Blood Ties

by Laqueus

Such habits are not easy to break. Despite it all, the want for love was carefully embedded within the marrow of Nene's bones. No wonder she was here now, sitting upon a swing, debating whether or not to summon a supernatural entity. [Hanako/Nene]

It'd seemed like a good idea earlier.

Well, actually no, that was a lie.

In actual fact it'd seemed like a potentially unsafe idea, one which sat in a murky grey fog that'd obscured whether it was good or bad and instead made it questionably neutral. But Nene, in her enthusiasm, had somehow browbeaten both it and herself into thinking of it as a good idea. Disguising it as one, even.

Now, as she sat upon a swing, bathed in orange light from the setting sun, she was beginning to have second thoughts. With each minute that passed, the metaphorical disguise slipped a little more. Nene gripped the chains tightly, mouth wrinkling in a somewhat pensive expression. Not for the first time that evening, her gaze flicked to her schoolbag. She couldn't see its contents, of course – being of the habit of keeping her bag tightly buttoned up because the Mokke were a thing - but she knew what was inside. She felt almost hyper-aware of it, the item in the left-hand pocket. It sat there, secret and hidden, like a Mokke in a candy jar. Well, maybe not quite like that; the Mokke always travelled in a group for a start, and if one did happen to become ensconced in a candy jar, then you'd definitely hear it clattering about in there as it delightedly gorged itself. But back to the bag.

Secretly, Nene couldn't help but secretly feel a bit silly. The thing wasn't anything dangerous. Nor was it anything of a supernatural bent. In fact, if someone did want to see something of a supernatural bent, all they had to do was look in the right-hand pocket, at which point their question would suddenly be "Why are you carrying a bunch of fish scales around?" and Nene, like always, would be unable to answer; instead opting for the usual response of running the hell away. Well, what else was she supposed to with the scales she shed at school? She could hardly leave them laying around! All the more reason to keep her bag tightly-sealed. But back to the point. The thing in the left-hand pocket was quite ordinary, something she'd purloined earlier from her sewing kit. Something you'd find in any sewing kit. Heck, something she could go and buy right now, if she wanted! And what's more-!

With a start, Nene realised she was getting too worked up; tension wound through her muscles, stiffening her body. She blew out a breath, and forced herself to relax. Her eyes, however, remained upon her bag.

Sheesh, at this rate her gaze was gonna burn a hole in it. Nene clapped her hands to her cheeks – once, twice – then looked up. The playground she was presently occupying was deserted; a relief really, since it prevented more embarrassing questions such as "Why are you here?" and "What's going on with your legs?" She snorted. Really! Why did everyone ask that? All the kids had gone on home for their supper, and as if to remind her, Nene's stomach let out a gurgle. Just another little jolt that knocked a little more of the disguise off her 'good idea'. It'd simply been a matter of momentum to come here straight after school. She knew, without a doubt, that if she'd gone home to eat then little cracks and doubts would've crept into the idea. And once that'd happened, well-! She probably wouldn't have come here, to the stupid park.

Hefting her bag onto her lap – making the swing squeal in the process – Nene quickly rummaged through it. She felt the still-cool metal of a can of coffee, but ignored it. It'd been an accidental purchase; she'd intended to buy a different drink from the vending machine earlier – it'd been en route between the school and the park, gotta keep that momentum - but a slip of the finger had resulted in coffee, bleh. Somewhat irritatingly, she'd had no more change left over to buy anything else. Maybe if she got thirsty and desperate enough, she could possibly stomach it. Maybe.

"Ah!" Nene exclaimed, as her hands closed around the familiar texture of a cluster of individually-wrapped sweets.

Her own private Mokke-deterrent stash! Ever since she'd had to bend the rumours, Nene had found it helpful to always carry a little assortment of sweets around. Plus, they were good to bribe the Mokke with in general.

Or if she got hungry in class.

Nene dug through them; it was mostly an assortment of Hi-chew in a veritable fruit salad of flavours. For some reason, the Mokke tended to have a proclivity for boiled sweets; they were always the first and fastest to go. Maybe it was because you could make them last a long time? Or maybe it was a holdover from their more ancient days, when such sweets were commonplace? Or maybe it was just because they were old, and old people liked to suck hard sweets. She wasn't sure. Selecting a few at random, she shucked a wrapper, popped one into her mouth, and chewed. Her bag, with its secret cargo, was returned to the ground.

'Thank goodness they don't know this is in here,' thought Nene as she ate. 'They'd probably end up eating my bag and everything in it if they did!' She paused, her mind unknowingly jumping onto a different, albeit similar, track. 'I wonder what sort of sweets Hanako-kun ate when he was alive?'

The thought trailed off as, nestled within the cavern of her chest, her heart gave a little jolt. Sweet saliva hit the back of her throat; coughing erupted from Nene, and the next few seconds were spent in a state of mild choking.

"Ack! Ew ew ew," she coughed into a tissue, the sound coming out muffled.

Thank goodness no one had been around to see that. She dabbed at her mouth a bit more; while her face had only been mildly flushed before, it was definitely red now! If, admittedly, for a different reason.

The swing seat creaked beneath her - a long, drawn-out sound – as it gently rocked and twisted beneath her weight. She sighed – the sound shaky and as equally drawn-out as that of the swing. Her hands began to absentmindedly worry at and shred the tissue; an anxious little activity. A little more of the good idea became fouled.

"What is wrong with me?" Nene muttered to herself.

It'd only been a causal thought about Hanako-kun! So why had it prompted such a spirited response within her? Somewhat embarrassingly, it was one that seemed to crop up more and more these days. He'd cling to her like a bush baby, and whoops, there her heart would go, merrily thumping out a fast rhythm! Why on earth was she having this reaction? He could be such a capricious pain, and was really more trouble than he was worth!

Geez, here she went again, thinking about him! This too, seemed to be a common occurrence nowadays. Her mind would casually flick to him at the most random of times; in class, during gardening club, as she walked home from school… She didn't seem to have this problem with anyone else, either. Aoi-chan and Kou-kun were her dearest friends, but her mind didn't take the time out of its day to randomly dwell on them! And Minamoto-senpai had a charming, princely appearance, but her brain no longer conjured quite as many fantasies about him. In fact, when compared to before, Nene had to admit that by her standards, she barely thought of him at all! (It was still quite a bit, but still…) Instead her brain had decided that it was now a shady website, and was going to repeatedly present her with one particular popup. Find capricious, knife-wielding ghosts (who secretly like doughnuts) in your area! Wonderful.

Well, for the moment, she wasn't gonna think about him! Nene screwed up her face in determination.

'Here, where there is no birth or death, the ones with the most power are those who don't know when to give up,' Hanako-kun intoned from within her memory.

Nene bit back a small scream.

Above, the setting sun continued to sink; a sliver of a bright-red disc that peeked out from behind a high-rise. Nene stared out at the dark blocks of houses silhouetted against the sky, trying to force herself think of something, anything else. It was a task that was much easier said than done. So when Aoi-chan's earlier words echoed in her head – a repeat performance for one - Nene latched on to them with all the force of a hungry crocodile. Having memories play on loop in your brain could be a useful trick of the mind really, but it was one that never seemed to work when Nene wanted it to, such as when she had a test. Oh, if only her mind would mindlessly blether answer at her then; her grades would be saved!

Hey... Have you heard?

That was always how it started. Four little words, punctuated with a curious little pause after the first one, as if the speaker were marshalling themselves somehow in order to say the rest. That was how it'd started earlier today, too: Aoi-chan, clip-clopping up to her in well-shined shoes; her eyes sparkling with new information.

Hey... Have you heard?

No, Nene hadn't heard. Internally, a little part of her had sunk in nervous anticipation; a tortoise withdrawing into its shell. Externally, her smile had been bright. Brittle.

I was hanging out with *****-chan and ****-ko from XXXX High-

- even now, she couldn't remember the names, two faceless girls from a formless school, their existence tied up in the sentences and sequencing of a story -

-and they told me the spookiest thing!

Ah, there it was! Any little hopes that this was going to be a normal, non-spooky story, had been easily shattered with those seven words.

Apparently, if you go out really late and wrap some red thread around a swing chain, Grandmother Needles will appear and will tell you your love fortune!

Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh-

Wait?

Love fortune?

Something within Nene had pricked its ears up at that.

Yeah! She'll show you your red thread of fate, and who it connects to!

Hanako-kun, with lopsided smile and scruffy hair, flashing through her mind for some reason-

Buuuuut... if you're rude, or if your love fortune is bad, then she'll drain you of all your blood! Isn't it creepy!

Oh, hell.

Also, it's gotta be the right-hand chain of the rightmost swing on a swing set. If you tie the thread on the wrong chain, and if it's the wrong colour, she'll come but she'll drain all your blood immediately!

With that final bit of specifics, the telling had come to an end.

The old Nene would have laughed at such a tale, taking delight in the thrill that it produced, whilst being safe in the knowledge that it Probably Wasn't Real. However, it could be real if you were brave – or foolish - enough to test it, and therein lay the fun. But that was all before; before she'd summoned a spirit; before she'd swallowed a scale. Before she'd befriended a ghost. A ghost who now occasionally made her chest feel tight and her stomach feel fluttery. A ghost who she kept thinking about.

(He wasn't even her type! a part of her wailed.)

The new Nene had instead felt vaguely anxious; a skittering sensation that ran along her limbs and up her neck. She'd tried to reassure herself; it wasn't as if this 'Grandmother Needles' was tied directly to the school! Kamome Academy had nothing like a swing set, so this new supernatural couldn't exactly manifest within the grounds; therefore there would be no involvement in any inevitable impending mess; nor would there be any chaos to clear up and render safe for everyone else. And since it wasn't a School Wonder, Nene wouldn't have to go after their yorishiro, either; no possibility of peeling another papery seal from a once-ordinary object that'd been elevated to godhood.

Unfortunately, this had done little to allay her fears. The main problem was that Aoi-chan had spoken it, and if Nene knew anything, it was that when Aoi-chan spoke of supernatural affairs, they usually ended up crashing into Nene's life at 80mph. It'd meant that her life was now unexpectedly eventful in a 'Let's-never-do-that-again' sort of way. It was like Aoi-chan was now an early-warning system; animals fleeing before a typhoon; the dark clouds before rain.

It wasn't Aoi-chan's fault of course; she was hardly birthing these creatures into existence! All she was doing was giving them form, along with the voices of half the school. What's more, Nene knew full well that the supernaturals needed those rumours to survive; oftentimes they didn't choose to have their story warped into a more monstrous version.

Still, after hearing that, Nene had known, no, felt within her bones that an encounter with Grandmother Needles was imminent.

But…

Nene had thought. And while thinking, a single spark of hope had slipped into the crevices of her brain. An exit clause, if you will.

Although the tale was being spoken of by her schoolmates, it wasn't necessarily a school-based rumour.

It seemed to be more of an 'open world' tale; one that merrily floated around across the land. And besides, Nene told herself, so far nothing supernatural had ever occurred to her outside the school gates of Kamome Academy. It was almost like the school was its own boundary; inside, all sorts of madness could and would take place, but as soon as you stepped off school property, everything was startlingly normal. Her confidence grew as she justified things further; why, in the confines of a school, it could be hard to avoid supernatural happenings, but outside? Ah, there was room to bypass such dangers! Room to escape. If she was careful, Nene reckoned that she'd be able to avoid trouble. She should just leave well alone. All she had to do was to never do any of the steps that Aoi-chan had said, ever, and she'd be safe!

And yet…

And yet.

Despite her trepidation, something about the story drew Nene back to it.

The love fortune element. It embedded itself within her, a shining fish hook that snagged in the atrium of her heart. Oh, there were things that Nene loved in life, and love was one of them. The biggest one, even. Neat rows of romance novels lined the shelves of her bedroom; trashy magazines featuring illicit tales peeked out from beneath her bed. Something about romance delighted her; people coming together across time, across space, overcoming all obstacles and finding solace in one another. She'd be lying if she said her interest in the topic was purely aesthetic and altruistic though. She loved romance, yes, but most of all she wanted it for herself; she wanted it like a drowning diver wanted air, like a hungry dog wanted food. Sometimes, as she lay awake in bed at night, she'd feel a void within her chest, and would wish, and wish, and wish...

She'd passed through life in this way, hopping from crush to crush, affixing her love in turn to different people. She pinned it upon them, like a notice upon a board. On and on in this way she'd gone, right up until that fateful moment in middle school when she affixed her love so hard to someone that the metaphorical pin had stuck deep. That person, she'd felt, was the one. She'd known it with such conviction! Alas, they liked feminine girls, and when measuring herself against that yardstick, Nene saw how blatantly little she measured up. Well, she could change! Anything for true love, right? So she'd learned. Learned to bake until she could make a tarte aux pralines from memory; become a seamstress who could neatly fix her own clothing. Gardened until her hands were caked in dirt and she knew the exact soil pH for a Paphiopedilum rothschildianum (5.8 to 6.7). The so-called 'feminine arts' had flourished under her hands.

She'd learned, and for what?

What'd it been for in the end? Who had it been for? Not the person she thought she'd loved, as they'd casually shattered her sugar-spun heart. After that experience, no wonder she'd jumped at the word 'matchmaker'. No wonder she'd run off after someone she didn't really know. Only then, as scales bloomed across her skin, did she realise that everything she had done had been for her. A strange act of selfishness, done just to prove somehow that she was worthy of love.

She learned that time; she'd turned on Yako-san when she'd exhibited such similar traits, and yet…

Such habits are not easy to break. Despite it all, the want for love was carefully embedded within the marrow of Nene's bones.

No wonder she was here now, sitting upon a swing, debating whether or not to summon a supernatural entity.

Oh, it'd been so easy to lie and delude herself earlier; deluding and deluding until it was a daylight idea that held virtually no terror. It'd sprung upon her so suddenly, almost as if an inner Nene (with beautifully thin ankles) had grabbed outer Nene (with regrettable ankles) and yelled "This is a great idea! Let's do it!"

'I should've brought someone along,' thought Nene, not for the first time.

But who could she have brought?

Hanako-kun was immediately out, of course. There were no swings at school, and honestly? Nene felt that she'd really rather not have him here for this particular venture. She'd probably die of some exquisite embarrassment in the process if he was. The whole business with the tree had been bad enough! She'd looked for Kou-kun, but he seemed to have disappeared into thin air; her own impatience had killed any chance of waiting for him. And there was no way she'd get Aoi-chan involved! Furthermore, since she wasn't 1). Aoi-chan, or 2). taking part in an endeavour that involved Aoi-chan, there was no way that the girl's personal guard dog, Akane-kun, would be concerned. Besides, this wasn't really the sort of thing she wanted to involve him in.

So that just left her.

If Nene was being entirely truthful, despite the fear, she…

She didn't want someone to come along. It was an embarrassing, private sort of affair. A small spark of stubbornness had flared within her, too; she was always having to be saved. Wouldn't it be nice for once to encounter a supernatural and get through it herself?

Deep within herself, down past thought and rationality, down at the bedrock of instinct, Nene knew she was crossing a line; she knew that this was similar to how she'd acted back then, doing something without thought for the consequences, just to prove that she could. Nene had ignored it earlier. Now she wasn't so certain.

Off in the distance, a lone dog barked. A lone siren swelled, then faded. The world continued about its business.

The final scraps of the disguise slipped away.

'Why...'

"-Did I come here!" Nene yelled, the thought making a neat hop from internal to external.

The swing creaked and swivelled alarmingly as she wildly kicked her legs back and forth. A passing man shot her a concerned look, and hurried quickly on his way. Embarrassment flared anew within Nene; she hunched her head down between her shoulders. Once he'd gone, she sighed again, leaning her head against the swing's chain.

'What am I doing?' she wondered. Her stomach grumbled again, the sweets she'd consumed earlier awakening a more potent hunger within her. The last of the disguise had well and truly fallen away. 'This is a stupid idea. I'm going home.'

As soon as she thought those words, a sense of relief settled upon her. She laughed to herself, the sound bearing a slightly nervous edge. Nene hopped to her feet. Right. This could be filed away as an ignorable little blip; a disaster that'd almost happened, but thankfully hadn't. She swung her bag onto one shoulder.

A hand clamped on the other one. "Girl."

Nene shrieked, fear flaring within her. She wheeled around clockwise on one heel – the only direction the hand would allow – and found herself staring into the face of an old woman.

"O-oh!" she stammered. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" She tried to bow, but it was hard to do more than a cursory dip with the woman in such close proximity.

'Perhaps she just needs directions?' she thought.

Then Nene's eyes fell upon the mandibles. Thin, shining, and needle-sharp. No, not just that; they were outright syringe needles, albeit exaggerated to a gigantic size. They speared out of the corners of the old woman's mouth, warping its shape slightly. A cold weight dropped into Nene's gut.

Not a woman. A monster. Now Nene's eyes dropped further, taking in more details; the woman was short – shorter than her, and she wore a kimono that was so old and so faded that Nene honestly couldn't make out the original embroidery. Instead it left a suggestion of a pattern that constantly seemed to shift, and made her eyes hurt when she tried to focus on it. Despite her low stature, the woman was supported not on legs, but upon a great thorax, centaur-style. It was wound out of endless skeins of thread – all old, all faded – knotting and winding together into a single, solid form. Poking out from within the thread were giant needles, jointed and joined so as to form legs. Nene felt the blood drain from her own legs at the sight.

No. Surely not…

"Grandmother Needles?" Nene ventured incredulously. Adrenaline spiked within her, heart suddenly thundering out a furious rhythm. Her eyes rapidly flicked back and forth between the apparition and her schoolbag. She hadn't even gotten the spool of thread out! "I hadn't-! I didn't-"

Grandmother Needles frowned, the expression as sour as a yuzu. She scuttled over to the swings, her legs clanking and tinkling in a way that sent shivers up Nene's spine.

"Quit your blethering, girl." With one knobbly, needle-tipped finger, she hooked something off the chain. "This is your thread, is it not?"

"What?" Nene squinted. She stumbled closer, only to see a single, shining strand of her own hair, balanced upon Grandmother Needles' sharp fingertip. "But that's my hair!"

"So? Hair is thread, and thread is hair." The old woman pinched the hair between both fingertips of both hands, and drew it taut. Her eyes, the gaze gimlet and sharp, were focused on Nene. "Hair is the oldest thread, and thread is hair's oldest friend."

Stunned, Nene absentmindedly ran a hand though her hair; she held it in a loose grip near the end.

Here's the thing about long hair. You lose it. You lose it a lot, and generally without realising it. It manifests itself here and there; in clumps on the carpet; as a long strand standing out upon a jumper; tangled within the teeth of a hairbrush. You're not so much a person, as a never-ending source of straggly hairs for others to find.

Nene knew this. However, there was a big difference between losing a lot of hair on a daily basis, and having said lost hair function as a very loose definition of 'thread' in a schoolyard rumour, summoning something supernatural in the process.

"But it's not red!" Nene exclaimed, jabbing a finger at the hair. "Venerable Grandmother," she hastily added, remembering the blood-draining aspect. Once again, her eye caught on the syringe-mandibles. How would she do it? Would she bite into you, or just jab her face near enough? Would it be in the neck, the arm, or anywhere she could reach? Inside Nene's chest, her heart continued to pound away. Mostly it was due to fear, but a tiny, warped corner was occupied with excitement.

Grandmother Needles grunted, and waved a dismissive hand. "It's red enough in this light. Red enough to summon me." In a trice she'd scuttled over to Nene, and ran an appraising eye over her. She made a low, thoughtful sound in her throat. "Another pretty little schoolgirl, eh? Pretty little schoolgirls looking for pretty little love fortunes." The sound came out as a mocking, wheedling sort, but a decidedly unimpressed air lay underneath, a solid bedrock beneath the words.

"You- you don't have to read my fortune!" The words were out before Nene could claw them back. She clapped a hand over her mouth. What on earth compelled her to say that? Nonetheless, she continued, arms waving. "I didn't mean to summon you, and you've probably got other things you could be doing, right?"

Grandmother Needles eyed her again. For the first time, a slow smile stretched across her face, making the myriad of wrinkles even more pronounced. It wasn't a very pleasant expression. Nene yelped as the old woman seized her face in one bony hand. Her neck twinged painfully as she was yanked down to the old woman's level.

"Oho, girl. Don't lie to me." The supernatural's voice was a low hiss that contained a blade's-edge of menace within it. "Your words may claim that you don't want to know, but your eyes? They're screaming for the knowledge." With that she released Nene, who almost fell over at the sudden unbalancing lack of force. When she next spoke, Grandmother Needles' voice was at a higher, more conversational level. "And I might as well, seeing as I'm here. Give me your hand."

"But," began Nene. Before she could properly react however, Grandmother Needles snatched up Nene's hand and yanked her forwards. She yelped at the cold grip upon her skin; like any unpleasant grandmother, Grandmother Needles' hands were bony, and her nails sharp. They pricked at her skin, acute little points of pain. The old woman span around, clamping Nene's arm underneath her own as she did so.

"Hold still," said Grandmother Needles.

"For what?!" exclaimed Nene. She tugged and tugged against the grip, but it was no use. The woman was like a minor mountain. Fear rose within her, her feet scuffing against the ground as she struggled.

"Wheesht, girl. Let me work." With those words, the old supernatural gave Nene's arm a sharp shake – the sort that held a definite warning within it. Automatically, Nene stilled. You could hardly deny thousands of years of human instinct.

The next second she yelped again, as a tiny starburst of pain erupted at the end of her pinkie finger. "What was that for?!"

"Hrm," was all Grandmother Needles said in response. "Better try again…"

"Ouch!"

With watering eyes, Nene peered over Grandmother's Needles' shoulder as a bead of blood welled up on her own fingertip. Then, to her surprise, it stretched and ribboned upwards into the air. Grandmother Needles grunted, watching it closely and critically. It was-

"Thread?!" exclaimed Nene. "The thread is blood?"

"Stupid schoolgirl," muttered Grandmother Needles, still eyeing the thread as it slowly continued to stretch. "Blood binds blood, didn't you know?" She continued, speaking to herself almost as if Nene wasn't there – which she felt was kinda rude. "Two heartbeats, two bloodstreams, mixing into one... Hrmm." She tutted.

Despite her newfound terror, Nene sagged, relief welling up within her. She had a thread. She had someone. In that light, she could endure all the heartbreak in the world.

Together, the two of them watched the thread dance in the final rays of sunset. It undulated this way and that; then with a sudden dart of movement, it was off like a shot! It trailed away into the distance; a scarlet strand against the steadily-failing light. A small flame of excitement light within Nene's chest, sheltered behind her sternum.

A vibration ran through the cord, jarring as if it'd caught on something. Though her attention was focused on the thread, out of the corner of her eye, Nene saw Grandmother Needles nod ever so slightly. The action gave her hope; things seemed to be going well.

The thread promptly faded away.

"What?!" The word leapt from her throat as alarm surged through Nene in an acidic wave.

'Maybe this is normal?' she thought desperately. Her eyes flicked to Grandmother Needles' gauging her reaction: absolutely none whatsoever.

"Is that supposed to happen?" she asked. But Grandmother Needles gave no reply.

The thread reappeared, but to Nene's horror, it was now much, much fainter. It hovered translucently in the air, and she could've sworn that it almost looked uncertain, for lack of a better term. All of a sudden it began to spasm; looping in upon itself and knotting together to form tangles. It flickered rapidly too, like a dying neon light at some backstreet bar. Faster and faster it went, a miniature strobe. Just when Nene was certain that it was going to disappear for good, she nervously licked her lips.

And tasted salt.

"What?" she murmured to herself. She quickly ran her tongue over them again, to test, and yes! There, upon her lips, was the taste of the sea. No, not just the taste, but the smell, too! It wound its way through her nose, rich, briny, and pungent. In the curve of her ear, she could pick out the echoing crash of the sea. Somewhere in the distance, a mermaid laughed.

"Erm," began Nene, then blanched, for behind her sternum, a faint light was beginning to glow.

The next second all three sensations – salt, smell, and sound – disappeared; almost as if they'd never been there in the first place. A pulse resounded in Nene's veins; a strange sensation that radiated out to the very tips of her fingers and toes. If she'd hadn't been so startled, it would have put her in mind of the first beat of a newborn heart. Another pulse occurred. This time it throbbed under her bicep; alarmed, she clapped her free hand over it, but that was no deterrent. It pulsed again, and now she could feel something moving underneath her skin. It flowed through her veins; down through the brachial artery, into the ulnar artery, and now her hand was filled with the strangest tingling sensation, and-

A second thread erupted out of her fingertip. This was no red-blooded binding, however. It shot into the air, blue as octopus blood, edges briefly and repeatedly fringed with sea foam. Nene could only watch, open-mouthed, as it twined around the red thread, supporting it. Stabilising it. Rendering it solid once more. The tangles were still present, but now they seemed less dangerous. More like something that would be patiently sorted out, in due course.

There they stayed; two threads twined together, hovering in the evening air.

The last rays of light vanished. For a moment there was only silence, stretching out overheard.

"Is that," Nene paused, her voice shaky, "normal?"

Quick as a whip Grandmother Needles whirled around, flinging Nene to the floor. She hit the ground with such a thump that it reverberated through her bones. Before she could make any sense of what was happening, Grandmother Needles dived in close; Nene instinctively lurched her head back as the mandible tips scraped against her cheeks. They were ice-cold, but left thin scratches in their wake that almost seemed to burn.

"What," snarled Grandmother Needles, "in the hell have you been doing, girl?" Her face was grim, the nearby streetlamp painting stark shadows across it.

Nene screamed. Human instinct kicked in; she scrambled backwards, grit scraping against her back, legs and arms windmilling erratically. Through some small miracle her feet gained traction, and she unsteadily half-stumbled, half-shot into a standing position.

"Wh-what's wrong?" Nene cried, hands up, still backing away. The thread continued to emanate from one finger; it grounded her there. Internally her mind was awhirl: she should run back to the school, she should run back to the school, the school had Hanako-kun, the school had the Seven Wonders, the school would be safe. Oh no oh no oh no oh no this had been a bad idea!

Still Grandmother Needles advanced, face contorted with fury. "What's wrong? What's wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong! Thread-" she jabbed a hand at the aforementioned item "- shouldn't do that! What's more, you somehow have a thread, yet your threadmate," she spat, "is dead!"

It was as if an iron bell clanged within Nene's head at that last word. Her footsteps halted. Unbidden tears welled within her eyes. She clapped one hand to her mouth; stared blankly upwards as that single word reverberated around her skull.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Then common sense reasserted itself with a sharp clunk.

"Wait." Nene looked down into Grandmother Needles' unimpressed face. "Do you mean they're a ghost?"

"Correct," spat Grandmother Needles. She cast a long look at the thread, and for a moment Nene got the distinct impression that she was somehow looking along it, almost as if it were a telescope. The old woman shook her head. "Some imbecile by the name of Yugi Amane."

"He's not an imbecile, just irritating," said Nene. Then Grandmother Needles' words – having travelled a handy little path through canal and cochlea, hopping into the vestibulocochlear nerve and zipping along as an electrical impulse – hit her brain. The ground seemed to drop away from her feet, and for a moment Nene felt like a cartoon character who'd just had a trapdoor open underneath them; hanging dazedly in midair, waiting for gravity to take effect. With a soft, surprised thump, her knees hit the dusty playground floor; the sensation of it jolted through her. She stared upwards with big, saucer-like eyes. Her face had gone the most incredible shade of scarlet.

"Wait. Hanako-kun?"

"No! Don't your ears work?" Grandmother Needles snapped. She continued to speak, but Nene heard none of it; locked within her own world that was now tilting away…

Dazedly, she lifted her hand. The twining thread of red and blue still emanated from her little finger. It waved slightly in the lamp-lit air, dimly bringing to mind a ballooning spider that she'd once seen. Nene's eyes followed its course, up, up, up into the air, and away in the direction of her school. And at the end of it lay a ghost. Hanako-kun. Amane Yugi. He'd wanted to see the stars, he'd tied himself to the earth; he'd known she was going to die, so he'd tried to make her happy; he was a capricious sort, bearing the same sort of unhinged morality that flowed through all the supernaturals, but she trusted him; she knew so little about his past, he smelled faintly of ozone; he loved doughnuts; she'd grown to love spending time with him; she she she she she like like like like lov- Nene's hand began to tremble; dimly she was aware of her face radiating an almost tropical temperature. Her chest heaved; suddenly she couldn't get enough air into her lungs.

"Hana-"

A heavy weight thudded into Nene's chest. Her head smacked painfully against the ground; stars erupted before her eyes. With a clatter, Nene's schoolbag burst open, items scattering everywhere. Now she really couldn't get enough air into her lungs; the breath driven from them in a single wheeze. Blearily, Nene looked up. Sitting upon her chest, legs enclosing her chest and arms like an iron cage, was Grandmother Needles.

"Aren't you listening, girl?! Do you have moths lodged in those ears of yours?" Grandmother Needles bent her face in close to Nene's.

"I-"

"Enough of this nonsense." She gestured sharply with one hand, cutting off Nene before she could even speak. "Now, what to do…" Pain erupted in Nene's skull as Grandmother Needles grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. "Perhaps I should just drain you now, and be done with it."

"N-no!" cried Nene fearfully. "Please, I was just surprised! Girls have fragile hearts!" She struggled, her back grinding against the dirt. Her hands scrambled around in their cage, futilely reaching, grasping for anything that came to hand. Fight! cried the instinct within her. Fight! She couldn't see what she was reaching for, couldn't feel anything near her but the ground; still her hands scrambled and flailed.

One hand closed upon cold, smooth metal.

A can.

"Bah, I've had enough of this nonsense." Grandmother Needles reared back with a hiss, the light catching upon her mandibles.

Nene yanked her arm; pain erupted in her shoulder as her muscles protested the unusual action. Still she struggled, trying to free her arm. Why wasn't coming free? Why wasn't it coming free?! The supernatural loomed above like a shadow of death. She rose to her full height.

And lunged.

With a scream, Nene pulled her arm free. She thrust it towards Grandmother Needles' mouth.

"Wait!" she cried.

Almost as if she'd hit a glass wall, Grandmother Needles jerked to a stop. Her eyes focused on the can of coffee Nene brandished at her; the manner in which she held it was akin to a knight wielding a holy sword. Nene's mind raced for a diversion.

"Erm, er, wouldn't you rather drink this? And maybe we could talk… about things? I mean, I hang out with supernaturals a lot and I've been to boundaries loads of times, and maybe you could make a decision after you've heard what I have to say," babbled Nene, as if her words could build a wall to shelter behind. "I also have sweets!" she added as a last-ditch effort.

For a heart-stopping moment, Nene thought Grandmother Needles wasn't going to move; that she was instead going to disregard her startled words and instead lunge towards her throat once more. But to her surprise, the grip on her head released. Nene brought her head around, wincing as a stab of pain shot up her neck. The weight on her chest slowly lifted. Looking vaguely unimpressed but somewhat conciliatory, Grandmother Needles rose into the air in a stately manner, and with a complicated sequence of legs, stepped off Nene.

"I don't like this," said Grandmother Needles. "I don't like this at all." She cast a dangerous glance at Nene's neck. "Chatting with mortals, bah! Well, come along!" She beckoned sharply to Nene. "The sooner you tell me, the sooner I can leave."

A breath whooshed out of Nene; relief briefly given form.

Taking a moment to shove her possessions – and a large amount of dirt – back into her schoolbag, she hurried after the supernatural's retreating form.

oOoOo

They settled themselves on a worn bench at the playground's edge; a much-used perch for parents – watchful or otherwise. Although she'd suggested the bench on a whim, Nene felt a little spark of alarm as they drew close; it was a human bench for human legs, of which Grandmother Needles was-oblique-had neither. Well, she was human in a way, but it wasn't the right way. To her relief, however, Grandmother Needles lightly hopped onto the bench. She sank down, legs folding up underneath her with a multi-part tinkling. It was most disconcerting to watch, to say the least. Nene tried not stare, bug-eyed; instead she opted for looking at a particular tuft of grass until the noise stopped. Now that she'd passed out of immediate danger, shock about the situation and who her soulmate was had properly kicked in. Internally, her mind quietly buzzed away, further disorienting her. Her thoughts looped over and over like a broken record; Hanako-kun. Her soulmate was Hanako-kun. He was her soulmate. Hanako-kun. It was him. It was an effort to make herself concentrate. An effort to pay attention to the world outside her head. She felt unnaturally light, and unsteady, as if at any moment she was going to drift away.

"Well, girl?" Grandmother Needles' voice broke into her thoughts. "Do you make a habit of standing?"

"Hm? Oh, no!" Brushing her skirt forwards in an effort to be polite, Nene sat heavily.

"Wait," said Grandmother Needles.

Nene froze at those words. 'What now?'

The next second Grandmother Needles grabbed Nene's wrist. She gave it a sharp twist, then released it. Nene had the sudden sensation of something spooling back into her hand; it felt like there was a tiny motor churning beneath her skin. With a soft susurrus the threads - present through all the excitement – wound their way back until they were nothing more than a bead of blood upon her fingertip. That too, disappeared. It sucked itself back under the skin, leaving only a minor pinprick. Dully, Nene turned her hand this way and that, inspecting it.

"Thank you," she said uncertainly. She was finding it difficult to focus.

"Can't have visible threads flying around. It's untidy," was Grandmother Needles' sharp response.

Moving like one in a dream, Nene broke the seal on the can with a sharp, metallic pop. Grandmother Needles accepted it with a grunt. She peered suspiciously into it with one gimlet eye; apparently decided it was acceptable, and took a sip.

For a moment there was only silence. A streetlamp next to the bench cast a grubby yellow glow across the scene. Nene took the opportunity to lay a tissue on the bench between them. Her hands shook a little as she combed through her bag for the last remaining boiled sweets; these she heaped upon the makeshift placemat. Hi-chew and the elderly probably didn't mix, she assumed, casting a glance at Grandmother Needles. For a second she imagined one speared on the end of the supernatural's mandibles and tried not to laugh, though it was more of the panicked, hysterical variety, than one born of general humour.

Oh stars, Hanako-kun was her soulmate.

The old supernatural held the can politely, as if it were a piping hot cup of tea. Her left hand supported its base, her right curved around it. A faint-tink-tink-tink rang out as she tapped her nails against the metal.

'I've gotta pull myself together,' thought Nene. With a small shake, she tried to focus. She could dwell on who her soulmate was and the full implications later. If she blew things here, then it wouldn't matter who her soulmate was! For now, she had to survive.

Feeling somewhat uneasy, Nene began to bounce her leg, then stopped. It might be the just the sort of minute thing that could potentially cause offence. She blew out a shaky breath. This evening had taken such a bizarre series of turns, wildly veering from mundane, to scary, and now? Now it felt downright surreal. And that was saying something, given that she was mired in supernatural affairs these days. Feeling the weight of someone watching her, she turned and met Grandmother Needles' inscrutable stare.

'She could probably bore through diamond with that gaze,' thought Nene.

"So, schoolgirl," said Grandmother Needles. She paused, running her tongue around the inside of her mouth, making her mandibles move in an alarming manner. "I'm not one for listening to people's business – too much damned froth and chatter – but there's something going on here, and I want to know what." She took another sip. "Then I'll decide what to do with you. Don't blether!" she warned, mandibles catching the light.

"I won't," said Nene, then fell silent.

Because in truth, where could she begin? One thing was clear though: whatever she said now had to be good enough to convince an elderly supernatural to loosen the noose around her neck. No pressure.

"I," she began, but her voice failed her. She tried again. "I summoned a ghost, because I thought he could grant me a wish. Back when he was alive, he was called Amane Yugi, but now he's, well, he's one of my school's 'Seven Wonders' and he goes by the name Hanako-kun. Things went wrong- I caused things to go wrong," she amended, "because I ate a mermaid scale, and Hanako-kun helped me out by eating the other one so we ended up with this bond, I guess. Also a bull hit me at a spirit version of a school festival and I might've briefly travelled back in time but I'm not sure but I met Amane and I also met him another time when I went through a door, and now I'm his assistant and I'm going to be dead within a year." Her tirade unintentionally sped up until it was almost a gabble. Once it was done, Nene blew out a full stop of a breath.

Whilst she'd been talking, Grandmother Needles' eyes had slid shut. She sipped thoughtfully on her coffee. Opening them, she regarded Nene critically. Ate a sweet.

'She's gonna drink my blood, she's gonna drink my blood, she's gonna drink my blood,' ran through Nene's head in a panicky little tumble. She surreptitiously tried to edge further down the bench.

Finally, the old supernatural spoke.

"What in seven hells was all that?! Honestly, the shenanigans you young people are getting up to these days." With a sharp crunch she crushed the can in one hand and tossed it high over her shoulder. It landed somewhere behind them with a faint pwok.

"What," said Nene, her tone as flat as an old man's ass.

Thankfully Grandmother Needles didn't seem to hear it; instead she made a thoughtful noise at the back of her throat. "Mermaid scales. Bah! I should have known! The thread wouldn't have sustained itself otherwise." Her eyes slid to Nene, "Lucky for you."

Nene's hand automatically rose to her throat, where it lingered for just a second. The memory of the mandibles was fresh. Feeling brave, she spoke.

"So, what's wrong here? I have a thread, even though my soulmate," a strange, confused thrill ran through her at the word, "is dead? How does that work?"

The old woman leaned back. "Hrmph. It doesn't work, or rather, it shouldn't. A whole host of things is wrong with this situation, girl." She thoughtfully reached up with one hand, and scratched a cheek. Nene watched – all too aware of those sharp nails – as the flesh moved and stretched under the fingers. "Bah. All those words you spouted must've knocked some loose in me. I'll only say this once, mind, so pay attention!"

"Right." Affixing a determined expression upon her face, Nene made a show of sitting up straight. Inside her chest however, her heart was beating out a rapid rhythm.

"Threads," Grandmother Needles began, very matter-of-factly, "are for the living. You can't have a thread without blood, and once you're on the other side, you don't have any real need for the stuff. You can have blood in you; why, you could be the most blood-soaked onryō on this side of the border, spraying it as if you'd just been done in, but you wouldn't have a thread. The blood's dead, see? You pass over to the other side-" she snapped her fingers, the sound making Nene jump, "-that's it. The thread is gone. So I clean up the loose ends when I find 'em." She shrugged nonchalantly. "No point in living a life without a threadmate!"

"But that's horrible!" exclaimed Nene, the words bursting from her unheeded. "They still deserve to live! Even if their loved one was gone, I'm sure they still have things they want to do! Dreams they'd want to fulfil! Who are you to say that their life is over just because their threadmate is dead?"

Slowly, stately, as if she were a king cobra preparing to strike, Grandmother Needles rose. At that sight, Nene realised that she'd made a mistake: she'd forgotten who she was talking to. Worse, her words had risen from a private place of personal experience. She shrank back. Grandmother Needles' legs unfolded, the movement so smooth and oiled that it truly struck Nene just how inhuman she was. Up and up she went, until she stood fully upon the bench, towering over Nene.

She couldn't stop staring, even as Grandmother Needles brought her face in close. At that distance, it was easy for Nene to smell the coffee upon her breath.

"Horrible?" Grandmother Needles hissed. "Do you forget just who it is you're talking to? What it is that you're bound to? Do you forget, girl," and oh, what emphasis there was on the word, "that we thrive best in the darkest tales?"

Nene could bear the gaze no longer, her eyes dipped off to one side. A shiver ran through her.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." Survival was the main priority here. She could not let personal feelings get in the way.

Grandmother Needles, for her part, seemed suitable placated by Nene's chastened reaction. She sank back onto the bench, legs folding up once more, then continued.

"'Want'." She spat the word. "'Want'. You talk about what they 'want' to do. Let me ask you: what use is their want to me? They're nothing more than a loose stitch on a tapestry! Ruining the rest of it! Bah, it's no good! No good, I tell you! Tell me, do you look at vultures the same way? Neatly cleaning up the bits of corpses that the lions won't touch? Pha! We're doing the world a service, them and me. Their blood becomes the new thread I weave, which then goes out into the world."

Nene said nothing. Instead, she thought quietly to herself. There it was again, that same capriciousness that wound through all the supernaturals, along with a self-sustained belief in themselves. In a way, Grandmother Needles' words made a twisted sort of sense… but in a mortal way, they most certainly didn't.

"But you, my pretty little schoolgirl," her voice trailed off as she scrutinised Nene. "You've somehow got yourself into a broken-loom of a situation. Living and dead, all tangled up together; wandering into places you shouldn't, meeting folks you normally couldn't. And that mermaid scale!" She tutted sharply. "Nothing good ever came of mixing up with mermaids, mark my words!"

'Tell me about it,' thought Nene. 'But then again...'

If she hadn't eaten the mermaid scale, then she wouldn't have ended up being truthful with herself. If she hadn't eaten it, then she wouldn't have been bound to Hanako-kun. If she hadn't eaten it, she wouldn't have learned about her greatly curtailed lifespan.

If she hadn't eaten it, then she wouldn't have learned just who her soulmate was.

'A mix,' she thought. 'It wasn't all good, but it wasn't all bad, either.'

"Still, dead within a year, eh? What's the story behind that?" With a start, Grandmother Needles' voice cut into her musing.

The old fear rose up in Nene, the one she worked so hard to tamp down and conceal in front of everyone else. Her death: the concept was like staring into a void that swallowed up all before it. All at once too vast to dart around or escape from. And all the while she slowly drew closer and closer to it, each footstep propelled forwards with every tick of the clock. She laced her fingers together, and stared down at them.

"I don't know. I don't know why it's going to happen, or why my lifespan is so short. But," she paused, her voice growing quiet. "There have been too many incidents proving that it's in my future."

Mirai winding her clock forward with no success. Hanako trying to trap her in a painted world out of a misguided impulse he didn't even want. She didn't add that it was a fate that she was desperately trying to avert, that she'd enlisted a third wish from Hanako-kun in the process, that she had no intent of dying until she'd had a long life trailing behind her. Now was not the time for such words. Nene wisely kept her mouth shut. She hoped Grandmother Needles couldn't feel the intent that radiated out of every cell in her body.

Thankfully, Grandmother Needles didn't seem to notice. Instead she popped another sweet into her mouth, then pulled a stray piece of thread from her body. Nene watched out of the corner of her eye as the old supernatural looped it back and forth between her fingers, twisting and twining it this way and that; knots disappeared and reappeared under her sharp-tipped fingers in a mesmerising little dance.

Finally she tucked the thread back into her body. A sharp crunch rang out - the remnants of the sweet being broken and swallowed - and spoke.

"Seems to me that the god of fortune is smiling on you today, girl. Or maybe not," she added, casting a wry glance at Nene. "This is quite the mess, and no doubt about it. That said, it seems to me that it's the sort that'll clear itself up in the end."

Nene found that there was something very definitive and final in the words "clear itself up". A hidden meaning that was barely hidden at all; like a snake beneath a sheet of cling film.

"Does this mean you're not going to steal my blood?" asked Nene, unable to stop her enthusiasm from cautiously peeking through. Oh please, oh please, oh please…

"Steal? Steal?" exclaimed Grandmother Needles incredulously. "I've never stolen anything! Children these days, pah! You are correct, though. Better to let things run their natural course that to get entangled in this mess." She sighed, the sound being more of a wheeze than anything else. "I'm too old for this. Run along, Yashiro Nene. Lark about with your ghost, while you still have the time." She made a shooing motion with one hand.

"Thank you!" Breath whooshed out of Nene in a gust. Yes!

She leapt to her feet, and bowed so deeply and rapidly, over and over again, that it made her head spin. With quick hands she slung her schoolbag over one shoulder. Grit crunched beneath her heel as she practically rotated a perfect 180 degrees upon the spot.

"One more thing, though."

Nene jolted forwards, almost stumbling in her haste to get away. An ice-cold lump of fear coalesced in her chest.

"Yes?" She tentatively turned around, hands clutching tightly at the straps of her schoolbag.

"If you dare summon me again, I'll drain you so fast that it'll make your threadmate feel faint!" Grandmother Needles grinned slowly, her mouth stretching into a wide, predatory smile. A shiver ran through Nene at the sight.

"I won't!" Nene assured her. She executed another quick bow. "Goodbye!"

With that, Nene shot out of the park as fast as her feet could carry her, leaving a trail of dust in her wake. For a heartbeat she paused at the gate to look back. The park was empty, save for a crushed-up can lying abandoned near a bench.

She hurried away into the evening gloom.

It was only when Nene was almost home that she realised one thing.

She'd never told Grandmother Needles her name.

oOoOo

Across town, a spectre floated in a dim school bathroom. It was an old facility: the pipes were those from a previous era, and the taps on the sink had a tendency to squeak when turned. Gloom condensed around the ceiling. The faint smell of bleach lingered in the air. Two hitodama floated blithely about, circling their master like sheepdogs around a shepherd. The spectre, for his part, noticed none of it. In fact, he had noticed little of what'd been going on for the last half an hour. Instead he floated, staring, staring, staring at the little finger on his right hand.

"Oh," Hanako finally managed to choke out. "So that's how it is."

It'd been quite a show, really. One moment he'd been minding his own business, with naught on his mind but spiritual mischief, the next thing he knew red thread and mermaid bindings were bursting forth from his hand. First one, then the other, both twining through the air like a pair of fighting snakes. As if that wasn't enough, for a minute he'd had the piercing sensation of eyes upon him. It was almost as if they were looking past everything, right to his very core. It'd been brief, fading almost as quickly as it'd arrived.

Of course, once Hanako had gotten over the surprise, having plucked and pulled at the binding enough to sate his curiosity, it'd been relatively easy to figure out who'd been at the end of said thread. There was only one person he was bound to, after all.

Bound to in more ways than one, it would seem…

The thought made him feel strangely agitated in a way he couldn't quite explain. It was a sort of jittery nervousness that thrummed through his limbs, trying to coalesce at a specific spot within his chest. Like someone had solidified an echo.

An increased heartbeat, he realised. Or at the very least, the memory of one. Because really, a ghost like him? Having a heartbeat? Ha! What a concept. Still, the body may die, but the memory lives on. Here was the proof: the memory of a heartbeat, trying its best to pound through his veins.

All because he'd learned that Yashiro was…

She was…

The fizzling feeling within Hanako increased. Soundlessly, he sank to the floor, legs neatly folding up. His gaze dropped, and was surprised to see his hat clutched between both hands. When had he taken it off? His fingers worried at the old fabric. The years had made it as familiar to him at the walls of this old bathroom now were.

Hanako coughed, and zipped back upwards. He jauntily slapped his cap back on, assuming an unaffected air as he did. With some difficulty he slotted his usual sly grin back into place. He cast a quick glace in the mirror. Ah. Thank goodness the school was practically abandoned at night, each Wonder patrolling their own piece of territory. That way no one was around to see how just how flushed his face was.

"Things certainly have a way of keeping interesting," he muttered to himself, floating back into his cubicle.

In the doorway, a pair of Mokke glanced at one another. Then, with tiny footsteps, they scurried away.

oOoOo

Nene had found that there was a knack to telling rumours. Too plain, and it wouldn't catch on. People simply wouldn't remember, and it'd flow from their mind like water from an upturned cup. Too over the top, however, and people would automatically dismiss it as nonsense. Nene liked to think that'd she'd gotten good at manipulating rumours; it was part and parcel of being a ghost's assistant, after all!

The trick was to tweak it just so, to walk that fine line where it was just believable enough, but still outlandish enough to be memorable. Hop in during a lull, inject the alterations, and leave.

Grandmother Needles wove love fortunes, but Nene wove rumours.

She set to work.

Hey... Have you heard? Who? Why, about Grandmother Needles, of course! If you go out around sunset and wrap some red thread around a swing chain, Grandmother Needles will appear and will tell you your love fortune! She'll show you your red string, and who it connects to! There are a few rules though. You've gotta take her an offering of some sweets and a drink. And you've gotta be polite! You must wrap the thread around the right-hand chain of the rightmost swing on a swing set. If you tie the thread on the wrong chain, or are rude, or don't offer her something, she'll take offence and disappear without telling you anything!

Even if you don't have a thread, if you give her something to eat, then she'll leave you alone.

oOoOo

In the days that followed, Nene carried the encounter within her like a secret. She imagined it as a ball of red wool, nestled within her chest. Warm to the touch. And when Nene encountered Hanako-kun the very next day, things had been normal. Sure, she might've run away a few times out of mortified embarrassment, the cause of which she absolutely could not explain, but that was par for the course, really. Still, she had her suspicions; Hanako-kun must've known something about what happened - he must have, the thread had to have connected to him and he most definitely had working eyes – but even if he did know, he too, remained silent on the topic.

Well, that suited Nene just fine. She found she was in no hurry to talk about it. Not yet, at any rate. Goodness, where would she even begin? What would she say? When she thought about it too hard, her head span and her face grew flushed. There was absolutely no way she'd be able to play it off in a cool manner! Heck, it was basically just like a love confession, only more intense; it wasn't a case of nervously slipping a letter into someone's shoe locker, this was the red thread of fate, binding you together with blood!

It was the blasted tree all over, again, except this time for real! That thought had her casting suspicious glances at the kodama whenever she went in the garden until he'd yelled at her to stop.

'I'll spill the secret when I'm ready,' thought Nene. 'After all, I made a wish! I'm going to live the longest life I can!'

So they continued on in that way, girl and ghost. Both of them carrying the same secret within them.

Another little tie that tied them together.

oOoOoOoOoOo

AN: Please… please just take this from my hands….

I read the entirety of TBHK in three days after seeing the Komaeda stans talking about it, and then took like, six billion years to write this….

Trying to finish this was like trying to eat my way through the walls of my house, which are 18-inches thick and made of stone. Also I have no teeth in this scenario.

Final note: something I wanted to include but wasn't able to was that aro people definitely have red threads, but for them it's a non-romantic bond like… the most important person to them? Or their partner? If that makes sense?