In the Hall of Golden Fortunes [2/5, ShoYou]
Title: In the Hall of Golden Fortunes
Pairing: Jinnai Sho/Omi Youichirou
Rating/Warnings: G/RPS.
Genre: Heian Court Vampire AU. sobs.
Word Count: 3037
Summary: A simple love affair between a princess and a mid-ranking courtier grows increasingly complicated.
--
Chapter 2: In the Words of the Ancients
Copying sutras was tedious and time-consuming, yet it was the only thing that connected him to the Lady Kinkou. He continued to labor at them night after night, lighting lamp after lamp just to scrawl hundreds of meaningless characters for a recipient he was sure could have no need of them, now that she stood at the pinnacle of the world. He had by his own choice ensured that they had gone in separate directions, and now all he could do was fill pages with Buddhist devotions and wish that he had chosen differently. An ordinary woman married to an ordinary man, he would have found a way to claim regardless, but her marriage to the Emperor left her off-limits to him for the rest of her life.
Thanks to his ceaseless writings, he developed a reputation as a very pious and dedicated man almost incidentally, and began receiving invitations to sermons from various surrounding temples, each of which would be more than willing to accept him and however many earthly possessions he might wish to donate to them should he choose to renounce the world rather earlier than most. He usually sent someone to attend the mostly daytime lectures, and reserved his few waking hours for satisfying the minimum of social niceties before returning to his sutras. Twice he copied the Lotus Sutra before he could put the sight of her sleeve in the moonlight out of his mind, and twice more before he began to forget the frenzy her second letter had driven him into. On the fifth repetition the pain of loss had dulled to mundane hopelessness, and he vowed that while he would not forget the promise he had made to her, he would copy no more sutras.
That night, a letter arrived. “How you have toiled, and for such little reward! I confess these sutras, though elegant in form and composition, nonetheless bring me no closer to escaping this fleeting dewdrop world. Perhaps if you have the time, you might devise a lecture by which this foolish and unworldly court lady might learn directly from your good example, o most enlightened of laymen.” The letter was written on a beautiful burgundy sheet, and attached were three autumn leaves, in yellow, red, and green. His heart trembled with reawakening passion and he ran his fingers over the words again and again, scarcely daring to believe them. After scarcely a second’s thought as to the upcoming social calendar, he wrote a response inquiring as to when a great lady of the court might spare enough time to listen to a casual scholar of no great value. He took care with his handwriting, though he was also careful to ensure it appeared casual, unlike his painstakingly rendered sutras. He realized too late that he hadn’t specified nighttimes, and fretted over the possibility that he would have to turn the lady down if she requested a daytime visit.
Fortunately, when the reply came back, she mentioned that a number of priests would be coming to speak to the women of the court on the first night of the waning moon, and he was welcome to join them. She added that he need not disparage his own abilities, as she could tell from his refined way of speaking that he had “lived enough human lives to have a true grasp of impermanence.” He laughed at that. He finished his response saying that he would be honored to join such illustrious company with “Alas, I fear I have lived but the one.” When he finished laughing, he carefully stored the letters in the dark lacquerwood box he kept all of hers in. Out of habit, he began unwinding the next scroll he planned to copy before casting it aside and diving into the collection of more accessible Buddhist works he’d accumulated throughout the years in search of something he could conceivably speak about.
Though he found nothing that spoke to him, he recognized that, as she had suggested, he did have a number of experiences that could be used illustrate impermanence. He began revising some of those into proper parables that wouldn’t overly upset the sensibilities of high-ranking women. He continued to make preparations until the night of the full moon. That night he spent in the company of the priests that had arrived early for the next night’s sermons, listening to them argue about the order they’d present their speeches in and, after an hour of drinking, speculating on whether any of the ladies would be so moved by their words that they’d forget to latch their doors when they finally retired. He pretended to sip his drink and allowed himself to wonder the same thing.
The next night was bitterly cold. Though it did not affect him as it would a mortal, he nevertheless dressed warmly, and bid his attendants to bring several extra robes with them, lest any lady in attendance catch cold. (He chose several thinking of one lady in particular.) The hall chosen for the night’s lecture was drafty, and the curtain that hung between the men and the women was constantly billowing out. He took a seat on the far side of the room, and fancied the flapping curtain revealed for an instant someone moving toward him. He pretended to adjust his position so that he could better see the first speaker, the head priest at Kuramadera, but he was actually slipping closer to the curtain. The man sitting next to him, a provincial fellow named Saikai who had come for the Sacred Readings and not yet returned, caught this and grinned knowingly.
The first few lectures went slowly, and there was a great deal of discussion afterwards, though neither he nor the Lady Kinkou participated. As the night drew on, Saikai began to shiver, and he called for a servant to bring him a spare robe. The monk nodded gratefully to him. A rustling at the curtain caught his attention and a sleeve dropped down, beckoning him. He moved toward it.
“Might you have another such garment at the ready for one unaccustomed to such chill?” He thrilled at the sound of her voice, though only a flush of hot blood gave it away. His voice was perfectly steady when he replied:
“My lady, I fear you have not been listening properly to the night’s lessons. Was it not our last speaker who exhorted those living in luxury not to seek additional comfort? If I leave you to suffer in the cold, madam, it is for the benefit of your future lives.”
“If you intend for me to suffer, I daresay you should send me the robe. My suffering will be greatly increased if I am forced to listen to these sermons without even the delightful misery of this frigid wind to distract me.”
“Then I would be happy to grant your request.” He directed his attendant to deliver the remaining robes to the women’s maids to be distributed among those who needed them. He backed away from the curtain regretfully and half-listened to the end of the discussion while awaiting his turn to speak.
The last man nodded to him as he went back to his seat, and he walked up to the speaker’s position with a touch of nervousness about the tale he was about to tell. Normally it would have been because of the Empress’s presence, but tonight all his attention was focused on how the Lady Kinkou would react. He cleared his throat, and wondered if she’d chosen the unlined chrysanthemum robe, or perhaps the dark scarlet that resembled one of the leaves she’d gifted him with.
“I cannot hope to compete with the luminaries gathered here in terms of knowledge or doctrine, and I remain a sinful man of this world. However, I believe I can offer you one or two instructional tales that may help you along your own paths to salvation.
“This tale has been passed down for many successive generations in my family.” He neglected to mention that he had comprised the majority of those generations, as well as that he was the main figure of the story.
“In a far-off and uncivilized province in the distant west, there once lived a man who was afraid to die. And yet this man took many unnecessary risks, including scouting out dangerous, monster-infested territory for his master, the governor. On one such expedition, he entered a cave to escape a rainstorm, only to find it was already occupied by a terrible fiend. In a flash, it had him pinned against a wall. It opened its mouth to reveal its terrible sharp teeth.
“The man was terrified out of his wits. ‘Please, spare my life,’ he cried, and began praying to every Buddha and bodhisattva he could remember. This amused the creature.
“‘You profess to follow the Path. Why then do you cling to this life?’ The man could give him no respectable answer and continued to wail. The monster laughed at him. ‘So be it. If you are so attached to this life, it is yours permanently.’ So speaking, it lifted him up and plunged him into a pit of searing flame. When it lifted him back out, he was unscathed, and he realized that the creature had made him immortal.
“He returned to his master and continued to live as before. However, though time seemed not to pass for him, his friends and family grew older and died, one by one. Though he grieved outwardly, he did not realize the truth of his situation until the day his only son passed away of old age. On that day, he found himself truly alone in the world. The incredible loneliness was the beginning of his awakening.
“He journeyed to the first great temple in Hokoji and consulted with the head priest about his condition. He was advised to take the tonsure and meditate on the decay he had witnessed. The man sat in quiet thought for one hundred and fifty years, never moving, scarcely even breathing, so that successive generations of monks regarded him as a statue rather than a man. On the first day of the one hundred and fifty-first year, he suddenly opened his eyes, gave a loud shout of “Ah!” and passed away. When the startled monks investigated, they saw that the man’s body had instantly aged upon death, and he was little more than a skeleton. The head monk at that time, the last surviving disciple of the original monk, proclaimed that he had finally found enlightenment and brought an end to his karma. He was sure to be reborn in Paradise.
“So, noble ladies and esteemed gentlemen, I ask you to consider his lessons. Though we may each of us fear death, we must understand that it will come for us, time and time again. The only true way to save one’s self is to reject the cruel world in its entirety, which can only be done through practice and devotion. The other lesson I would have you remember is not to seek danger. Foolish as it may seem to say before you greatest of ladies, the caprices of karma cannot be seen, and none of us can tell where we may end up. We should not luxuriate overmuch, of course,” he said, with a glance at the priest who had spoken out against such things earlier, “but neither should we deliberately seek out trouble when we all no doubt have plenty of unpaid debts from previous existences.” He relaxed, feeling he had spoken well, although he preferred the real ending to the one he’d invented.
“And yet if it was not for his recklessness and his fear, he would not have gained this fantastic power which allowed him to transcend himself, correct?”
He should have been expecting the lady to speak, to seek holes in his imperfectly-crafted story. Nonetheless, she caught him off guard, and only the hours he’d spent laboring over it allowed him to respond. “Of course, it was because of that power. But it was only by the monster’s whim that he received it. It could just as easily have… killed him, at which point he would surely have been reborn, at best, as a lowly animal.”
“I see.” She sounded less than convinced, and another of the Empress’s high ranking servants asked what other stories he could provide them with. Slightly discouraged, he told a short story about a woman who pined for her lover, and in doing so, grew weaker and weaker until she died at the very moment she saw his face. This led to great debate between the Empress and the Kuramadera priest, and he silently slipped back to his spot in the corner. His attendant immediately came to him, bearing the chrysanthemum robe with a letter tucked inside.
“You will say it is foolishness for me to pursue such peril,” it read, “but I shall not fear the sharp-fanged monster.” His eyebrows rose sharply at these words. On the one hand… she was clearly inviting him to her bed. But it almost sounded as if she knew what he was…
Saikai nudged him. “You speak well, for a layman. I fear you remain too attached to this world yet, however,” he said, gesturing at the letter in his hands. He began to mutter an apology, but the monk waved him off, smiling. “It is my experience that regrets make a body’s first steps toward the path increasingly unsteady.”
He found himself trusting the man for some reason, enough to say, “I would not cast off this life without knowing her, and yet - and yet I have no opportunities to pursue her.”
“I am next to speak. I will ensure that you may speak together without anyone else noticing.” Before he could ask how he planned to do that, the monk rose, gave a short bow, and continued to the front of the room as his name was called.
Her sleeve was dangling outside the curtain again, and as he edged closer, Saikai began to speak, quietly, yet with a strange forcefulness. It grew steadily louder and louder until he had to tear his eyes off the man and focus all his attention on the sleeve. He marveled at the man’s talent, and silently decided to make offerings to his temple in gratitude.
The rosy fabric began to retreat upwards and he grabbed a hold of it without thinking, startling an “Oh!” out of her. He hoped everyone on the other side of the curtain was just as spellbound as the listeners on this side were, and hadn’t heard.
“My apologies, lady. Now that you have risen so high in the world, I must enlist the aid of the holiest of men to speak to you with the barest semblance of privacy.”
“What sinful behavior. You claim to help me towards a path free of worldly desires, yet you would drag me ever deeper into them.” She pulled at her sleeve, sounding slightly irritated. He hoped it was just for show.
“Did I not promise that my heart would be yours always? I wish only to know what it would take to be worthy of you. By what means might I earn the honor of embracing you? What feats would you have me perform before you would consider me worth the risk?” As he spoke, he reached up, fingers drifting between several silken layers until his hand met hers. Despite her earlier complaints of the chill, her skin was warm. Her fingers folded over his and he realized that her hands must be just as big, if not bigger than his. As the silence between them stretched, all he wanted was to see her, to be alone with her and just speak, without formalities or curtains of state standing between them.
“I confess myself perplexed,” she said at last. “Surely you cannot have misunderstood - even now I would give you everything, in exchange for nothing.” Her voice was low, and he could hear the longing in it. He ran his tongue nervously over his fangs. “Yet though you speak pretty words of desire, you do not move to take.”
His grip on her hand tightened as he searched for an appropriate response and she let out a soft noise of pain. Immediately he loosened his grip, though he couldn’t bring himself to let go of her entirely. “I apologize. It is just that - I am afraid. I am afraid we would be found out, but more than that, I am afraid of hurting you. I know that I am more than capable of it.”
“And it would set your heart at ease if I had you complete some monumental task first? You would feel more justified in accidentally taking my life if I had you risk yours first?” She brought her other hand up to clasp his between both of hers. He wished he knew what she was thinking, could see the expression on her face. The gentle, steady pressure of her hands and the warmth of her skin was all he had, and it wasn’t enough. “As it is, I have seen much in my travels, and I do believe myself quite equal to what you are capable of. I do not fear the sharp-fanged monster.” Her tone made obvious what her last note had not - she knew what he was. Before he could say anything, she continued, “Nor do I see you as one.” She pulled away until maintaining his grip on her hand meant that he had his upper body pressed flush against the curtain. Then the curtain pushed back against him and he realized to his shock that she was kissing him through it. He closed his eyes and moved his mouth against the imprint of hers, searching the rough fabric for the softness of her lips. She guided his hand towards her chest, and they remained like that, him searching and never quite finding, her holding steady and completely still, until at last she drew back. “Do what you must, to feel yourself worthy. I will be waiting.”
He heard her footsteps retreating lightly, and when Saikai was finished speaking, he did the same.
Next chapter→
Pairing: Jinnai Sho/Omi Youichirou
Rating/Warnings: G/RPS.
Genre: Heian Court Vampire AU. sobs.
Word Count: 3037
Summary: A simple love affair between a princess and a mid-ranking courtier grows increasingly complicated.
--
Chapter 2: In the Words of the Ancients
Copying sutras was tedious and time-consuming, yet it was the only thing that connected him to the Lady Kinkou. He continued to labor at them night after night, lighting lamp after lamp just to scrawl hundreds of meaningless characters for a recipient he was sure could have no need of them, now that she stood at the pinnacle of the world. He had by his own choice ensured that they had gone in separate directions, and now all he could do was fill pages with Buddhist devotions and wish that he had chosen differently. An ordinary woman married to an ordinary man, he would have found a way to claim regardless, but her marriage to the Emperor left her off-limits to him for the rest of her life.
Thanks to his ceaseless writings, he developed a reputation as a very pious and dedicated man almost incidentally, and began receiving invitations to sermons from various surrounding temples, each of which would be more than willing to accept him and however many earthly possessions he might wish to donate to them should he choose to renounce the world rather earlier than most. He usually sent someone to attend the mostly daytime lectures, and reserved his few waking hours for satisfying the minimum of social niceties before returning to his sutras. Twice he copied the Lotus Sutra before he could put the sight of her sleeve in the moonlight out of his mind, and twice more before he began to forget the frenzy her second letter had driven him into. On the fifth repetition the pain of loss had dulled to mundane hopelessness, and he vowed that while he would not forget the promise he had made to her, he would copy no more sutras.
That night, a letter arrived. “How you have toiled, and for such little reward! I confess these sutras, though elegant in form and composition, nonetheless bring me no closer to escaping this fleeting dewdrop world. Perhaps if you have the time, you might devise a lecture by which this foolish and unworldly court lady might learn directly from your good example, o most enlightened of laymen.” The letter was written on a beautiful burgundy sheet, and attached were three autumn leaves, in yellow, red, and green. His heart trembled with reawakening passion and he ran his fingers over the words again and again, scarcely daring to believe them. After scarcely a second’s thought as to the upcoming social calendar, he wrote a response inquiring as to when a great lady of the court might spare enough time to listen to a casual scholar of no great value. He took care with his handwriting, though he was also careful to ensure it appeared casual, unlike his painstakingly rendered sutras. He realized too late that he hadn’t specified nighttimes, and fretted over the possibility that he would have to turn the lady down if she requested a daytime visit.
Fortunately, when the reply came back, she mentioned that a number of priests would be coming to speak to the women of the court on the first night of the waning moon, and he was welcome to join them. She added that he need not disparage his own abilities, as she could tell from his refined way of speaking that he had “lived enough human lives to have a true grasp of impermanence.” He laughed at that. He finished his response saying that he would be honored to join such illustrious company with “Alas, I fear I have lived but the one.” When he finished laughing, he carefully stored the letters in the dark lacquerwood box he kept all of hers in. Out of habit, he began unwinding the next scroll he planned to copy before casting it aside and diving into the collection of more accessible Buddhist works he’d accumulated throughout the years in search of something he could conceivably speak about.
Though he found nothing that spoke to him, he recognized that, as she had suggested, he did have a number of experiences that could be used illustrate impermanence. He began revising some of those into proper parables that wouldn’t overly upset the sensibilities of high-ranking women. He continued to make preparations until the night of the full moon. That night he spent in the company of the priests that had arrived early for the next night’s sermons, listening to them argue about the order they’d present their speeches in and, after an hour of drinking, speculating on whether any of the ladies would be so moved by their words that they’d forget to latch their doors when they finally retired. He pretended to sip his drink and allowed himself to wonder the same thing.
The next night was bitterly cold. Though it did not affect him as it would a mortal, he nevertheless dressed warmly, and bid his attendants to bring several extra robes with them, lest any lady in attendance catch cold. (He chose several thinking of one lady in particular.) The hall chosen for the night’s lecture was drafty, and the curtain that hung between the men and the women was constantly billowing out. He took a seat on the far side of the room, and fancied the flapping curtain revealed for an instant someone moving toward him. He pretended to adjust his position so that he could better see the first speaker, the head priest at Kuramadera, but he was actually slipping closer to the curtain. The man sitting next to him, a provincial fellow named Saikai who had come for the Sacred Readings and not yet returned, caught this and grinned knowingly.
The first few lectures went slowly, and there was a great deal of discussion afterwards, though neither he nor the Lady Kinkou participated. As the night drew on, Saikai began to shiver, and he called for a servant to bring him a spare robe. The monk nodded gratefully to him. A rustling at the curtain caught his attention and a sleeve dropped down, beckoning him. He moved toward it.
“Might you have another such garment at the ready for one unaccustomed to such chill?” He thrilled at the sound of her voice, though only a flush of hot blood gave it away. His voice was perfectly steady when he replied:
“My lady, I fear you have not been listening properly to the night’s lessons. Was it not our last speaker who exhorted those living in luxury not to seek additional comfort? If I leave you to suffer in the cold, madam, it is for the benefit of your future lives.”
“If you intend for me to suffer, I daresay you should send me the robe. My suffering will be greatly increased if I am forced to listen to these sermons without even the delightful misery of this frigid wind to distract me.”
“Then I would be happy to grant your request.” He directed his attendant to deliver the remaining robes to the women’s maids to be distributed among those who needed them. He backed away from the curtain regretfully and half-listened to the end of the discussion while awaiting his turn to speak.
The last man nodded to him as he went back to his seat, and he walked up to the speaker’s position with a touch of nervousness about the tale he was about to tell. Normally it would have been because of the Empress’s presence, but tonight all his attention was focused on how the Lady Kinkou would react. He cleared his throat, and wondered if she’d chosen the unlined chrysanthemum robe, or perhaps the dark scarlet that resembled one of the leaves she’d gifted him with.
“I cannot hope to compete with the luminaries gathered here in terms of knowledge or doctrine, and I remain a sinful man of this world. However, I believe I can offer you one or two instructional tales that may help you along your own paths to salvation.
“This tale has been passed down for many successive generations in my family.” He neglected to mention that he had comprised the majority of those generations, as well as that he was the main figure of the story.
“In a far-off and uncivilized province in the distant west, there once lived a man who was afraid to die. And yet this man took many unnecessary risks, including scouting out dangerous, monster-infested territory for his master, the governor. On one such expedition, he entered a cave to escape a rainstorm, only to find it was already occupied by a terrible fiend. In a flash, it had him pinned against a wall. It opened its mouth to reveal its terrible sharp teeth.
“The man was terrified out of his wits. ‘Please, spare my life,’ he cried, and began praying to every Buddha and bodhisattva he could remember. This amused the creature.
“‘You profess to follow the Path. Why then do you cling to this life?’ The man could give him no respectable answer and continued to wail. The monster laughed at him. ‘So be it. If you are so attached to this life, it is yours permanently.’ So speaking, it lifted him up and plunged him into a pit of searing flame. When it lifted him back out, he was unscathed, and he realized that the creature had made him immortal.
“He returned to his master and continued to live as before. However, though time seemed not to pass for him, his friends and family grew older and died, one by one. Though he grieved outwardly, he did not realize the truth of his situation until the day his only son passed away of old age. On that day, he found himself truly alone in the world. The incredible loneliness was the beginning of his awakening.
“He journeyed to the first great temple in Hokoji and consulted with the head priest about his condition. He was advised to take the tonsure and meditate on the decay he had witnessed. The man sat in quiet thought for one hundred and fifty years, never moving, scarcely even breathing, so that successive generations of monks regarded him as a statue rather than a man. On the first day of the one hundred and fifty-first year, he suddenly opened his eyes, gave a loud shout of “Ah!” and passed away. When the startled monks investigated, they saw that the man’s body had instantly aged upon death, and he was little more than a skeleton. The head monk at that time, the last surviving disciple of the original monk, proclaimed that he had finally found enlightenment and brought an end to his karma. He was sure to be reborn in Paradise.
“So, noble ladies and esteemed gentlemen, I ask you to consider his lessons. Though we may each of us fear death, we must understand that it will come for us, time and time again. The only true way to save one’s self is to reject the cruel world in its entirety, which can only be done through practice and devotion. The other lesson I would have you remember is not to seek danger. Foolish as it may seem to say before you greatest of ladies, the caprices of karma cannot be seen, and none of us can tell where we may end up. We should not luxuriate overmuch, of course,” he said, with a glance at the priest who had spoken out against such things earlier, “but neither should we deliberately seek out trouble when we all no doubt have plenty of unpaid debts from previous existences.” He relaxed, feeling he had spoken well, although he preferred the real ending to the one he’d invented.
“And yet if it was not for his recklessness and his fear, he would not have gained this fantastic power which allowed him to transcend himself, correct?”
He should have been expecting the lady to speak, to seek holes in his imperfectly-crafted story. Nonetheless, she caught him off guard, and only the hours he’d spent laboring over it allowed him to respond. “Of course, it was because of that power. But it was only by the monster’s whim that he received it. It could just as easily have… killed him, at which point he would surely have been reborn, at best, as a lowly animal.”
“I see.” She sounded less than convinced, and another of the Empress’s high ranking servants asked what other stories he could provide them with. Slightly discouraged, he told a short story about a woman who pined for her lover, and in doing so, grew weaker and weaker until she died at the very moment she saw his face. This led to great debate between the Empress and the Kuramadera priest, and he silently slipped back to his spot in the corner. His attendant immediately came to him, bearing the chrysanthemum robe with a letter tucked inside.
“You will say it is foolishness for me to pursue such peril,” it read, “but I shall not fear the sharp-fanged monster.” His eyebrows rose sharply at these words. On the one hand… she was clearly inviting him to her bed. But it almost sounded as if she knew what he was…
Saikai nudged him. “You speak well, for a layman. I fear you remain too attached to this world yet, however,” he said, gesturing at the letter in his hands. He began to mutter an apology, but the monk waved him off, smiling. “It is my experience that regrets make a body’s first steps toward the path increasingly unsteady.”
He found himself trusting the man for some reason, enough to say, “I would not cast off this life without knowing her, and yet - and yet I have no opportunities to pursue her.”
“I am next to speak. I will ensure that you may speak together without anyone else noticing.” Before he could ask how he planned to do that, the monk rose, gave a short bow, and continued to the front of the room as his name was called.
Her sleeve was dangling outside the curtain again, and as he edged closer, Saikai began to speak, quietly, yet with a strange forcefulness. It grew steadily louder and louder until he had to tear his eyes off the man and focus all his attention on the sleeve. He marveled at the man’s talent, and silently decided to make offerings to his temple in gratitude.
The rosy fabric began to retreat upwards and he grabbed a hold of it without thinking, startling an “Oh!” out of her. He hoped everyone on the other side of the curtain was just as spellbound as the listeners on this side were, and hadn’t heard.
“My apologies, lady. Now that you have risen so high in the world, I must enlist the aid of the holiest of men to speak to you with the barest semblance of privacy.”
“What sinful behavior. You claim to help me towards a path free of worldly desires, yet you would drag me ever deeper into them.” She pulled at her sleeve, sounding slightly irritated. He hoped it was just for show.
“Did I not promise that my heart would be yours always? I wish only to know what it would take to be worthy of you. By what means might I earn the honor of embracing you? What feats would you have me perform before you would consider me worth the risk?” As he spoke, he reached up, fingers drifting between several silken layers until his hand met hers. Despite her earlier complaints of the chill, her skin was warm. Her fingers folded over his and he realized that her hands must be just as big, if not bigger than his. As the silence between them stretched, all he wanted was to see her, to be alone with her and just speak, without formalities or curtains of state standing between them.
“I confess myself perplexed,” she said at last. “Surely you cannot have misunderstood - even now I would give you everything, in exchange for nothing.” Her voice was low, and he could hear the longing in it. He ran his tongue nervously over his fangs. “Yet though you speak pretty words of desire, you do not move to take.”
His grip on her hand tightened as he searched for an appropriate response and she let out a soft noise of pain. Immediately he loosened his grip, though he couldn’t bring himself to let go of her entirely. “I apologize. It is just that - I am afraid. I am afraid we would be found out, but more than that, I am afraid of hurting you. I know that I am more than capable of it.”
“And it would set your heart at ease if I had you complete some monumental task first? You would feel more justified in accidentally taking my life if I had you risk yours first?” She brought her other hand up to clasp his between both of hers. He wished he knew what she was thinking, could see the expression on her face. The gentle, steady pressure of her hands and the warmth of her skin was all he had, and it wasn’t enough. “As it is, I have seen much in my travels, and I do believe myself quite equal to what you are capable of. I do not fear the sharp-fanged monster.” Her tone made obvious what her last note had not - she knew what he was. Before he could say anything, she continued, “Nor do I see you as one.” She pulled away until maintaining his grip on her hand meant that he had his upper body pressed flush against the curtain. Then the curtain pushed back against him and he realized to his shock that she was kissing him through it. He closed his eyes and moved his mouth against the imprint of hers, searching the rough fabric for the softness of her lips. She guided his hand towards her chest, and they remained like that, him searching and never quite finding, her holding steady and completely still, until at last she drew back. “Do what you must, to feel yourself worthy. I will be waiting.”
He heard her footsteps retreating lightly, and when Saikai was finished speaking, he did the same.
Next chapter→