By popular demand, this chapter contains mild citrus content. No children allowed.
A fleeting bout of rain had just passed, the dark wet pavement reflected the hazy platinum glow of the street lamps of Paris, and in one specific spot, it also created a perfect, mirror like reflection of a lone man.
His deathly pale skin, his long ebony hair, his sophisticated, albeit slightly out of the ordinary style of dress, his good manners, his air of mystery… Haji was nothing like the disgusting, blood-sucking, zombie-like monsters he had heard about in his childhood. No, he was the epitome of the modern concept of a vampire, as a matter of fact, his Eastern European features meant if he only some facial hair and the red eyes of his mistress, he could have passed for the Count himself. Even more perversely ironic was that, unknown to him, his family had been in central Romania when he was born.
His bride of only a little more than seventeen hours was back at the hotel, exhausted from her wedding day and lack of sleep the previous night. She had remained asleep all through the drive to their Paris hotel, and hadn't even cracked an eye as her husband carried her from the car, up to their room, barely stirring as he removed the combs from her hair, undressed her down to her slip and chemise, and tucked her into the oversized bed. It was their wedding night, but strangely, he was content to watch her sleep.
That wasn't to say that pleasures of the flesh had not entered his mind, on the contrary. From adolescent musings as to what might happen if he walked into her room in the middle of the night, to the thousands of times he had stared at her, aching to touch her, to their interludes during the past few months, in which every cell in his body seemed to scream future be damned… it would have been entirely understandable if he had taken her in his arms, kissing her awake and insisting on his husbandly rights the moment the door to their hotel room had closed behind them, but in fact, it was the dozens of decades of longing that stayed his hand. After waiting so long, it made no sense to rush things now.
But as he watched her sleep, mulling over his prurient plans, a far less pleasurable realization crept in.
There was one arrangement he had completely forgotten to even consider, despite the fact that, in a way, he had been preparing for this journey for decades, squirreling away money for a "time of need," rarely allowing himself to hope that it might some day be used to make their shared youthful dream come true. It wasn't anything like a fortune, but it was considerably more than one would expect from a homeless man, however well dressed and groomed. After all, in addition to his remarkable talent, Haji knew all the tricks of the trade, usually setting himself up beside upscale shops or cafes during peak hours, making over a hundred dollars on a good day, and even though his aloof nature had made him oblivious to it, his good looks also produced abnormally large tips from female passerbys. After over a hundred years with of accumulating virtually untaxable income with nearly non-existent living expenses, his cello case caught a rather considerable amount of spare change, enough for a year or two's worth of travel with his beloved, as long as they didn't get extravagant.
But in the days leading up to the wedding, there was little room in his thoughts for anything other than nuptial preparations and concerns that Saya might still change her mind (concerns that persisted right up until the moment she said I do), and consequently, he had completely lost track of his own vampiric needs, not that he usually paid them much mind. It's easy to forget to do something that you don't want to do anyway.
He and his new bride were now officially traveling, and thus the flow of blood packs from Dr. Julia had stopped. Sustenance would have to be acquired the old fashioned way.
Ordinarily, he would have waited until he was on, or past the brink of collapse, his skin pale and cool as a corpse, but this was not an option at the moment. He had to bear in mind that more than a companion or protector, a Chevalier was a food source, and in starving himself, he would also be starving his pregnant Queen.
After all, he was now feeding for four.
It was half past three, the ideal time, in his experience. A little too early for paperboys and joggers, all but the most hardcore of partyers had gone home, and virtually all of the city's children, elderly and invalids were in bed. In order for this to work, he had to be alone with his prey, and somehow dragging them off behind a building was unacceptably barbaric in his opinion, so hunting had to be done during the stillest hours of the night, when pedestrians were sparse enough to rarely pass each other.
He was not picky, any ostensibly healthy adult would do. There was no official self-imposed criteria for picking a victim, though there were some noticeable patterns.
This time of night, there were two types of easy prey, but he avoided both. The homeless sleeping in the parks and bus stops were by far the most vulnerable, but he almost never took from them, mainly because he felt that they had enough problems, and would be unlikely to obtain proper medical care if they were to experience complications from the blood loss. The other type of easy prey – well, in the city, at this time of night, a disproportionate number of those out and about were women of a certain profession. He knew that sustenance could easily be acquired if he paid such a woman for her services, and once isolated, could get what he really came for in the guise of a love-bite. But he still never intentionally preyed upon those women. He hated drinking blood, but he did have some taste.
Other than that, he really didn't care.
Large strides carried him to one of the more densely populated areas of Paris, a fairly well-lit street lined with apartment buildings atop ground level shops.
He didn't crouch in alleyways, waiting for a chance to ambush, he would simply walk up and down the streets, melting into the scenery, searching for an graveyard shift worker commuting home on foot, a drunk waiting for a cab or any random insomniac passer-by to keep his growing family healthy.
In that way, it occasionally called his mind to distant memories of long walks on invisible paths through forests and meadows, trailing after his grandmother. She had reached an age at which bending over had become more than just uncomfortable, so it was her grandson's job to pick the plants she pointed out, often taking it upon herself to explain their use. Some were for specific ailments, but most were chosen simply because they could fill the void in one's stomach without causing any serious illness, food that you consume, not because you want to eat, but because you need to survive.
As he singled out his prey, he could almost hear his grandmother, speaking in a language he had all but completely forgotten, giving him a piece of wisdom just as true in the context of his childhood as it was of his current situation.
You may not want to eat it, but unlike hunger, it will not make our family sick.
A lone pedestrian. He wasn't certain of the gender, due to the long, padded coat, and the hood covering the back of their head. The elongated heels of the shoes suggested that it was a woman, but such fashions were not that uncommon on a man in 2039 Paris. The brisk walk suggested that they were reasonably healthy.
They would do.
He gradually drew close enough for his chiropteran senses to make a few more specific distinctions.
Definitely an adult female.
Having no idea that she was being stalked by a hematophagous demon, she came to a stop as her pocket emitted a series of high-pitched beeps, pulling out her phone, holding the screen up to her face to read whatever message she had just received.
That was the opportunity he was looking for.
To her, it must have seemed like someone had materialized out of thin air directly behind her, and before she could turn to face the apparition, one of his hands was on her shoulder, while the other gave a firm jab to a specific pressure point on the back of her neck.
It was an old ninja trick he had picked up from the one who had taught Saya how to wield katana. In 1885, he and his mistress had chased rumors of Diva half way around the world, to a rapidly modernizing island nation where Saya was fascinated to discover, many of the people bore some vague resemblance to herself, at least compared to the Europeans she had spent her whole life amongst. It was there that they had befriended a man known only by his trade name, "Without-sound," a blacksmith who kept his past well shrouded in mystery. Fate threw him into their path and eventually, he took it upon himself to teach Saya a style of fencing who's slashing movements were far more effective than the lunges and parries she had previously mastered, replacing the trivial punctures and scratches of her rapier with the devastating slashes and decapitations of a modified katana, to be housed in a secret compartment in a custom-made steel cello case. Saya had great respect for the old man, which prompted Haji's subsequent suggestion that she use his name as an alias, in order to better evade their enemies. Taking on the name "Otonashi" had the added benefit of preventing stupid questions as to how an unmarried Asian girl ended up with a name like 'Goldschmidt," and why she and her companion shared the same surname despite ostensibly not being related by blood and claiming not to be married.
As he made use of old Otonashi's trick, there was no scream from his prey, simply a peaceful exhalation as she fell into forced sleep, her phone slipping from her hand and falling to the wet pavement.
He wasted no time in pulling back the hood, pushing aside her hair and letting out an involuntary hiss as his fangs slowly penetrated the side of her neck. The specialized ivory canines dug into her flesh until they hit the rubbery surface of the carotid artery, the sharp points creating two needle-sized punctures in the tube, then retracting, his lips forming a firm gasket of suction around the wound as the warm blood flowed down his throat.
He recalled how he had once truly dreaded the notion of having to teach all this to Riku, but fate had cancelled the lesson through the most tragic means imaginable. Few realized that the boy's death had affected him just as deeply as anyone else, in a way, Riku was Haji's little brother too, or at least, that was how Diva's Chevaliers would have put it. No one knew that amongst Haji's meager material possessions, one of the most treasured was the photo-booth picture of Saya, Riku and Kai. The pictures had come in a set of four, and his kind hearted young charge had given the spare to his enigmatic mentor. Haji almost never actually looked at it, but often found himself running his finger under the lining of his cello case to make sure it hadn't disappeared. The grief was no longer fresh, nor was it gone, but at the same time, he was aware of the fact that the boy hadn't died in vain. In passing on his genes just before death, he had changed Diva's blood from deadly to harmless, and in doing so, eventually he would save Saya's life from beyond the grave. There was some slight comfort in that notion, while it didn't make Riku's death any less tragic, it did make it a little less senseless. His last act on earth was to save the life of his Queen. For a Chevalier, what more glorious end could there be?
He could imagine the look of horror and disgust the soft-hearted boy would have displayed if he could see his mentor now, rapidly sucking the life out of an unwilling stranger.
The cold numbness of his extremities began to fade as the life-giving nectar diffused into his bloodstream. It was extremely difficult to convince himself that the feeling was unpleasant, but he did none the less. Perhaps denial was yet another skill he acquired from his mistress, in addition to fencing and cello.
The flow of blood slowed, pressure decreasing by a nearly immeasurable amount, and that was his signal to stop. He pulled away from the woman's neck, looking down at his own handiwork to make sure that the bleeding had stopped. He placed his leftovers in a sitting position on a near by bench, still limp and unconscious. He knew that she would wake up at any second, but he also knew better than to leave an unconscious woman on the street in this part of the city even for a short period of time, and stood by until she regained consciousness, in order to ward off any other predators.
When she finally came to, the dizziness nearly caused her to fall off the bench. It was several seconds yet until she became aware of her surroundings, and it was then that she looked up and finally caught sight of the solemn faced stranger standing before her, wiping the moisture off her phone on the breast of his suit.
"You dropped this," he said tonelessly as he handed her the device and proceeded to walk past her.
She stared blankly for a moment before perceiving a mild, though stinging pain and her hand made it's way up to the site of the discomfort, localized around what felt like a pair of small puncture wounds.
Her hand left her neck and hovered in front of her face as she squinted through the darkness to see the smear of blood now on her palm.
She whirled around, eyes searching for the tall young man, but he seemed to have vanished.
"Un vampire?"
The rain had resumed outside, tapping lightly at the window as it's clear cabochons rolled down the glass.
Saya gave a soft coo as she awoke amongst soft blankets, and tensed briefly, realizing that she was in an unfamiliar place.
Where am I? Where's Haji?
She quickly caught sight of her Chevalier standing a few feet away from the bed, now in his every-day suit once again. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and when they opened again, he was sitting on the bed, leaning over her.
It only took her a few seconds to realize that she was at the hotel they had reserved for the first few days following the wedding, and while that knowledge was enough to soothe her high-strung apprehensions, she was still slightly confused.
"You fell asleep, so I put you in bed," he said, essentially answering her question before she could ask it.
"Oh – thank you, I was really tired," she said as she sat up.
As the honeymooners gazed at each other, an awkward silence took hold, possibly for the first time in their relationship. Everyone knows what the bride and groom are supposed to do when they get to the hotel, and they both stared at each other in silent contemplation as to how such a pivotal moment should be initiated.
Saya spoke first. "Um, would you mind if I took a shower?"
She hadn't bathed since early the previous morning, her face was still chalky with yesterday's make up, her hair still crunchy with yesterday's hairspray. Intimacy in such a condition seemed somewhat unappealing, or at least inconsistent with idyllic preconceptions.
"Of course not."
She kissed him on the cheek and walked over to the bathroom.
As she bathed, she reflected on his actions, or lack there of, late the previous night.
He is so sweet – but I feel kind of bad, it was his wedding night and he just tucked me in and let me sleep.
The truth was, he had waited for over a century, he was perfectly capable of waiting another few hours. If there was one trait that was more central to his personality than loyalty, it was patience.
After finishing her shower and brushing her teeth, she wrapped the under-sized hotel towel around her and took a deep breath as she opened the door.
Haji was standing by the small dining table, and she noted a subtle change in his attire.
I wonder why he took off his tailcoat?
She considered this for a moment.
Could he be trying to tell me something?
"I ordered some breakfast for you," he stated, gesturing to the silver-domed serving platter on the table beside him.
"Thanks, Haji."
She didn't move from the bathroom doorway as he gazed at her.
"Um, Haji, could you please turn around so I can get dressed?"
He subtly arched a brow. He hadn't expected marriage to drastically change their relationship, but he had thought that he would at least no longer be required to turn his back to her whenever she was undressed.
"Please, Haji."
He turned around, and she crept toward her one, small suitcase (they were traveling heavily), pulling out a red garment box, still taped shut - that was to keep him from peeking. Her fingernails slit through the seal, opening the box and pulling aside the tissue paper.
His eyes narrowed slightly, the noises indicating that she had opened that mysterious sealed box.
"Okay, I'm dressed."
Like her wedding dress, it was quite different from the modern conception of a honeymoon costume, no transparent chiffon, no expository lace.
His lips parted slightly, his face forming into an engrossed, yet somehow blank expression. Someone less familiar with his subtle affect might have thought him unimpressed.
"Do you like it?"
He nodded absentmindedly as his eyes meandered over the ensemble.
It was a decorative blossom-pink corset, laces at the back, fastened by tiny hidden hooks at the front, and a pair of bloomer-like pantalettes.
There was no need for her to explain the reasons for choosing this outfit. This was how she would have presented herself to him had they been married in the 1880s, as he had originally hoped. More importantly, she had managed to deduce the fantasy that had dominated Haji's daydreams since he was thirteen, or rather, since that rainy day in the barn when her former lack of modesty seemed to single-handedly trigger his descent into puberty.
His eyes took their time in making their way up to her face, and when he saw her lips curl in a slight smile, that was all the invitation he needed. He slowly approached, continuing to savor the vision before him until his arms finally locked around her and a mutually initiated kiss ensued, lips clinching in ardent gulps as he hunched over his beloved mistress. At first he didn't take it any farther for fear of appearing insensitively eager.
Fortunately she was bound by no such concern. She took a step back, staring at him intently as she parted the first hook and eye at the top of her corset, but found him gently grasping her hands before she could unfasten the next one. She was confused by his interference for a moment before it occurred to her that he might want to do the honors himself, but instead of reaching for the hooks, he gathered her in his arms, kissing her deeply as he began to fuss with the laces at her back.
She smirked against his lips, intrigued and amused by his rejection of the expedient nudity offered by the hooks in favor of the tantalizingly tedious laces, no doubt something he had worked out in his mind over a century ago. The barrier between them slowly unraveled, kisses occasionally wandering to the neck or an ear, but always finding their way back to their point of origin, and after what seemed like an eternity, the corset finally fell to the ground. One tug of the bow tied round her waist was enough to take care of the pantalettes.
Without further ado, he scooped her up into his arms, fingers making small, incognizant strokes against her skin as he carried her to the bed, and immediately proceeded to toss aside his own clothes.
She had never seen him completely disrobed in broad-daylight. Excluding their first late-night foray in Maui, complete nudity had never been allowed during their interludes, a unspoken agreement meant to keep things from going too far. She smiled as she looked him over, fair to the point of pallor, thin almost to the point of lankieness, many women would have likely deemed these unfortunate faults on an otherwise perfect specimen, but such a thought had never crossed her mind. Love has a way of erasing such "imperfections," or at very least, making them irrelevant.
For his part, he had seen her undressed many times in many circumstances, ranging from when she emerged from her cocoon, to retreats from battles so gruesome that her cloths were ripped from her body along with slabs of skin. In every case, he was barred from full enjoyment of the situation, by peril, by duty, by honor, or more recently, a strange combination of the three.
Her body had been something that remained out of his reach even when it was in his arms… until now, as she stared up at him from atop the bed's lavender-gray coverlet, her smile suggesting that she wanted him just as badly.
In spite, or perhaps in compliment of her smile, a glistening tear slipped from her eye, and he reacted in the same way he would have under any other circumstances. His forearms slid under her back, palm up, as if cradling her in his arms, and hers clung tightly around him, returning the embrace. All patience, on both sides, seemed to instantly evaporate as the full spread of their flesh converged, adhering firmly together by grasp and gravity, cool creamy satin meeting sweltering peach velvet with an imperceptible sizzle.
He heard a telltale ringing in his ears and his eyelids immediately closed tightly around the glow blooming behind them.
Seized by a state of rapt suspense, she held her breath as they united, finally letting out a deep, wavering sigh as the last missing piece of their relationship clicked into place. His arms tightened around her, the thought that he was invading the home of another man's children completely drowned out by the melting heat that encompassed him.
Finally triumphant over fate's cruel conspiracy to prevent this moment, their victory dance began with the same synchronized grace as they had always displayed during the hundreds of battles they had faced, side by side.
Her head tilted back, pressing into her pillow, coincidentally providing her with a better view of his face, which she instantly found herself studying. She was utterly captivated by the vision, charmed by the blush on his pale cheeks, and fascinated by the unnamable mixture of emotions it now overtly displayed, amongst which, a century and a half's worth of unfathomable love and poignant frustration. All that he habitually concealed, now poured brazenly across his features, as if the ever-present wall around his emotions had become a window.
But his tightly closed eyes seemed out of place amongst such transparency.
"Haji, open your eyes."
The command seemed impossibly clear amongst the fervid panting and pleasured whimpers. He heard her voice, but because his eyes had been closed, he didn't realize that it didn't come from her lips.
His eyes remained tightly shut in defiance of her order, despite his own desperate desire to look at her. He knew that the ringing in his ears signified the glowing eyes that he so rarely experienced, and she had only ever seen him like that once, the day they left the zoo, when he had given into his chiropteran powers. For as long as he lived, he would never forget how she had looked at him, when she saw the inhuman light in his eyes, black chiroptera wings at his back, his monstrous claws drenched in human blood spilled for her protection. The glow was extinguished, his wings drooping in shame when he saw her staring at him, eye's widened in shock, her hands over her mouth as if to stifle a terrified scream. He knew that when she looked at him that day, she was seeing a monster.
So he denied her request for fear of ruining this beautiful moment by frightening her with a glow, so similar to Diva's. He distracted her with a vehement kiss, instinct guiding his lips to hers in spite of his self imposed blindness.
Slick friction muffling conscious thought, it was some time before the notion came back into her head.
"Why wont you look at me, Haji?"
Telepathy amongst their own kind was common, but it had been amongst the powers he had stubbornly suppressed for most of his life. Because he never outright acknowledged any of her rare, unwitting messages, she wasn't even aware that she was capable of it, such instances lost amongst all the other wordless communiqués that routinely passed between them. Needless to say, the current primal connection seemed to awaken this instinctual ability, supplementing a spiritual understanding that existed beyond telepathy.
She reached up and gently caressed his eyelids. "Please Haji."
He was never any good at saying no to her, a tendency that once got him killed, and once caused him to make a heartbreaking vow to take her life with his own hands.
He slowed to a stop, eyelids reluctantly parting to reveal what he had been trying to hide, more than half expecting to find her face contorted into the same horrified expression he had hoped never to see again. But to his surprise, he simply found a smiling face encircling her own glow, eyes the brilliant scarlet of a setting sun after a wildfire, brighter than he had ever seen them in battle.
A resemblance to Diva didn't even occur to her as she admired the instinct-induced glow of her husband's eyes, the bright, pale-blue light that signifies the hottest flame, their usual air of mystery replaced by a strangely erotic element of danger.
"Beautiful."
Eyes remained locked, maintaining a link of unparalleled emotional trust as their dance resumed, pace and momentum building to a final thrilling sprint toward an invisible but intensely palpable destination, the sense of touch bleeding through to the other senses, crossing the border between body and mind.
Beyond sex, or even love-making, it was consummation in every sense of the word, a love long denied finally reaching it's resplendent fruition as one continuous being ignited in explosive rapture.
Breakfast lay forgotten on the table, as cold and meaningless as they might have been without each other.
Her eyelashes brushed against his chest as they opened. There was no need for the question she often asked herself upon awakening. She knew she was in bed at the hotel, and Haji was directly beneath her.
After only a moment of recuperation, he had managed to flip the two of them over, reversing their positions, still entwined as they wordlessly drifted off into blissful repose. She awoke to find herself still limply straddling him, his arms loosely sealed around her, the rise and fall of his chest reminiscent of the sway of a ship on a clam sea.
She shifted to look up at him, finding his face with a more relaxed expression than she could recall ever having seen before, his eyes closed, his body completely motionless.
If I didn't know better, I'd say that he's sleeping.
That's impossible, isn't it?
She studied his face more carefully.
It sure looks like sleep. Only one way to find out…
"Are you asleep?"
"Yes," he mumbled, his entire body remaining completely motionless, save his lips.
She arched a brow in surprise at the clearly facetious statement. "Are you – are you joking?"
"No," he said, now clearly trying to hide a smirk, but not succeeding.
"You are!" she giggled delightedly.
"You are my wife now, you are obligated put up with my nonsense," he chuckled along with a wry grin.
They shared a laugh that was more due to transcendent happiness than humor, both reveling in the sensation of the other's body, convulsing in the laugh they so adored.
Saya closed her eyes as she nestled her body up against his once more.
My life is perfect.
She realized the phrase she had just thought.
My life is perfect.
Her eyes opened.
I am completely happy.
There is nothing I need to do that I don't want to do, nowhere I need to go that I don't want to go.
My life is perfect.
'My' life is perfect.
Her mind was invaded by a far more familiar, darker thought.
Haji's eyes opened.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't deserve this," she said with a genuine, dispirited sigh. "After all the harm I've done, I don't deserve to be this happy."
"Do you really believe that?"
She nodded against his chest.
"Why?"
"How can you ask that that?" she asked incredulously as she sat up. "You know that people have died because of me, my dad - "
He interrupted her for the first time ever. "- was killed by delta 67, you only did what he begged you to, you helped him die as a brave man instead of a mindless monster."
"Riku - "
"Was killed by Diva."
"But if it wasn't for me, he would have never gotten involved -"
"And you begged Kai to take him back to Okinawa, but they didn't listen. If it wasn't for you, Riku would have died long before that that day on the ship, you gave him several valuable months of life."
"Even so, miss Clara and her men -"
"Were killed by that Chevalier."
"That's not true!" she shouted. "I saw the sword slashes on Miss Clara's body -"
"Because the Chevalier picked her up and threw her at you, you swung in defense." He knew what she would bring up next, and spoke preemptively. "As for the incident during the war, that was not your fault, you were not in control."
"I killed those people!"
"But you were not at fault." He paused. "I am more to blame than you, I helped the Red Shield wake you prematurely, even though, somehow, I – I knew it was a bad idea, I helped them out of my own selfish desire to be with you."
His voice actually cracked with emotion, and her throat tightened from hearing it.
"Saya, when you were revived - when you looked at me - when I saw your eyes – it was the same look you always have when I wake you from a nightmare, it was like you were sleepwalking, you were not in control, and when you wounded that Chevalier and he ran from you, he lured you into that village, I am certain he was using the civilians as a distraction to cover his retreat."
"Why are you saying this?! What do you know?! How could you possibly understand any-"
"I was there!" he shouted.
She stared at him, mouth slightly ajar in stunned silence.
The shocked, and even slightly frightened look on her face made his resolve waiver slightly, but it was too late to stop now. He had spent too long standing by in silence while she tortured herself, occasionally building up enough nerve to gently contradict her belief in her own guilt, only to pull back apologetically when she angrily rebuked him for it. He knew that it wouldn't be much of a stretch for her to break ties with him during such a confrontation, a contingency that he desperately wanted to avoid for both their sakes. His silence was enforced by a fear of loosing her, but now they were bound together in such a way as to help prevent such a rash, impulsive separation, and should she order him to leave anyway, at least she would be reasonably safe without him, her enemies having been eliminated.
It was finally time for him to speak up.
"I was there, Saya, at the Zoo, in Russia, in London, in Paris, at Yanbaru, on the Red Shield and in Vietnam."
She was still speechless.
"What's more, the Vietnam massacre was a trap, meticulously planned by Diva's Chevaliers in order to destroy the alliance between the US and the red shield, they intentionally manipulated you into killing. You were not the real cause of those deaths."
It took her a moment to respond. " How could you know that?"
"I think you can guess who told me."
"Solomon?"
He nodded.
She appeared lost in thought for at least half a minute. "Even if all that is true, I was still the one who released Diva in the first place, all the people she killed, all the evil she caused was because of me."
"Do you even hear yourself? How can you be responsible for someone else's actions? Its completely illogical."
Tears were welling in her eyes.
"Saya, even if you still believe you are responsible for these things, you have atoned for them ten fold at least. For every life you believe you have taken, you have saved a thousand, probably more!"
"But if I never existed, no one would have been put in danger in the first place!"
"Are you saying that you hold yourself responsible just for existing? That does not make sense, Saya. You had absolutely no control over when and into what circumstances you were born. Blame Joel, blame God, blame your mother if you must, but not yourself." His voice softened to a more becoming tone. "I know you Saya, and I know that you have never wanted to hurt anybody." He paused. "Tell me, why did you release Diva?"
"Because I was careless and impulsive and stupid and - and bad!"
"That's not a reason." Haji shook his head and continued to speak softly. "Think back. Why did you decide to release her?"
"I-" she stared at the wall for several seconds before speaking in a flattened, quiet voice, long ponderous pauses springing up as she spoke. "She told me that she'd never been outside before, she'd been locked in the tower for her whole life – I felt so sad for her –it was almost sounded like something from a fairy tale, a girl locked in a tower, I wondered who could have done such a terrible thing, who would have done that to a little girl, I thought Joel must not have known about it – I remembered that he had a key in his desk that he said could unlock any door on the grounds, so I thought it might work in the tower – and I wanted her to sing at Joel's birthday – I used to think her song was so beautiful, I wanted everyone to hear it." A tear rolled down her cheek, and she let out a brief sob. "I was so proud of myself, I thought I was doing such a good thing, I was rescuing that little girl and she would come to Joel's party and sing and her song would make everyone feel happy like it did for me. I was so stupid and horrible -"
"No Saya. There was no way you could have known that she was dangerous. Given the information you had, I think any kind-hearted person would have freed her just as you did. If you must blame someone for Diva's actions, then blame Amshel and Joel, they were the ones who made Diva what she was. Grateful as I am to both of them for bringing me into your life, I believe they must have known the cruelty and potential danger of their experiments on Diva, and we now know that Amshel was the one behind all the subsequent plots, if anything, releasing her from his prison probably hurt his plans. If she had remained his prisoner, subject to his whims instead of the other way around, he probably would have achieved his goals much earlier, the world would have been over run by chiropterans decades ago. Joel and Amshel knew right from wrong, and they choose wrong, and many have suffered for it, but you - all you wanted to do was help a stranger and please your father, and when you discovered the indirect repercussions of your actions, you immediately set out to make things right, and to protect the innocents of the world from a monster that YOU didn't create. I challenge anyone to find a single person who, given the whole story, would begrudge you a happy life after so many years of toil and sacrifice."
He placed his hand on her cheek, wiping away the tear. "Saya, cant you see, you're not a murderer or a monster. You are simply a person who has suffered through tragedy after tragedy after tragedy just because of one innocent mistake, and your righteous efforts to correct it."
Her hands and jaw trembled as her mind digested these words which so greatly conflicted with her fundamental view of herself and her life, and yet she knew it was the truth, not just because of their undeniable logic, but because they were coming from the one person in the world that she trusted completely.
She threw herself into his arms and cried with even more passion and volume than she had over the dead body of her twin sister. The guilt that had virtually been a central trait of her personality, the emotion that loomed over every other feeling, had suddenly been snatched away when her husband tore apart her delusions of sole responsibility for decades of bloodshed.
It was as if an enormous tumor had been ripped from her very soul, causing what remained to crash down around the empty space.
The wailing sobs filled the room as Haji held her tightly, crying softly himself.
It was several minutes before either spoke, still clinging to each other, now even more naked than they had been at the beginning of the conversation.
"Saya, I am not asking you to make peace with the past, and I am certainly not asking you to forget it, I know I wont. All I ask is-" he leaned down, placing his face in her field of vision, bloodshot blue meeting bloodshot burgundy-brown, "don't ever grow to hate yourself."
Remember that scene where David asks Haji if he got his therapist's license?
Please review! OOC? Too corny? I'm dying to know!
One more chapter to go!