrit herself, she unfortunately had her own commitments to take care of for the day, and couldn't join them. Had Silence not looked over her, however, she'd have likely sneaked out to do just that. A pretty nice day, all things considered.
Suzuran spent a bit of time with her instructor in the evening, something remarkably rare given said instructor's incredibly busy schedule, and her day pretty much ended with that private lesson. As a matter of fact, once she was left alone in her room, Suzuran took a shower and went to sleep, tired from the long day.
Her night, however, had yet to start.
Consciousness came abruptly. If consciousness it could be called. Her arm was reaching for something right beside her, something that wasn't there. Her eyes were open, trying to hold on to an image she had seen in her sleep. A futile effort, yet a most precious one. Her hand grasped at the sheets, a nervousness she couldn't explain in her fingers. She was alone, in a bed. That was normal. She had always slept alone, her memories told her so. But something was off. Missing, even. She stood up, her gaze slowly running over her surroundings.
That... wasn't the convent?
Right, that wasn't the convent. She was at a medical facility to undergo therapy. For... an illness. Ill, she was ill. Of what again? Her head was aching. The bed was somewhat large for a single person, she noticed. Her temples hurt. She brought her hands to them, only to discover sweat. It wasn't an hot night, why was she sweating? She reached besides her again, but the bed was just as empty as before.
Something wasn't right.
She opened her mouth to call her -her?- but she couldn't recall the name. She couldn't recall any name. No, that was wrong, wrong on a conceptual level. It wasn't by calling out that they would find each other. It. Was. It was. It, was, it was it was it was
A sound filled the room for a brief moment, which then stretched to seconds and bled into minutes. It was only when it abated that she recognized her own voice. Why did she laugh? What a vulgar laugh that was. Unbefitting of her, unbefitting of a servant of the Lord.
Her back, her very spine, was dolorant. Had she slept badly? The mattress seemed soft enough. She got on her knees, hands joined together as she bowed her head, trying to recall the verses. Truthfully, she couldn't recall her prayers having ever been answered, but only a conceited fool would expect a reply from the Lord.
... the lord of what again?
That wasn't working. She recited the verses, or what little of them she could piece together, over and over, and yet solace still escaped her. On the contrary, she only grew more restless. Those were the words she'd been taught at the convent, a kind place, a warm place, a friendly place the memories of which made her feel like puking.
That was wrong.
What was wrong?
Those weren't the words she wanted to speak. The right ones were others, different, but they wouldn't come out, stuck somewhere between her dry lungs and her equally dry lips. So she stopped... something. What was she doing again? Something boring, she was pretty sure of it. Even worse, something moronic. Just what was she thinking? She got up, trying to catch a sound that wasn't there. There were noises in the air, but those were all meaningless. She looked around again and
Where was she? That wasn't a room.
Right, she had walked out. Something familiar had called out to her, her legs guiding her through the night. She wasn't on solid ground. The cold breeze was hitting her face. Soft waves echoved in her ears. Deep blackness entiched her eyes. Yet something about that was off, just enough to disturb her. She should have felt at ease, as if on the doorstep of her own home, yet the details were wrong, they were all wrong, but that came as nothing short of a relief to her. The sound she was searching for wasn't there either. She opened her mouth, but the words were still stuck within her.
A laugh.
She caught herself laughing. Over what, she couldn't tell. It sure was fun though.
Oh, she got it now. If standing on the doorstep didn't cut it, all she had to do was walk past it.
Once again, her body acted before her mind. She came to in a much more familiar sensation, an embrace equally chilling and comforting, surrounding her, filling her. Breathe in. Breathe out. Her eyes gazed at the dark, and yet she knew that nothing would ever stare back at her. Not there. She listened, but the song was still missing.
Song?
Whose song?
She knew the words. She knew she did. But they couldn't surface, lost in her mind, a maze that didn't even know where it was supposed to lead, or to keep away from.
She wandered for a while, safe in the knowledge of not being at home, but nothing she found was of help, or even just of interest. That was pointless.
She blinked, and by the time her eyelids came back up the scenery had changed again. Cold walls of metal, clean and primitive. Distant sounds, voices echoing in the ship that wasn't a ship. Some voices she could associate to a name. Some to a face. She couldn't recall having ever heard any of them before though.
Her head was pulsing. It hurt. Perhaps those were her nails? She was scratching her temples. Her eyes closed, but her ears still couldn't pick up any call.
Something reached her.
It was faint, but the scent was also familiar. She grinned, her lips curling into a smile without her mind becoming aware of it. She'd never been good at following someone's smell. That's just not how they did things. But the night was silent, quiet as a lullaby without singer. She made do with what she had.
She blinked again.
Her neck was on fire. A pain she couldn't associate with anything surrounded her throat, a scent she used to smell far too often reaching her nostrils. Something about it was comforting though. She could feel. She was alive, and so was her. Them. Who was her? Who were them? She didn't know. Nobody important, yet the missing lines in her memory hurt even more than her neck and head combined. She got back on her knees, hands joined once more. That was the convent. It was night, and prayers were to be offered before sleep.
There was something wrong with her throat. No matter how hard she tried, only gurgling sounds came from her mouth. That couldn't do, the Lord would never accept praises sung in such a way. She tried to scratch her neck again. It hurt but, for some reason, she didn't mind that.
"**... ******* *****?"
She turned around.
Where was she? A room. A room not hers. One she could recall to have never seen before. The scent had guided her there, and yet she wasn't there. Neither of them were. Her eyes fell on the source of the noise, words she should've understood, words whose meaning eluded her. A small thing, small and frail and small and soft and small and weak and pumping blood equally weak through itself. It couldn't even return her gaze, staring aimlessly into the dark instead. Hardly worth of the title of prey.
Prey? What an odd word. Why would she ever think of it?
Prey.
She felt her own lips curl up.
Who was that thing? What was that thing?
She laughed. Why, she couldn't tell. What she did know was that her teeth were aching for affection. She was aching for companionship. Her head was on fire. Her throat constantly reminded her of her condition of not being dead, pain coming with every breath, blissful reminder of the wretched state known as being alive.
She stood up, and her leg stepped forward.
Suzuran's consciousness came to her suddenly. Her eyes opened, with none of the slugginesh that usually accompanied someone right after waking up. There was hardly any light coming in from the window, which meant it was still night. Before she could process that simple information, however, something else reached her nose. A scent. No, a mix of scents. She couldn't quite identify any of them, but she could tell that they weren't pleasant. That, and there was something... else. Suzuran had never been good at feeling the presence of other people, though one could argue she was simply as good at such things as someone who had neither the talent nor the training for it. And yet she could tell that some... thing was there. Truthfully, the door to her room wasn't locked. She had stopped locking it the second time Ifrit melted it down to sneak in at night. The fact had never bothered her though. Rhodes always seemed like a safe place, a really safe place.
But something inside there was making her shiver. She clenched her own arms, trying to calm down. A single drop of sweat ran down her skin.
Thinking about it rationally, she was probably imagining it. Maybe she had just had a nightmare and was still trembling from it. She had no memory of it whatsoever, but that went for most dreams after all. Yes, that had to be it. She realized she'd been holding her breath only when she managed to calm down a bit. Yes, everything was fine. All she had to do was close her eyes and go back to sleep.
A noise.
A gurgling sound briefly filled the room, quickly followed by several others, each seemingly identical to the previous one. Slowly, as if her limbs were made of glass, the little vulpo lifted herself up and turned around. It was basically pitch black, she couldn't see anything. What little light came in from the window was too weak to even reach the floor, let alone illuminate anything. The sound repeated itself, and her eyes moved to where it seemed to come from. It was within those walls, definitively.
"Is... someone there?"
The room went silent. Suzuran held her breath again, nothing but that pungent, unpleasant aroma to keep her company as her heartbeat somehow slowed down, her eyes trying to pierce the darkness to no avail. Then another sound reached her ears, a gurgling noise that somehow resembled a laugh. And then.
A step.
Someone had just taken a step.
No longer able to convince herself that it was all just in her head, Suzuran reached for the nightstand and turned on the small lamp resting on it, casting a soft but functional light on her surroundings, just as another step reached her ears.
It was then that her blood froze.
Standing just a few steps from her was a woman, roughly as tall as Lappland. At first glance her black attire reminded Suzuran of a nun, but all the details were off, some just slightly, others entirely. Her long capelet didn't quite resemble that of a woman of faith, her hat had too odd a shape, her dress left her thighs exposed in a way unbefitting of a proper nun, not to mention her boots or thighhighs. There was also an odd amount of belts strapper over her clothes, mostly around her legs. Her golden pendant, on its part, did seem rather fitting for a nun, to some degree at least.
But the only reason Suzuran noticed any of that was because she was trying to not look at her neck.
Her skin was pale. She couldn't really tell anything about her arms due to how baggy her sleeves were, but she seemed rather slim, which made the... feelings she inspired just that more odd. She had long, silvery hair with a dark shade of white to them, and eyes as red as still-flowing blood, fixed on the little vulpo and reflecting everything and nothing at the same time. She was rather drenched, as if she had just recently taken a shower while fully clothed. She resembled someone else, someone Suzuran knew, and another person she was at least an acquaintance of.
Then the little vulpo lost control of her own gaze, which traced back to the woman's throat against her own will.
Her neck was torn apart, bits and pieces of flesh curled up and ripped and ragged and dripping, blood tainting her clothes and skin and the floor, the black nails of her hands dyed the same color as her fingers kept tugging and scratching at her own throat, the flesh somehow mending and stitching itself back together as if to explain the meaning of "unnatural" without the need of words.
Half of her face was smiling, showing off a row of teeth white as pearls and sharp as the most cruel of words, while the other half of her visage seemed lost, confused. Her lips parted, but no words managed to get past her brutalized neck, another gurgling sound coming from her as more blood spilled from her wound, stuck in an eternal state of healing and being torn open anew.
Suzuran knew that person. She had never met her personally, she'd never even seen her before, but she had heard of her. A woman dressed almost as a nun, hospitalized at Rhodes Island. Her mental state was as far from stable as it could be, so she'd been told, but she'd also heard that it had improved considerably after a certain event. What said event actually was, the little vulpo had no idea, though she was almost sure she knew who else had been involved.
"... miss... Specter... ?"
Stable, that she didn't look like. She took another step forward, and Suzuran found herself crawling back along the bed in response. A part of her wanted to get up and run away, to scream, to set her on fire even. But at the same time, she couldn't shake off the feeling that doing any of that would've been akin to invinting her to bite.
Bite.
Odd, how that specific expression came to her mind.
"... miss Specter, you should... stop that... " she said.
In which way she had managed to speak those words without clattering her teeth, she'd probably never know herself. Without moving her eyes away from Specter's, Suzuran inched sideways. The bed wasn't all that big, and yet getting to its edge proved to be enough to drain her energies. She stepped onto the floor, unable to fully keep herself from trembling, but after having gotten that far she couldn't bring herself to take even a single step forward.
So Specter did instead.
Had her blood had the scent of... blood, Suzuran would've probably thrown up by that point. She'd seen diagrams of how an human body looked like on the inside, she'd seen a few dissections of organs or tissues, she'd even witnessed violence with her own eyes, but the sight of a living, breathing person brutalizing their own body in such fashion was not something she was ready to gaze upon, doubly so in such odd circumstances. That of blood was the one smell she'd associate with such a sight. The scent reaching her nose, however, wasn't that. It was similar, but also different enough to be distinct, and her mind clinged to that as hard as it could to keep a vague semblance of hold onto itself, the little vulpo tricking herself into thinking that maybe something about that situation wasn't actually real.
The woman took another step, and another. And then she bent down, her face stopping right in front of Suzuran's. Her breaths carried with them that same scent, her teeth almost glistening in the dim light of the lamp, her eyes looking both at the vulpo and at something beyond her, confusion and bliss and pain and excitement and sorrow and amusement and a thousand other feelings Suzuran couldn't name mixing together on Specter's face as her nose bumped against her forehead, the mere touch causing Suzuran's every muscle to tense up, to freeze, as if they were undergoing rigor mortis, because maybe that thing in front of her had no interest in corpses.
"... miss... Spec... ter... " she managed to say, her voice so low one might wonder if she could even be heard "We... should... t... treat... y... your wo... und... "
The woman gurgled something, her fingers still clawing at her own throat. Blood spilled forth, over Suzuran's face, mixing with her sweat, a chill colder than she thought possible walking down her spine. Walking. That chill moved slowly, as if it, too, was scared of that foreign presence. Specter's lips then parted, and her teeth came to rest on the little vulpo's head. There was no pressure applied, but none was needed to puncture her skin, tiny red dots appearing on her as the woman pulled back only to rest her teeth on her again, feeling her face the same way a blind man would with their hands.
Perhaps, had she not had similar experiences with Lappland before -albeith less intense by entire orders of magnitute- Suzuran would've lost consciousness at that point. And, perhaps, that would've been for the better. But faint, the little vulpo did not. She brought her hands up instead, trying to distract herself from what was happening on her face, her fingers softly closing around Specter's hands.
"You... sh... should go... to the m... edic... ... ... "
Specter's teeth traced down, to Suzuran's own neck, nimbling it softly, silencing her. She probably tried to say something, but she was in no condition to speak. Her lips moved further down, over the vulpo's shoulder, her jaws opening as she prepared to bite. More out of sheer instinct than anything else, Suzuran started to conjure a fire on her hands, the universal imperative of survival taking over her mind, her brain choosing fight over flight the same way a convict would choose the guillotine over the stake and flames.
"Hey"
Specter didn't turn around, but she did stop. The little vulpo did as well, but it was only when the voice spoke again that she truly realized someone else had joined them.
"You know, morsel, getting chewed up a bit is fine, but throwin' yourself into a meatgrinder doesn't really fit you all that well"
Suzuran saw Lappland throw something on the desk. What exactly, she couldn't tell, there wasn't that much light and her eyes were focused on other things. Specter pulled herself back up, and only then turned towards the lupo.
"Didn't know we had nuns on here" she commented as she walked up to her, seemingly calm "Guess they all went to the incinerator if that's how you scratch an itch"
Specter stepped forward as well, trying to speak again with the same results as before, and the two came to an halt right in front of each other.
"Hi there" she greeted with a smile, followed by a chuckle when Specter gurgled up a bit of blood on her.
"Ohy, morsel, where the hell did you fish this one?" she asked in siracusan.
Suzuran, however, didn't reply. The lupo briefly moved her gaze from the questionable nun to the vulpo. She was trembling all over, covered in sweat, a few tiny drops of blood running down her face and mixing with her tears along her cheeks.
"This... ain't so nice"
Specter moved an hand from her own neck to Lappland's shoulder.
Several thoughts crossed her mind during those brief moments before contact. She knew that the woman in front of her was the epitome of abnormal. And not because any normal person would've died with their throat in that state. Nor because said throat was healing up on its own at an alarming speed. Not even for the evershifting smile on her face. Hell, Lappland actually related a bit to that. No, it was simply due to her instinct. She could tell a dangerous person when she saw one, and that almost-nun... let's just say that Lappland was glad her fight or flight response had expired years ago, else it'd have probably gotten her killed. Or made her leave Suzuran there by herself. The latter option seemed especially bad, if only due to how pathetic of an act it would've been. The poor morsel could hardly bear the tension as it was, her heart might seriously give in if left alone again. As for the former option, under other circumstances she wouldn't even have minded that much. Getting offed by that red-caped lupo did rank pretty high among her list of ways to depart, after all.
But that woman? No, not from her. Red might have been on a different level, but her and Lappland were at least still on the same realm. Were she to seriously try and fight that nun, however, she was sure she'd just get killed without managing to accomplish anything, a puppy picking a fight with death itself. And that didn't seem that much more exciting than just succumbing to the time in a comfy bed honestly, something that ranked pretty low on her list. Besides, she didn't even have her swords with her at the moment. Their presence wouldnt've changed much either though. She still had the knives in her boots at least, though she doubted they'd be of much use. Incidentally, those thoughts were also the reasons why she hadn't opted for a strike. She was pretty sure her presence had been noticed long before she had spoken, which meant attempting a furtive attack would've gotten her killed right away. In the same vein, appearing nervous would likely stirr that woman's predatory instincts. Because Lappland could tell a predator -an huntress- when she saw one.
Specter's hand reached her, her phalanxes digging into the lupo's flesh with the ease, much like an iron weight into a pond. That didn't really surprise her though.
"That's one way to greet someone, ain't it?"
She kept her smile straight -as straight as her smiles usually were- and even chuckled when Specter rested her teeth on her other shoulder, sinking them all the way to the base. It was pretty damn painful, but at the same time Lappland could claim to have had worse without lying. She even found that endearing in a way. She couldn't feel any hostility from that bite, nor from the fingers sunk into her other shoulder. No, it was more like curiosity, mixed with affection even. Or perhaps that was longing? Was there even a difference? She couldn't quite remember but, regardless of that, she found that gesture cute. With all of that said, however, with a start like that she was pretty sure she would end up dead anyway if the nun kept that up. She had to do something, and both fighting and fleeing had already been ruled out as options. She looked Specter from head to toe a couple of times while forgetting about her bleeding wounds, and came to the conclusion that if dying in battle with her wouldn't have been satisfying, maybe dying in action would've gratified her instead. She brought her hand up, pain flashing through her mind as the muscles in her shoulders complained with all they had, and then simply pinched Specter's nose while chuckling to herself. That seemed to surprise the woman, who released her teeth from the warm embrace of Lappland's flesh to stare at her face directly, some oddity in her eyes finding a match in the lupo's gaze. A second hand then grabbed the back of her head, and Lappland pulled her in for a kiss, biting her lips then licking her teeth then biting again and kissing and lapping her own blood and tasting her and herself again without any real logic, going from one act to the other on a whim.
"So" she asked when their mouths parted, blood and saliva and something else hanging between their lips "Feel like it, you pretty meatgrinder?"
Specter stared at her, bewilderment briefly becoming the predominant emotion conveyed by her face. Then her lips curled into a smile, a large smile that showed off her lovely, red-stained teeth, and she laughed. Her neck had stitched itself back together enough to not lose blood as she did, enough to even let her let out an actual laugh rather than a gurgled noise, and Lappland replied with the only language the two could talk in at the moment, a chuckle that quickly twisted into a laugh of her own.
Specter's eyes seemed to light up for a moment, and then she grabbed Lappland and pulled her in for a second kiss, deep and passionate and violent as the first one, fangs and lips and tongues meeting and clashing and embracing as they both dug their nails into the other, cloth tearing and skin ripping and blood pouring, chilling laughters filling the room, one healing right away, the other doubling her efforts to make her marks stick a bit longer.
The lupo whispered some sort of profanity in siracusan, her nails chipping and cracking against the woman's muscles. A small price to pay to adorn her in her own blood, but also an unexpected one. How senselessly amusing.
It was only when Lappland's eyes moved to the vulpo again that Suzuran's breathing restarted. Still trembling, still sweating, still locked in place, but her lungs had started functioning again. Withouth a word, the lupo told her to move aside a bit, just out of the way. The helpless vulpo found her throat dry, far too dry to answer, but her feet moved, almost on their own, taking her away from the bed, two steps that felt like the longest and most meaningless distance she could ever think of. And, as soon as she did so, Lappland grabbed Specter's waist and carried her over, the two women crashing on the sheets, blood and even little bits of flesh scattering around. It was only then that their lips parted, Lappland taking off what little of her coat was left as she straddled that nun who was nearly making her regret never having joined a convent.
"I'll need your bed for a while, morsel"
Suzuran simply stood there, unable to run, unwilling to look on, incapable of looking away. What took place in front of her wasn't the act of making love. It wasn't quite that of making war either.
No, that was a feast.
What a weird thing, that was. What an odd creature, that woman. Her name, she didn't know, nor did she care about it. Her sentences, words that turned into meaningless gibber halfway between Specter's ears and brain. But her language, that she seemed to understand. That woman wasn't like her, she wasn't who she was searching, she didn't produce the sound she was longing for, and yet something about her was oddly comforting. Her laugh was true, sincere, it echoed within Specter herself, causing an equally maniacal response to rise from her unpleasantly dry lungs.
What a cute little thing, thinking it could match her, lie with her.
Somewhere in her mind, the almost-nun begged the Lord for forgiveness, for what she had done, for what she was doing, for what she was about to do. And yet another voice, hers as much if not even more than the first one, was shouting. That lord was dead, killed by her precious dear -by who?-, unimportant, forgettable, to be laughed at even.
Her head seemed on the point of bursting. She reached for her own face with one hand, her fingers digging through her skin and dragging the flesh down, horribly disfiguring her, but that brave little thing responded with a chuckle, a laugh and a smile as she tore Specter's clothes away. Ah, amusing frail creature, how far could you go before breaking? Just thinking about it had Specter shivering in anticipation.
The woman leaned down, one hand closing over Specter's bare breasts, the other reaching for her rear as her fangs dug into her neck. Her touch had none of the comforting familiarity she was looking for, but the pain it brought, the pleasure, and the passion driving it were all real, very much real, anchoring Specter's drifting mind to the there and then, a small dot of light in the evertwisting darkness. She kept clawing at her own face, her free hand scratching that woman's sides, back, legs, little lovely marks appearing on her flesh as the once-nun relished on the feeling, on the present, on what little of it she could understand, shivers running up her body when warm fingers reached between her legs to enter her, her insides contracting in response, warmth spreading through her as a different but still experienced hand stroked her, forcefully, aggressively, passionately, fangs tearing bits of her neck and shoulder away, the holes both big and small quickly closing on their own.
She moved her hand away from her own face, half of it torn beyond recognition, grabbing that woman's chest instead, scratching and fondling, the marks remaining like engraved on stone. Little foolish creature, how far were you planning on amusing her for?
Foolish, frail, but brave, and eager too apparently. A thought close to that crossed Specter's mind when the woman broke contact briefly, sliding down to place her mouth between the huntress' privates, drenched in fluids and now blood too, still dripping from the lupo's lips.
Unwilling to let her go, Specter grasped her head with both hands, pulling her against herself, a warm tongue reaching her and blessing her and making her shiver, her hips moving almost on their own to match, to meet, to challenge, pleasure surging and building up like a friendly, violent tide, nails digging into her thighs and her rear, a laugh that wasn't quite a laugh freely escaping her lips as she puller her further in, almost suffocating that most amusing thing against herself, her muscles tensing up as she reached her climax and then pushed further, that odd woman insisting on lapping and sucking and biting as if -because?- her life depended on it. Specter's hands moved wildly over her head, finding something soft and closing around it, crushing, tearing, and tear it did, something got torn off, and that woman bit in response, she bit harder than ever before, she bit and licked, she cackled and laughed and never once screamed and Specter loved it, she loved that, she loved her, she was frail and weak and lacking and the wrong person but she loved how hard she tried, how well she amused her.
She grabbed her neck, nails grasping at the very flesh beneath the skin and pulling her away, lifting her like a child would with a toy and pushing her down on the bed, swapping places as she got on top of her with her fingers still inside her, their eyes meeting, her hands reaching down and resting with too much force on her sides, her fingers sinking deeply into her flesh, looking for warmth.
There was blood trailing down her mouth. Ah. Ah, was that it, sweet amusing thing? She coughed, blood spilling from behind her teeth, blood and something black, something tiny and grainy and black and and and and and and
Specter moved her free hand down, her fingers carving red, messy furrows as they went, reaching between that woman's legs and pushing inside, violently, returning the gesture from before, odd yet familiar sounds coming from her lips and met with similar noises from Specter's own mouth, her teeth clattering as they approaced, sinking into her shoulder again, down, down, cutting and tearing and rending and tasting and loving, red blood dotted black flowing and spilling and filling her mouth. Nails clawed at her back, at her arms, at her head, legs, shoulders, everywhere, deep yet feeble trails left in their wake, not enough, not enough, brave and amusing but too weak, Specter kept running both her fingers and teeth wild inside that woman, until something reached her senses and she shifted her chest to the side, mere moments before a glimmering point poked out from her torax.
A knife, thin and sharp and small, with no guard and hardly any handle, lodged into her back, so close to her heart she could feel its cold blade with every beat, a surprisingly dull blade filling her for a surprisingly brief moment.
She backed away slightly, just enough to meet the woman's eyes with her own, straddling her, and grabbed the blade, the tip of the blade, and pulled it out, dragging its whole length through her whole chest, aware of what had just happened and yet not quite grasping it. There was a laugh, a rather pleasant laugh, hers, that was her own voice, right. The woman looked, she looked, what was that on her face, Specter couldn't tell, and she said something, but even that she couldn't understand. She dropped the thing on the sheets, the hole in her chest healing, the skin closing over it like curtains on a stage, and she grabbed that woman, she grabbed her head and lifted it up, only for her to lunge forward, their mouths meeting, briefly dancing together and parting, with one missing the lower lip. She said something again, but then remembered that their shared tongue wasn't one made of words and chuckled instead, she chuckled and then laughed and Specter laughed too, she laughed and pulled her face in, her once-white, crimson teeth approaching, her lip reforming already, was that it, was that it, little prey, fight and love and squirm more, there was still time, there was there was was was was
A sound.
A sound followed by another one, a pause, then a stronger sound. Then a final, softer one.
Silence.
A sound, a sound, a pause, a stronger sound, a softer sound, again.
That was... familiar, somehow.
Specter turned around.
Step. Step. Pause. Heavier step. Soft step.
Not far from her was that other thing, that little thing so frail she might break just by being looked at, that weak thing barely worth of consideration when compared to the sweet prey already in her grasp. She was trembling, but her gaze was steady, firm even. She stamped her foot twice, paused, then stamped her other foot with more force before moving it behind her and hitting the floor with her toes one last time as she folded an arm behind her back, the other reaching forward, hand open and palm up, her body slightly bending forward.
That was... familiar.
Lappland was dying.
The realization came slowly, much more slowly than Suzuran thought possible. She had tried to avert her gaze many times, to look away, even to escape at some point, but her body always refused to listen, and the more she stared at them the louder the impending truth became.
Lappland was laughing through nearly the whole thing, not a single scream leaving her mouth, but she was bleeding. She was bleeding too much, not to mention all the other wounds, bits small and big of flesh ripped from her body here and there, holes and grooves running over her. It was a wonder how the too young vulpo had managed to not faint, let alone throw up at that spectacle.
Lappland was dying.
But she wasn't getting killed.
People killed. Animals killed. Specter, however, was something other, something beyond. No wound stuck to her body, not even the horrific ones she inflicted upon herself. Her blood didn't smell like blood, and her eyes reflected things different from those she was looking at. There was something fundamentally different about her.
Later, Suzuran would realize that said difference was the reason why she acted the way she did. She had never gazed at it from up close, not like that, but she had already seen that difference, that "other". There was a clear, if unsteady, logic behind what she did, or a guess at least.
She stamped her foot on the ground, following the rhythm she'd been taught. Specter stopped, her teeth nearly resting on Lappland's face already, closing mouthful of a mad feast. She repeated the pattern, positioning herself, inviting her over. Both women stared at her, but Suzuran focused on Specter and Specter only. Keeping her eyes on her wasn't difficult, not quite. Rather, it was terrifying. She could feel her whole body trembling, shaking. Her heart was on the point of bursting. But she forced herself to keep looking, to withstand that gaze that seemed to swallow her, to chew her to bits and then swallow her.
Lappland said something, but Suzuran couldn't hear her. She couldn't get distracted.
Specter let go of the lupo, getting off the bed and stepping forward. Half naked, covered in blood both hers and not, without a single scratch on her body, she stepped forward. Her hand grasped Suzuran's, her touch softer than the vulpo had thought possible from her, her lips parting. A sound came from her mouth, but something about it was off, as if she had just spoken on a frequence Suzuran's ears couldn't quite perceive.
Still trembling, the vulpo brought her other arm forward, closing it around Specter's waist and pulling her forward. The woman seemed... disoriented, perhaps. Her legs had grown unsteady, but her feet followed Suzuran. The little girl took a step to the side, and so did Specter as she adjusted her own posture. Another step, and she followed again.
Picturing her instructor's motions in her mind, Suzuran acted out her memories, guiding an incarnation of death itself into a dance that surged and retreated like the tide, that flowed like the current. And follow her death did, the steps surfacing in her mind as something fell into place.
A chuckle reached Suzuran's ears, an half-drowned chuckle, but Suzuran forced herself to ignore it, for fear of letting go of Specter, the thought of what might happen if she so much as took a wrong step chilling her very bones.
And away they danced, flowing and retreating, the woman displaying a grace unbefitting of her previous displays, following the little vulpo apparently unbothered by their height difference. Suzuran looked up, she looked at her face for a brief moment, and she saw her crying, she was smiling and crying and speaking, her lips were moving but the sounds that left her mouth were not of the kind Suzuran could hear. They danced, they danced and through it they spoke, feelings unadulterated and indecipherable flowing from the mad woman to the brave girl, images and sounds and scents and sights and emotions reaching her, spoken in a tongue she couldn't truly understand.
A stumble.
Perhaps it had been the tension. Perhaps the fear. Perhaps the mental exhaustion. Perhaps a simple mistake. But Suzuran stumbled, her feet hitting Specters and falling badly on the floor on the wrong spot, breaking the rhythm.
The dance stopped. The inaudible song stopped. The dialogue stopped. And Suzuran's heartbeat stopped too.
Specter turned around, letting go of the vulpo to intercept a small knife aimed at her head, the blade just barely piercing her palm without breaking as her fingers closed on the hand holding the weapon.
"Give me a break, would you?"
Her fingers closed, accompanied by the distinct sound of bones cracking and snapping, Lappland's hand twisting into an unnatural shape, her lips curling into a smile as she suffocated the pain with a chuckle.
"I didn't mean literally" she groaned.
Suzuran was about to do something -what exactly, she woulnd't be able to recall after the fact- but something hit her before she could act. A foot. The impact sent her rolling on the floor, with enough force to make her reach the wall. She coughed as she looked up, Lappland's leg still lifted in the air as she briefly moved her eyes from the vulpo to the door. Then it was the lupo who coughed, as three fingers dug into her chest and tucked at her ribs. Suzuran got back up, and then Specter just... disappeared.
"This was quite the misjudgement on my part" a new voice said, the vulpo and lupo both turning around, both surprised, albeith in different ways "I doubt an apology would suffice, given the situation"
"Lady... Gladiia... ?"
"Hey, hey, for real?" Lappland said, her question aimed more at Suzuran than at anyone else.
She was standing a few steps away from them, carrying Specter in her arms, the woman displaying an everchanging array of emotions on her face as she stared at Gladiia, a melody not meant for the surface filling the room again, reaching the ears of only half the presents. Gladiia looked down, her hat hiding her face as she replied, as she sang back.
"You need treatment" she said without averting her gaze from Specter.
"Not really, I've... " Lappland tried to say, only for a coughing fit to interrupt her words, forcing her on her knees as blood poured from both her mouth and wounds.
"We should hurry" Gladiia concluded.
A blur, and then the three women were gone, an air current to signal their departure as Gladiia carried both Lappland and Specter away, faster than most people could even conceive.
Left alone, Suzuran fell down, her legs devoid of all strength, sobs leaving her mouth, tears rolling down her face. She tried to, she tried to, she tried... she didn't know. She didn't know what happened, she didn't know why, all she knew was that it had been horrible.
Lappland.
How was Lappland? Her wounds were severe. She had to help her. She wasn't a proper medic yet, but she could provide something a bit more effective than simple first aid. But her legs wouldn't lift her up, her body was refusing to listen, to accept any of her commands.
"I'm sorry, young one" Gladiia said as she rested her hand on Suzuran's head "I'm at fault"
There were other things to be said, but one glance was all it took her to understand that any further word wouldn't reach the vulpo, not in that state. She was confused, to put it lightly. She didn't even know when Gladdia had come back, or how long she'd been gone for. She didn't know. She couldn't tell.
With a shoulder to lean on, Suzuran started crying.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.