A/N: If you have yet to read RED, then I suggest you do so first. I reference it a lot. Also, for those who have read it, then you'll wonder what the hell is happening because this is going to contradict a lot of what I wrote. This is on purpose (you'll see). I plan to eventually clean up RED (for the third time), and CRIMSON will eventually be restarted. I doubt that this is going to be for a long time yet, since I'm not exactly in a good place.
In the meantime, enjoy some back-story.
.I.
Transience
The sickness of a man,
Blood, dripping to the white tiled floor.
Tainted, screaming eyes.
Bloodlust devour.
"Don't you ever laugh as the hearse goes by, for you may be the next to die!"
She skipped down the street, her bag slung over her shoulder and uniform ruffled. She was young – fourteen at the oldest – with long chocolate brown hair that whipped in the wind and deep blue eyes that sparkled in the sun. Dainty shoes clacked against the path stones, echoing off the buildings and into the corn blue sky. It was almost Disney-esqe, with the way she pranced past the shops, loudly singing in a melodic and cheerful tone.
There was a certain edge to her words, though innocent at first listen. An almost madness, lurking at the end of her sentences and the way she chopped away at the rhythm to follow the beat of her strides.
"They wrap you up in a big white sheet, from your head down to your feet!"
She waved hello to the butcher, who was cleaning one of his large knives through the window. He gave her a broad grin and waved one of his bloody hands. She continued to sing the unsettling song, letting her arms swing at her sides. Her bangs brushed around her face, framing her eyes to make then appear larger than they actually were. The bow that had been tied in her hair that morning was now loose and wrinkled.
There was a purple bruise on the edge of her cheekbone – hardly visible in the light, but still there. Everything was tainted, and her voice strained for a moment as she passed a woman with her two children. The elder one's gaze settled heavily on her young face before the whining children tugging at her legs pulled her forward.
"They put you in a big black box, and cover you up with dirt and rocks!"
Her small hand tugged at the edge of an old brick building as she swung around the corner. A man she nearly bumped into shouted at her retreating back, and she laughed before waving at him too. A shadow passed over her eyes when he wasn't looking, and even as he howled in aggravation, it bounced harmlessly off her uniform. Sheltered, sheltered …
"All goes well for about a week, and then your coffin begins to leak."
That previously chipper voice chafed before silencing. The bright smile that was previously painted on cracked, taking on a disturbing edge as she reached the looming black gates. A leaden chuckle escaped her before she pushed on the cold metal bars, letting them creak open.
Rows upon rows of tombstones lined the grounds of the graveyard. Death seeped into the very soil – no flowers grew and the grass was gray and ashy. The trees clawed their way towards the sky, and crows watched her with their beady, inky eyes. One of the birds was pecking at the splayed innards of a dead cat and its unborn kittens – her eyes lingered on the carrion for a heartbeat before she looked away, ignoring the rotting smell and cloud of flies.
The girl stepped into the cemetery with a cautious grace. The depths of her eyes lost their light, their vivacity, making it easy to mistake her for a living marionette. With the way she moved, it was likely that she wasn't entirely human any longer. It was as though she had simply stopped breathing, she was so still.
No expression overcame her as she approached a headstone with a crucifix etched in its rough surface. She stared at the name blankly, her thin fingers gripping the strap to her bag as though her life depended on it. A cloud overcame the sun, washing the world gray.
The crows scattered in a flurry of black wings and shrill cries. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, but she didn't move. Those dead eyes of hers were brought back into focus, studying every speckle on the slab of rock marking the grave. Her breath entered the visible spectrum in a plume of white.
"Why did you stop?"
A voice cut through the silence, hewing its way into attention. The voice was watery, unearthly with an underlying hiss to it that made her blood run cold. It was not another person, she knew immediately.
She tried to swallow, but found that her mouth had suddenly run dry. "I … beg your pardon?" she whispered. Every bone in her body was screaming at her to run for her life, every nerve ending on fire.
The terrible voice spoke in reply, evenly, almost calmly. It rattled like death, filling her lungs like smoke. "That song you were singing … what was it?" It sounded even interested, not hostile.
"The Hearse Song … it's a nursery rhyme," she said with a tremble in her voice, to her horror. The voice was silent for a few moments, until something not unlike a bark escaped it, along with the chatter of teeth. It took her a moment to realize that it was laughing.
"Pretty scary for a nursery rhyme – I was under the impression that they were for children."
The girl blanched, body trembling against her will. "Are you an angel?" she breathed, watching as he cold breath evened out into the warm air.
Its response was another rusty metal-on-metal laugh. "Angel? An angel of death, maybe, but I do nobody's bidding."
She pondered this for a few moments, squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw. That fearful tone in her ocean eyes once faded, consumed in their depths. All the tension in her body drained.
"Are you here for me?"
The voice was silent for a moment, "What's your name, kid?"
She turned around and looked up at the scaly figure. Its long arms nearly brushed the ground, claws glinting in the dull light. The glowing red points were fixed firmly on her small form, glaring out of a large horned skull. Giant scaly wings protruded from its back.
It was bleeding – its arms were cut into ribbons, wings were torn, and some of the fangs in its great maw were missing.
"Elise Jones," she replied coolly.
It continued to stare at her, nonplused.
In a moment of inspiration, she dug into her bag and drew out the first aid kit that she always brought with her. It clicked open, echoing in the misty graveyard. Her small hands reached forward and began to wrap its large arms in bandages.
Her own arms, when one looked closely, were tightly wrapped, speckled with blood and hidden beneath her sleeves.
When she was done, the angel of death took a step back, studying her features. Slowly, the wings retreated into its form, bones sinking into its back and skin re-melding. She heard a small crack of its spine and watched as the large skull turned to watch the gate before swinging back towards her.
"I am Vile," it said in an unreadable voice, "I am not here to kill you."
It gave her a small black notebook.