Dream--Week 24, Day 2--Gonna Burn This City, Burn This City
It’d been three days since the world crashed down around Youou’s ears. Time--time meant nothing. Pain meant nothing. All he knew now was the acid burn of rage in his throat and the frail weight of his mother’s body crushed tight to his chest. He clutched Ginryu in one hand, daring any foolish enough to try and take her from him.
He’d failed her, once. The memory of that sword spearing through her chest, lifting her in the air as easily as a ragdoll--it haunted him still. He would not fail her again, even in death.
The ruins of his family home crumbled around him; the fire consumed it, uncaring, as it had the rest of his life before. Others--not demons, but interlopers nonetheless--approached, masked men and women armed with steel and shadow. They spoke to him in a language that he had long since deserted, voices pleading--but Youou could no longer discern friend from foe, only bodies to be hewn through like so much meat. And so the shadow men fell, as easily as the demons that had killed his father.
As the last warrior crumpled to the ground, an armor-clad woman with sharp eyes approached him on horseback.
Accompanying her was a young girl who could have been her twin, if not for the round features and delicacy of youth. Youou watched, warily, as they conferred. If the woman dared to attack he would cut her down, like the others--
But it was the girl who turned toward him, lovely and delicate, with smooth hands and flowing hair. His mother’s hair had been like that, once. It had been so long that two maids had been needed to comb it fully, and now he was trailing it in the dirt beside his feet. He stared, transfixed, and the girl met his eyes.
One step closer, and Ginryu stayed lowered at his side, despite his efforts to lift it. The sword would not move, and Youou realized it had nothing to do with how tired he was and everything to do with this deceptively frail-looking little girl. There was power about her, power like his mother had had except--he hated to admit it--more, an ocean of--something--behind her eyes.
Another step, and his lips moved. It could have been anything from stay back to who are you, but his throat was too dry to form words.
A third step, and the girl with soft hands and hair like his mother’s was close enough to touch. “Let’s let your mother sleep, shall we?” she whispered, almost too quiet to hear. Youou froze, a spectator in his own body, as she reached over and--gently, so gently--closed his mother’s eyes.
And just like that, the spell was broken.
[The Hitomi shows Kurogane jolting awake, crimson eyes wide and unseeing. Sweat beads at his temples; his chest rises and falls like a bellows. After a moment he takes a shaking breath and drags a hand over his face, unaware that the small device is still recording.]
Shit.
He’d failed her, once. The memory of that sword spearing through her chest, lifting her in the air as easily as a ragdoll--it haunted him still. He would not fail her again, even in death.
The ruins of his family home crumbled around him; the fire consumed it, uncaring, as it had the rest of his life before. Others--not demons, but interlopers nonetheless--approached, masked men and women armed with steel and shadow. They spoke to him in a language that he had long since deserted, voices pleading--but Youou could no longer discern friend from foe, only bodies to be hewn through like so much meat. And so the shadow men fell, as easily as the demons that had killed his father.
As the last warrior crumpled to the ground, an armor-clad woman with sharp eyes approached him on horseback.
Accompanying her was a young girl who could have been her twin, if not for the round features and delicacy of youth. Youou watched, warily, as they conferred. If the woman dared to attack he would cut her down, like the others--
But it was the girl who turned toward him, lovely and delicate, with smooth hands and flowing hair. His mother’s hair had been like that, once. It had been so long that two maids had been needed to comb it fully, and now he was trailing it in the dirt beside his feet. He stared, transfixed, and the girl met his eyes.
One step closer, and Ginryu stayed lowered at his side, despite his efforts to lift it. The sword would not move, and Youou realized it had nothing to do with how tired he was and everything to do with this deceptively frail-looking little girl. There was power about her, power like his mother had had except--he hated to admit it--more, an ocean of--something--behind her eyes.
Another step, and his lips moved. It could have been anything from stay back to who are you, but his throat was too dry to form words.
A third step, and the girl with soft hands and hair like his mother’s was close enough to touch. “Let’s let your mother sleep, shall we?” she whispered, almost too quiet to hear. Youou froze, a spectator in his own body, as she reached over and--gently, so gently--closed his mother’s eyes.
And just like that, the spell was broken.
[The Hitomi shows Kurogane jolting awake, crimson eyes wide and unseeing. Sweat beads at his temples; his chest rises and falls like a bellows. After a moment he takes a shaking breath and drags a hand over his face, unaware that the small device is still recording.]
Shit.