⤜ detestable black·. ･ﾟ*.
every step he takes is unnecessarily arrogant, &&. unnecessarily calculated; he sees this as nothing more than a game. this bold nature of hers – all he can look upon it with is disgust &&. amusement of the freshest variety. she’s a weary soul, isn’t she? so burdened by not only with the memories of his former master ( &&. oh, how vile they were. but is nothing less expected from the being who had began the first step in this pitiful tragedy ), but countless times where she had experienced death &&. the countless losses of those dearest to her, hopeless to stop it. her despair, her exasperation – that glare. it’s food for the soul; a hearty meal consisting of other’s suffering, &&. how he so rejoiced in it.
( he wonders: does she believe this is bravery? staring at him with such a burning gaze, with her fists clenched so tightly in vitriol? does she believe this will oppose him? )
❝ cutting my monologue so short, favoring eyes? how cruel of you. ❞
( as if that would change anything – even if he never planned to say such things from the start. but the thought is funny, isn’t it? )
footsteps soon die as he stops in his tracks; red, for once, fails to coat the hands of the serpent before her, yet they hang so free of care. as if there had been no scent of death forever etched into his soul, no screams buzzing in his ears. in it’s own right, the rows &&. rows of whitened flowers would be stained with crimson for every step that he takes; his presence should contaminate these symbols of loss &&. heartbreak &&. unexpressed words that a cowardly heart could never reach out. petals should wilt, be torn apart, die under the touch of so much his skin – but alas, such is not the case. that does not mean he doesn’t hesitate from doing so with his boot, however – the final step crushing a dandelion under the surface &&. digging it into this endless’ word’s very foundation, forcing it back from once where it was created.
here stand the hero &&. the villain – but is it a stalemate? time would only tell, but there was more than enough of it here to decide. never-ending was the haze, after all, &&. never-ending was clearing’s blatant distaste for that eye ability of hers. his gaze is quick as it hones in on the subtle movements against her cheekbones, &&. serpentine pupils narrow into threatening slits.
❝ but i digress; such a display of recklessly bold behavior can only come from an ability that proves to be just as vexing. tell me — are you proud of it? or do you regard it with regret?
in a loop as worthless as this, i can only begin to imagine what must be going through that empty head of yours. ❞
just the very presence of the serpent brings a look of disdain upon the brunette’s features. she watches him with little movement of her own, gaze only falling to watch the dandelion under his heel be crushed to a pulp of nothing more than simple reminder of what had been. but that’s just his specialty, isn’t it? ruining and ruining, leaving only memories one could only hope to live to continue remembering. that simple display of power... was he telling her to know her place? was he flaunting the actions of one whom wins a game over and over again... of how victors are the ones that can continue forward, no matter the ruins in their wake?
although they are alone and he has nothing to gain from his taunts, the serpent approaches her as if hunter and prey. somewhere, in that empty husk of hers, she finds it almost laughable how much this creature from hell desires to display power. time and time again, he does it without fail. is it in his very nature to attempt at playing superior? ( just as it is in her nature to love despite the losses? ) there is no one to witness this display than she herself and the snake she bears within her. does he wish to engrave his arrogance in every crevice of her memory? was it to strike fear, even in the her of another time?
he should know better than anyone just how cowardly the hero that stands before him is. she has no comrades to call her own, no one to cry to for help. ayano, clad in the red of the heat, the snake, the suffocating muffler and her own blood... the ayano of the here and now is but a shell of one whom believed perseverance would be key to everything. this supposed hero stands on her last legs, acknowledging but never accepting her failures.
by all means, call this girl pathetic.
she lays in the tatters of her own torn innocence, pieces she stole from others mixing together forming an ugly black. what he may call bravery is nothing more than resignation. waiting is all she’s done and waiting is all she can do now, in hopes for a better tomorrow. she can’t urge time to reset, after all. an idle hero is all she’s ever, pathetically been.
his hissing words unfortunately refuse to fall on deaf ears, crimson irises that had trailed to the ruined dandelion slowly meet his own pair of threatening red. there is silence for a beat more, and then she breathes a heavy sigh, fingertips falling from her cheek to her side.
❝ i guess people like you enjoy hearing themselves talk, don’t they? what is it that you want to hear from me? of how horrible azami’s memories are? do you want to hear me cry and listen to my pleas for this all to end? ❞ oh, if only he had come for his friendly visit hours ago. but, ah, how could she know time when time stands still here?
“did you come here looking for your final ‘meal?’ you’ve already had your fill of their pains and sorrows... were you looking for mine too?” her teeth grit, a flash of anger running across her otherwise expressionless visage. “as if i’d give you that satisfaction.”
