CHAPTER SEVEN: SAFE AND SOUND
"You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound."
"Don't worry..." Akua's voice was a lilting murmur, her gaze heavy and lamenting as she peered down at the crumpled remnants of her latest conquest. "What's past is past...after meeting you, I discovered something far more important than revenge, Moka..." With a grace born of ancient lineages, the imperious vampiress pivoted, her eyes locking onto the other incarnation of Moka—a mirror image of her cherished sibling. "I'll protect you for sure, Moka..."Akua's declaration quavered, the dam of centuries yielding to a shimmering cascade of tears. "My dear MeiMei...my beloved little sister."
"Akua..." Moka's voice faltered into a murmur, words escaping her. She observed, captivated, as the raven-haired girl reached out towards her, her hand extended with heartfelt tenderness.
A jarring male voice cut through the stillness, seizing the attention of Moka, Akua, and their band of weary allies. "How self-centered of you." the voice sneered, thick with disdain. "You are truly the most powerful of your sisters, Akua. I have to admit...you are even as powerful as the Three Dark Lords when it comes to battle skills." He paused, the silken threat in his tone belying his mockery. "But your mentality is no different from that of a selfish child. You are not truly dedicated to your philosophy. Those of us who have chosen vengeance...may not retreat from the path we have taken."
Engrossed by the sinister timbre of their adversary's taunts, Moka remained oblivious to Tsukune's hurried advance. "MOKA, LOOK OUT!" his voice pierced the tension, his hands grasping her shoulders in a desperate bid to thrust her to safety. But the moment of intervention passed in a heartbeat—it was too late...
A wave of agonizing pain suddenly coursed through her body.
A sharp gasp caught in her throat, her eyes snapping open with a fierce intensity. Moka's own labored breathing dominated her senses, accompanied only by the pounding rhythm of her heart. As her breathing gradually steadied, she became aware that the searing pain that had once consumed her had dissipated; she remained in the very shack that had served as her haven. Yet another distant memory had revisited her, a spectral torment infiltrating her dreams once more.
A sharp gasp shuddered from her throat, punctuated by a grimace, as she hauled herself into a sitting position and pressed her back against the unforgiving wall. Her fingers, trembling slightly, sought the tender skin at the center of her chest, tracing the ghost of her rosary's presence. Moka's eyelids fluttered shut, her senses conjuring the excruciating sensation of her body being ruthlessly impaled alongside Tsukune, shattering the protective seal in an agonizing crescendo of destruction.
I"'m just an artificial personality...created by the Rosario..." she explained in her weak voice. "My only purpose...is to protect the seal...But now that the Rosario's seal has been destroyed...there's no reason for me to exist...all that's left for me...is to disappear..."
Eyes wide with a mixture of fear and wonder, she pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the steady rhythm of her own heart. "So, how is it that I'm still here, breathing?" Her voice had an unmistakable tremor as she sought answers that seemed beyond her grasp. "If the seal was the only thing tethering me to this life, shouldn't I be... dead? How is it my heart still beats?"
The notion seemed absurd, hanging heavily between the silence that followed. The thought of vanishing into nothingness, she could understand, albeit reluctantly. But to continue existing, breathing, and even more bewildering, to find herself cast into an entirely different universe? That defied comprehension. And as for inheriting the enigmatic powers of the Shinso bloodline—it bordered on the fantastical and outright defied the logic she clung to.
Of greater concern, did she possess a heart of her own at all? Her entire existence was entwined with that of Inner Moka — the True Moka; they shared the same flesh and breath.
She wrapped her arms around herself to affirm her corporeal existence. She believed her life's sole purpose was to be the living shield that safeguarded the Inner Moka—her true self. She had been the custodian of that mystical seal, destined to dissolve into the ether the moment her duty was lifted by the hand of someone who truly cherished her.
With the seal broken, an overwhelming sense of aimlessness washed over her like a cold tide. Moka exhaled a shaky breath, grappling with the reality that she was supposed to fade away, yet here she stood—a woman without a purpose, her destiny rewritten in the stars. "What am I supposed to do now?" The question hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, a silent plea for a meaning that had been snatched away with the shattering of her seal.
For years, Moka carried a silent acceptance within her, a conviction that she was meant to drift without purpose. Ever since the stirrings of pre-adolescence, she felt as though destiny consistently slipped through her fingers, her journey twisted by the subtle scheming of her family. Above all, the pervasive presence of her "mother"—Akasha Bloodriver—profoundly shaped her, manipulating her life's trajectory like a puppeteer pulling strings in a quiet ballet of control.
Moka derided the notion that this woman could be HER mother. Doubts plagued her about the existence of a father or family. The concept of family was a fictitious concoction from the start. The harsh truth stared back at her; she was merely a clone, a facsimile of the true Moka's mother, her existence reduced to a synthetic persona crafted solely to protect the rosary.
Protecting the rosary for the REAL Moka.
Flashback
"Kurumu..." Moka croaked, tears spilling from her eyes. "Mizore...I'm sorry..." she wept, covering her mouth. "But it's enough," she added, making both her friends look at her in shock and disbelief. "Enough...you already know, don't you? My "true" identity..." she continued. This was it. It was now or never. Moka no longer wanted to hold back the shivering truth from her friends, especially her beloved Tsukune. "It's just a pseudo-personality created to protect the seal... An artificial being in the image of my mother. That's all I am." she explained.
End Flashback
The stark realization of her existence hung over Moka like a solitary cloud. She was a child of an aimless destiny, born into a life devoid of significant purpose. This bitter truth ignited a flame of anger within her, twisting her lips into a scornful grimace that unveiled her sharp fangs in full display.
It was a cruel twist of fate. Moka never wished for any of this. She certainly never sought it out. To perish in Tsukune's embrace, only to be reborn in a foreign realm, was harsh enough. But to then have all ripped away and endure a torment surpassing the finality of death—that was unbearable.
The five stages of grief were often experienced by those suffering great dolefulness. The heaven-sent soul awarded to her by some higher consciousness had been shattered from the inside—out. Moka had only fallen victim to three stages: denial, bargaining, and depression.
Denial is a reasonably normal part of grieving. The feelings of numbness and shock accompany it; a person grieving may not seem very sad if they're going through the experience of this simple stage. It occurs when one cannot process the information that someone they dearly loved has gone. When the person knows that the loss will change everything, that their lives will never be the same, they can struggle to understand what is happening.
Moka mentally held onto it for dear life. She didn't care if it made her out to be delusional. It was an avoidance. A mental and emotional escape from her hellish reality. In some ways, it was a natural defense mechanism that assisted her in coping with the extreme emotions of grief. It was her mind's way of 'softening the blow', stopping her from feeling too much at once.
Next was bargaining, a stage in which the individual reflects on everything that has happened to them. A short-lived escape can be sought after, as they often attempt to make deals with their own destiny, hoping to end up in better situations than their current one. At a certain point, individuals often question themselves with multiple "what ifs" statements, grasping onto strings of fate while wondering what it could've been like had they made a different choice.
Flashback
"N-No! Please, don't! I'm begging you! Stop!" she begged, only to have her mouth covered by his hand.
"Don't worry. It'll hurt for a moment." The man smirked and immediately slammed himself inside her, causing the girl to scream in agony.
Her eyelids clamped together, trapping tears that threatened to escape, as waves of agony surged through her lower abdomen with each invasive thrust. The pain, sharp and unyielding, synchronized cruelly with the rhythm of her assailant, leaving a relentless reminder of her vulnerability.
End Flashback
A muted whimper slipped from her throat as the memory surfaced.
The blame weighed heavily on her. Had Tsukune been by her side, he would have enfolded her in a comforting embrace, assuring her with all his might that she wasn't responsible for the misfortune that had befallen her. Despite this, she berated herself internally, clinging to the belief that she could have done something—anything—to prevent it. Deep down, Moka acknowledged that she didn't deserve this torment, yet the notion that she could have intervened gnawed persistently at her conscience.
Driven by a need for solace, Moka crafted an alternate existence in her mind, a sanctuary from the reality she was unwillingly thrust into. The day she lost every cherished aspect of her life marked a brutal awakening: her world was intolerable. To acknowledge the truth had been unbearable from the outset, ever since her "family" cast her out among humans. Before her days at Yokai Academy and meeting Tsukune, her existence was anything but straightforward and joyous. The truth of her early life was far grimmer than the softened tale she recounted to Tsukune. In the harsh realm of humanity where her "family" abandoned her, she became an embodiment of divine tragedy—a magnet for humanity's cruelty and disdain.
For her, existence had lost all meaning. The weight of simply being alive eclipsed any sense of gratitude for it. The decision to continue living lingered, a constant option laid bare before her. And until her deepest desires were fulfilled, she would pick the path of bloodshed over the tranquility of peace.
An unexpected surge of warmth cascaded through her, compelling her to gaze instinctively upon her arm. In that habitual transformation, her finger nails morphed into gleaming, silver talons. At the same time, her skin adopted the hue of crimson—her body's fierce response to the lurking dangers of an unseen realm.
Much to her own astonishment, Moka allowed her "transformation" to persist, refraining from halting it. She found the voice's words echoing in her mind, playing over and over again.
Out of the blue, the same pictures from before flashed in her head: torn skin, nails driven into the flesh, blood splashing on the ceiling, her face buried into the oozing, squishy depths smelling of slaughterhouse...
"Don't fight it. Let it consume you. You have to surrender," came the whispered coaxing, tinged with a dark promise. "The power of the Shinso bloodline—it's part of who we are, and your rejection only shackles your true potential. Embrace it. Let this ancient strength awaken within you."
Her breath hitched as the words coursed through her, echoing a lineage far too powerful to comprehend. She could feel it pulsing at the edges of her being—insistent, demanding entry.
With trembling lips, Moka murmured, "I... I'm scared. What if it changes me?"
"There's no 'what if,' it will change you," the voice replied, soft yet unyieldingly certain. "It beckons you to relinquish control, to yield to a fate far greater than your conscious mind dares to comprehend. Within you lies the Wealth of Power, gifted and cursed, a duality that could elevate or consume—if only you dare to accept the full magnitude of your heritage. Will you surrender to the embrace of the Shinso bloodline or deny the calling that threatens to unravel the very fabric of who you believe you are?"
Her heart hammered against her ribs, an unruly beat that matched the stirrings of her blood. Could she wield such a force without losing herself? Could she stand at the threshold of this foregone ancestry and emerge victorious?
In the shadowy world of the supernatural, the "Wealth of Power" is a formidable ability unique to Vampires. It grants them the extraordinary capacity to transform into various forms at will—whether it be the fierce guise of a wolf, the stealthy figure of a mouse, the silent wings of a bat, or even the elusive wisp of mist. This ancient power echoes through the pages of folklore, shaping the tales whispered in fear and awe.
This time, she resolved to surrender to the inevitable. No more resistance. What was the ultimate outcome if she allowed her transformation to run its full course? At worst, what could it be? Her litany of irredeemable sins stretched out behind her, a path of transgressions too tangled to ever retrace.
There was one thing Moka knew however...
Moka's certainty never wavered, regardless of whether she was the master of her own actions or not; she harbored no remorse for pursuing those men. They had earned their fate, reaping the terror they had sowed, delighting in her torment despite her desperate pleas for mercy. Their screams and supplications for life, as she exacted retribution in cold blood, did not move her to mercy, nor would they ever extract an apology from her. She had never imagined that the ancient creed of 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth' could resonate with a sense of gratitude. But as justice mirrored the extent of her suffering, it felt oddly appropriate.
Moka felt a sense of triumph, yet it was overshadowed by a residual pang of guilt, an emotional tarnish on her victory. While her attackers had been merciless, one stood out in stark contrast – a sole figure of compassion amidst the brutality. After each one took their turn to inflict their cruelty, they goaded him to join in. But he defied them, advocating instead for her reprieve, declaring she had endured enough. In that moment of dissent, Moka silently uttered her gratitude to this man who was so vastly different from his peers—a beacon of decency in the darkest of times.
And then... a deafening blast pierced the silence, a gunshot that reverberated through her skull, making her body instinctively jolt. A lance of white-hot agony speared her temple, a sharp, cruel bite that promised oblivion. Without warning or time for a single coherent thought to form, her entire world was swallowed by an inky blackness, enveloping her consciousness in a velvety, unyielding shadow.
Unbeknownst to them, however, they had just made their gravest mistake. They needed to confirmed her demise before carelessly turning their backs and letting down their guard.
Even though they succeeded in completely destroying whatever she had left of herself, they didn't kill her. It wasn't enough.
The bullet went straight through her head, but her demonic heart continued beating and beating within her body.
Tearing limbs and snapping bones replayed in her head. Agonizing screams soon followed, making Moka cover her ears in fright.
"N-No, NO! Please, you have to believe me!" His voice cracked with the rawness of fear, eyes wild and pleading beneath the flickering shadow of doubt. "It was their plan all along—I swear it on my life!"
Each word was a desperate claw at survival, a frantic struggle against the inevitable. But the trembling words hung in the thick silence—a silence soon shattered by an agonizing scream that bore the bitter note of his plea's tragic end.
It wasn't that she wanted to be defenseless, but – it just wasn't in her nature to behave cruelly to anyone or to inflict any pain on another being, human or not. She didn't have much self-control when that smell hit her.
Moka surrendered to the transformation, her eyes gently closing. With everything seemingly lost, she had no more to fear.
And then the least expected happened.
"I love you, Moka."
Moka's eyes shot wide open in shock.
'Tsukune.'
Moka immediately glanced at her arms to find her skin changing to its original color. Her claws soon followed as they slowly went back to nails. The transformation seemed to be reversing, but due to what?
"How often must I remind you?" the voice in her head snarled with impatience. "Dwelling on your insignificant human friend is futile."
Moka's response came softly, "I know.'" Her gaze fell to the floor, a veil of sorrow shadowing her eyes. "It's just that I..."
"Longing for your dear human, aren't you?" No words left Moka's lips in reply. Her silence served as a tacit admission of her longing; she could not deny the void left by Tsukune's absence, an absence that suddenly felt like an eternity, despite... wait, just how long has it been?
"How long have I been here?" Moka inquired, her voice tinged with both curiosity and concern. Had it been three days, or perhaps as long as eight days, or even weeks? She wished desperately for a real person to be near, someone who could provide her with the answers she sought.
The voice in her head was a persistent whisper of doubt, one that knew exactly how to provoke her deepest insecurities. It let out a sardonic scoff that reverberated through the chambers of her mind. "Does it truly matter?"
The question lingered in the stagnant air, mocking her. Moka could feel the tug at the corners of her eyes as sorrow threatened to spill over. But it was quickly swept away by a surge of silent fury that tightened her jaw and clenched her fists. "Yes," she snapped back at the phantom voice, her tone trembling with a cocktail of pain and defiance. "It matters to me, more than you'll ever understand."
She had tried to keep count, to find some semblance of order in the chaos of her new reality. But ever since that fateful night, the dreadful night that had hijacked her life's narrative, the passage of days had become a blur. Moka realized she had neither the strength nor the will to tally the sunrises and sunsets in this unknown world. The weight of her trauma shackled her thoughts, leaving little room for such mundane details.
Her voice cracked, broken but pushing through the hurt, "I…I didn't choose this. I never wanted this nightmare to be my reality..." The vulnerability exposed in her admission echoed the raw anguish bleeding from her heart.
"Tell me, what is it that you truly fear? Could it be that the power of the Shinso bloodline is too much for you to bear?" The voice felt ancient, dripping with centuries of knowledge and secrets untold.
She hesitated, the struggle evident in the tremble of her voice. "I-I don't want this," she confessed, her words barely more than a whisper. "This power... it's overwhelming. It feels like I'm being consumed by an endless darkness, one I can't control."
The voice chuckled, a sound both warm and chilling. "Ah, but dear girl, power is neither good nor bad," it cooed, an edge of wisdom slicing through the growing fear that wrapped around her heart. "It is simply a tool waiting to be wielded. It is your right, your legacy. Embrace it, and you shall become unstoppable."
She clenched her fists, her knuckles whitening—a silent battlefield of resistance. "No, I refuse," she shot back, her words gaining strength as she spoke. "I won't be ruled by this... curse. I decide my fate, not some ancient bloodline!"
The voice sighed, a soft tsk resonating in the void. "So be it. But remember, denying your heritage will not change what you are. You cannot escape it. One day, you will come to see-"
"I don't wanna be here…" softly interjected Moka. Her pink bangs shadowed away her eyes to hide the pain and sorrow they held within them. Silent anger was secretly hidden away in her emerald eyes nonetheless. There was nothing Moka desired more than anything else. It wasn't to live or die, and it definitely wasn't the supposed gifted power of the legendary bloodline.
"Tsukune…"
All she desired, above everything else, was him. Her deepest wish was for him to manifest from the ether, astride a noble white steed, right before her eyes. He would extend his hand to her with an inviting smile and say, "Come with me. Return with me to our world where we truly belong." She would join him without hesitation, escaping this harsh, unforgiving reality. Together, they would ride into the sunset back to their realm inhabited by creatures of their own kind.
A sneer curled in the threaded whispers that filled the room, dripping with disdain. "How utterly pathetic," the voice sneered, a venomous edge to its tone that made the air seem colder. The cruel laughter that followed was a sound that echoed with disgust and annoyance. Through tear-blurred eyes, the sad figure remained motionless, their sobs a quiet counterpoint to the taunting voice. "You can sit there and drown in your tears if that's what you want," the voice continued with sadistic kindness. "I won't stop you. But let me plant a seed of reality in that naive heart of yours," it paused, the silence heavy and thick with anticipation.
The voice came again, quieter now but no less piercing, as though it was leaning in close to whisper a dark secret. "Should you harbor the faintest delusion that he'll miraculously return to whisk you away from this despair, then you are a fool." There was a cruel edge of finality as the voice added coldly, "Tsukune is not coming back. He's gone—for good."
Moka wanted to cry.
Her inner voice spoke a truth she longed to ignore: he wasn't coming for her. His absence on that crucial night, when she needed him most, stood as a stark reality. Why would she cling to the hope that he would rescue her now?
On that ominous night, her eyes were pried wide open to an inescapable truth. Although beings such as herself—monsters—lurked in the shadows of reality, fairy tales remained nothing more than beguiling fabrications.
Since childhood, she had been enchanted by the idea of a prince who would look beyond her identity as a vampire and whisk her away to a happily ever after, just like the princesses in the fairy tales she cherished. Yet, it seemed the universe conspired against her, cruelly denying her a joyous existence solely because of her vampiric heritage.
Her hopes struggled to keep pace with the stark reality; the thought of Tsukune returning for her was a fantasy, at best. In the sanctuary of her mind, this dream felt within reach, tangible and true. However, to Moka, voicing such a dream felt akin to reciting from a fairy tale—a story penned for pages, not a destiny she could claim.
Moka then glanced at the source of food to stay alive. Next to her were the rotting corpses of her victims. The corpses that were once rotting away were now a pile of bloody bones.
To her surprise, Moka felt nothing. Not joy, not sadness, or anger.
Just pure deadness on the inside.
Flashback
Crystalline tears pooled down from her emerald eyes, leaving thin streaks down her cheeks and chin as she held an injured Tsukune in her arms. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Forgive me!" she wept, her tears dripping onto his face. "I guess monsters and humans are too different to get along."
Tsukune looked at her with kind and soft eyes. "Don't cry..." he murmured.
"Look at me. I'm a vampire. We suck people's blood and hurt them in the process. The truth is...back at my old school, all I ever wanted was a friend. Human or a monster, I didn't care." She smiled faintly, wiping the dried tears from the corner of her eyes. "But now...I think maybe it isn't possible."
End of Flashback
To say that Moka merely hurt people would be an understatement. She inflicted damage that went far beyond mere harm, and to her own astonishment, she felt profoundly thankful for her actions' intensity.
No apologies.
She owed no explanations, no apologies – not a breath of remorse was due from her side. Yet, this unrelenting expectation lingered that she should don the mantle of contrition, always the first to bow her head in guilty supplication. The gall of it, when not a soul who had marred her life with their wrongdoings had ever mustered the decency to offer her a genuine expression of regret.
Moka nestled into her secluded cocoon of quietude, earbuds snugly nestled in her ears, creating a fortress against the cacophony of raucous and abrasive chatter engulfing her. She gazed, unseeing, through the smudged glass of the train window, her gaze skimming indifferently over the blur of a concrete jungle. Streaks of urban life - the steely bones of towering skyscrapers, the metallic gleam of cars in serpent-like progression, and the fleeting snapshots of the city's ever-shifting visage - all whisked past in a silent film as the train relentlessly carved its path forward.
Late at night when all the world is sleeping
I stay up and think of you
And I wish on a star
That somewhere you are thinking of me too
'Cause I'm dreaming
"Of you…tonight…" Moka crooned, her ivory visage bereft of emotion, as haunting as a wraith under the moon's caress. Her voice, an eerie whisper of desolation, rasped through the stagnant air, each note hollow as if echoing from the depths of an abandoned well. The viridian gaze of her eyes shimmered, yet betrayed no hint of life, as if her soul had been leached away by the very melancholy she exuded. Strands of her saturated hair, the bubblegum pink shade lost to the night's whims, trailed into the water, a watery grave that encouraged them to dance like ethereal tendrils. Engulfed by her own abyss of sorrow, she scarcely mustered the energy to stir, to cleanse her flesh of the day's sins. The vestiges of her grotesque sustenance, dry blood once caked upon her pallid hands and once staining her lips a crimson confession from feasting upon the decayed, had been erased. Yet still, Moka conserved, her consumption measured, calculated – a macabre allotment meant to sustain her damned existence for weeks yet to unfurl.
"Till tomorrow…I'll be holding…you tight…" Moka's voice faltered, the strain transforming her tender melody into a haunting echo. Through the veil of her tears, the world became a watercolor of distorted shapes, each breath staccato against the lump in her throat. She permitted the tears to cascade unchecked, trailing warm paths across her cheeks, descending from her quivering chin to merge with the pond's still waters, sending ripples across the once placid surface.
Moka wiped away the tears that continued falling and exited the pond. She grabbed the black cloak and wrapped it around her soaked body. She pulled the hood over her head and continued off in the direction that led to the quiet town.
Her bare feet kissed the frigid earth rhythmically, each step an echo in the deserted byways of the somnolent town. Not a soul stirred in this nocturnal world where the liveliness of day had surrendered to the stillness of night. The pervasive darkness threatened to swallow her whole, and the occasional lanterns, twinkling like distant stars fallen to earth, offered her a scant sense of security as they pierced through the inky shroud. These beacons signaled a sanctuary for late-night wanderers or, perhaps, for lost souls like her.
The somber echoes of her past atrocities entangled her in the solitude of pitch-black dread. Those secrets, birthed in shadow, loomed in her heart, eternally seeking the amnesty of daylight.
A crisp breeze whispered its cold tales along her path, and she drew her thick cloak tighter, welcoming its meager offering of warmth. Her feet, guided by instinct more than will, traversed through the hush of the forsaken town, until the mouth of an alleyway caught her wary gaze. She recognized in it an imperfect sanctuary, and without hesitation, she turned towards its welcome obscurity. Her weary body leaned against the cool solidity of the brick wall, then sank to the ground with resignation. All the while, her hands trembled, betraying inner turmoil to the shadows that kept her company.
Flashback
"Tsukune…tell me…" Moka began, her gaze locking onto the boy who had stolen her heart. "After we graduate…when we're all grown up…will you still be with me…?" She inched nearer, seeking the warmth of Tsukune's embrace. "Will we still be together…?"
"Of course, Moka."
End Flashback
Moka's breath hitched, a forlorn sob wrenching itself from the very depths of her being as the relentless grip of remembrance ensnared her. Visions of a future brimming with unfulfilled dreams and aspirations flickered before her eyes, all the vibrant experiences she had yearned to embrace once the smothering shroud of war with Fairy Tale had been lifted.
Graduating from Yokai Academy was just one milestone for her; her true endgame, her undivided purpose, was to spend her entire life by Tsukune's side.
Tsukune. Her beloved Tsukune.
Oh, how she longed to see him. To feel his strong and warm arms wrapping around her body once more when they ran to one another. Moka could faintly remember his voice filling her ears when he spoke.
"Don't worry...I'll always be by your side..."
Moka sobbed harder into her hands as his voice filled her memory. He wasn't by her side. He was at the REAL Moka's side. The true Moka.
She yearned with every fiber of her being to be reunited with Tsukune, to remain at his side for eternity. She was willing to sacrifice anything, from the very blood that coursed through her veins to her lustrous hair, her most prized possession. The thought of living without him was so unbearable that she would readily forfeit her own life, even if it meant embracing death, just to have him back with her once more.
"Miss?" called a soft, familiar feminine voice. "Is everything alright?"
Startled and instantly on her guard, Moka's head whipped towards the direction of the voice, causing her to fall off in the process. "M-Moka?"
When her gaze fell upon the solitary figure who, from the outset, had harbored no ill will toward her, a wave of solace washed over her taut nerves. There, framed by the wavering shadows, stood the enigmatic woman she recognized as Mirajane. Her features were etched with concern, eyes scanning with an intensity that betrayed her inner turmoil. Flanking her side was a formidable man, his stature exuding strength. His skin was a burnished shade of tan, like well-worn leather, hinting at a life under the relentless kiss of the sun. Stark white hair crowned his head in a striking contrast, echoing the pallor of Mirajane's luminescent locks, creating a visual harmony between them.
"What are you doing out here? It's about rain." Her gaze softened into a profound tenderness as Mira took in the sight of Moka, the girl's form barely covered and quivering with a palpable fear. She drew closer, her voice dropping to a gentle murmur. "Oh, Moka. What happened to you?" She knelt before the trembling girl, her hands reaching out with delicate care to brush a strand of hair from Moka's face.
Moka's silent sobs began to erupt as Mira enveloped her in a compassionate embrace, holding her close, unmindful of the tears that began to stain her own dress. Protectively, Mira cradled her, a quiet guardian against the girl's storm of emotions, her warmth a refuge from the cold threat of the rain.
With a reassuring squeeze, Mira whispered, "Shhh, it's going to be alright. Let's get you somewhere safe and warm, yeah?" She nodded toward the path leading to their sanctuary, a silent cue to the white-haired man who stood sentinel by their side.
Together, they ventured on, a fragile procession beneath the darkening sky, bound by a silent promise to shield Moka from more than just the coming rain.
At the Strauss Household
"You sure you wanna take her in, sis?" a deep male voice inquired.
Moka lingered in silence at the kitchen table, a statue of despair. The salt trails of bygone tears were etched into her cheeks, and a haunting emptiness haunted her eyes, which glimmered with a frostbitten void. Her gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance, a testament to the numbing abyss that had swallowed her thoughts and emotions whole. The heavy hood shrouded her head like a protective cocoon, a stubborn shield she clung to, unwilling to expose her vulnerability in a world that felt far too dangerous.
"Of course," replied a soft voice, which Moka assumed belonged to Mira. "Listen, I know you saw the way she looked out there. I can't abandon her like this. Not after what happened."
"I'm not saying I have a problem with her staying here, it's just that we hardly even know this girl. We don't even know if she could be up to something."
"Listen to me. You and I both know what it's like to feel abandoned. You might not feel right about this, but she's just a lonely soul who needs help. Besides, she's been through so much, just like all of us. I don't want her to experience being alone and scared, just like all three of us were when we were kids."
"Okay, I guess I can respect your decision," responded the masculine voice. "But are you sure you want her to sleep in the spare room we have? That's Lisanna's room. You do realize that, right? We haven't been in there in almost a year."
"I know, but she needs somewhere to sleep."
Moka listened silently as the Strauss siblings engaged in a heated debate in the adjacent room.
From the way Mirajane tried to reason with her brother, she seemed willing to let her stay, but the other man seemed reluctant to go along with the idea. Moka understood why he didn't trust her.
If she were in his shoes, faced with her father or either of her half-sisters bringing home a mysterious stranger, she too would find it hard to accept such a decision.
Since Moka transformed her attackers into victims and began breaking into homes just to pilfer canned tomatoes, she recognized how easily, from their perspective, she might be deemed a criminal or worse by these people—or anyone else for that matter.
A thief.
A killer.
Or a monster.
Indeed, she was a monster—no doubt about that. A treacherous beast who warranted death. Yet, perhaps even death was too merciful an end, for she endured, weighed down by a crushing shame that had been thrust upon her.
Who could blame him or anyone for that matter?
Mirajane had likely informed him of her otherworldly origins, which were vastly unlike their own. Revealing her true nature would undoubtedly complicate matters further.
The memory of her victims' horrified faces and their lifeless bodies flashed before her eyes. She could still hear their cries and screams of agony echoing in her ears, causing her to shake her head as though trying to tune them out. A vision of herself, covered in their blood from head to toe, filled her mind. She wore a wicked, twisted grin in it, her head tilting to the side. Moka could almost hear the devilish giggle slip past her lips, culminating into full-blown laughter—a macabre satisfaction for her grisly work of art. Her once green eyes now matched the crimson liquid that stained her skin.
A hand landed on her shoulder, jolting her from her dark reverie. Moka's head shot up to look at the perpetrator and relaxed a bit when she saw it was Mirajane, the concern evident in her eyes.
"Are you okay?" Unable to find her voice, she only gave a nod. "Come on, I'll show you where you're going to sleep." With no objection, she allowed Mirajane to lead her to the room in pure silence.
Moka gazed around the impeccably arranged room, filled with a sense of silent wonder. Compared to her old dilapidated shack, this new space exudes warmth and comfort. Given the short time she had experienced such drastic changes, the stark contrast between the two environments amazed her.
In the midst of Moka's awe, a compassionate woman named MiraJane approached her, wearing a gentle smile. Sensing Moka's hesitance, MiraJane endeavored to put her at ease. "Shall we find something comfortable for you to wear?" Mirajane kindly suggested, hoping her words could ease the young girl's anxiety.
Unexpectedly, Mirajane's act of kindness took a different turn. Moka greeted her with a vacant stare instead of responding. Moka's deep-rooted trust issues stemmed from a traumatic event where heartless individuals exploited her vulnerability and took away her innocence. As a result, her perception of people, especially humans, had been profoundly impacted.
Recognizing Moka's lack of trust, Mirajane respected her silence and proceeded with a simple nod. Mirajane searched through a drawer, looking for suitable sleepwear for Moka. Sensing Moka's uncertainty, she asked, "Do you know what size you are?" Hoping for a response, she cast a quick glance behind her.
Moka shook her head, indicating that she had no idea about her size. Unfazed, MiraJane continued her search, hoping to find something appropriate. Finally, she whispered, "Okay...here we go," as she retrieved a white, spaghetti-strapped nightgown. Holding it in front of her, Mirajane tried to visualize Moka wearing it, discreetly assessing its size. "Hm...you don't seem any bigger than a medium," she speculated, attempting to engage the reserved girl in conversation.
Mirajane didn't want to increase the discomfort, so she gently handed the nightgown to Moka. "Here. I'll give you some privacy," she said, stepping out of the room. As Mirajane departed, Moka examined the piece of clothing she held in her hands. She gently traced her thumb along the fabric, feeling its softness.
While clutching the nightgown, memories flooded Moka's mind. It reminded her of a time when she wore a long white dress, one that was tragically stained with blood. This painful memory served as a grim reminder of her past. Her blood mixed with Tsukune's, a boy who had shown her kindness and compassion when everyone else had failed.
Tears welled up in Moka's eyes as she recalled the horrors she had endured.
Moka took a deep breath, trying to push aside the overwhelming memories that threatened to engulf her. She carefully laid the nightgown on the bed and then wiped the tears from her eyes. As she looked around the room, she noticed the soft glow of the bedside lamp and the comforting sight of a cozy armchair in the corner. It was all so different from the cold and unforgiving world she had grown accustomed to.
After composing herself, Moka picked up the nightgown and changed into it, feeling the gentle touch of the fabric against her skin. As she settled onto the bed, she heard a soft knock on the door, and Mirajane stepped back into the room, holding a tray with a steaming cup of tea.
"Hey, I thought you might want some tea to help you relax," Mirajane said softly, setting the tray down on the bedside table. "I hope it's okay. It's just chamomile, so it should be calming."
Moka nodded, offering a small smile of gratitude. She accepted the cup and took a tentative sip, feeling the warmth and soothing flavor ease some of the tension in her body.
Mirajane observed Moka sipping the tea, hoping it would provide some comfort. "I'm here if you need anything," she said, taking a seat nearby. Moka nodded in acknowledgment, her expression a mix of gratitude and vulnerability. The room was filled with a soft, serene atmosphere as they sat silently for a moment.
Mirajane chose her words carefully, respecting the sensitivity of the situation. "I know it must be difficult to adjust to this new environment," she began gently, "but I want you to know that we're here to support you in any way we can." Moka met her gaze briefly, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions.
Taking a deep breath, Moka managed a small nod, signaling her understanding. Mirajane smiled reassuringly and continued, "If there's anything specific you need or prefer, don't hesitate to let me know. We want you to feel comfortable and safe here."
Moka's demeanor softened slightly, indicating that Mirajane's words were starting to make an impact. "T-Tha…Thank…you," Moka whispered softly, her voice barely above a hush. Mirajane nodded, her expression warm and understanding. It was a small step, but the first of many on her journey toward healing and trust.
"Anyway, I'll leave you to rest," Mirajane said, getting up from the chair. "But if you need anything, just let me know, okay?"
Moka nodded once more, feeling a sense of gratitude towards the kind woman who had shown her such unexpected compassion. As the door gently closed behind Mirajane, the pink-haired girl allowed herself to drift into a peaceful slumber, knowing that she was truly safe for the first time in so long.
Sorry for the long wait, guys. I've just been busy with my drawing, going to work, and trying to get all these chapters finished for this story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter ;)