This is the sideblog where I'm going to reblog things I want to look at later; while it is for my own pleasure and use, you are welcome to also look at it. However, please beware that while some of what I will find inspiring is flowers, forests or pretty skies, there will probably be some gruesome or at least disquieting stuff in here every so often.
Please be warned that while things will be tagged, things will be tagged to categorise them for my own use and finding ease, not for public warning.
Author's Note: June 3 @unwholesomeocweek - Necrophilia. AO3 Link
Every now and then, Wynter desires something more than blood to satiate her thirst.
Content Warnings: Necrophilia, murder, strangulation, smut, references to Night Road, Elena Prodan, Aila mention.
It was time again. She could feel it in her Blood. That strange calling, that lustful yearning for something more than satiating her thirst. She wondered if part of this was Aila’s doing, and that her body which housed the elder’s soul was infested. Was her Blood thickening quicker, so that soon she would no longer be able to stomach bagged blood and blood let? Yet she knew that this hunger had always been within her, tamed by her uncle, then let loose again into the wild when she had turned. My god, if only he could see her now, what would he think?
Wynter stirred from her dreamless sleep, making out the various silhouettes in the dark that she had grown accustomed to. Elena’s arms wrapped and legs locked around hers. She turned to her side, pressing her cold, inanimate lips against her ghoul’s, stealing her warmth, the slickness of her saliva, and feeling the buck of her hips as she squeezed her nipple between her fingers.
“Fuck, babe,” Elena sighed. “Any plans for tonight, or could we lay in?”
She hissed as Wynter stroked her sensitive spot through the damp fabric of her panties, her touch chilled as ice.
“Hunting season,” she murmured between kisses, hearing Elena groan with disappointment at her reply.
“Ugh, come on, girl…” her ghoul whined. “Quit being a fucking clam jam!”
By now, the gusset of Elena’s underwear was soaked. A pity, really, but it had to be done. Tonguing Elena’s lip piercing, Wynter gave her bud a light pinch, causing her to jolt in response. Then, she sat up on her bed and tugged her clothes on.
“Fucking tease,” Elena grumbled, languorously following suit.
Still, Wynter never apologized.
Was it fair? No.
Did she like her? Maybe.
Was she using her? Yes.
Shrugging, she stated, “There'll be plenty of time for that later. Tonight, I need you to clean up for me.”
Elena huffed, but nodded, ruffling the wispy, platinum blonde strands of her pixie cut before she stretched her arms out and yawned.
Cruising along the streets in her ghoul’s Datsun, they parked at the start of a predefined route that Wynter had mapped out previously like a fairground. A route that she knew like the back of her hand. She had memorized the layout with its entrances and exits, the choke points and open areas that gave the illusion of breathing space.
What was the point of hunting if she did not prepare for it? People often blamed bad weather, bad timing, bad setups, bad aim, when really, all of it could have been prevented by rolling up their sleeves and putting in the ground work. Work that she knew all too well when she had cut her teeth as a courier, including her much-illustrious stint in Tucson. To leave it to fate was to watch every golden opportunity fade into the wind.
With a little more color and vigor to her now, Wynter stepped out of the car, allowing her body to acclimatize itself to the imitation of being human. As she swung the door shut, Elena saluted her before circling around the block, keeping an eye out until she would be needed again.
Tuning into her keen senses, she assessed her surroundings. It was a little far out from the center of town, which meant that the neighborhood was not too lively, but not entirely desolate either. Surrounded by oak and maple trees, there was a gas station built in the ’50s with a late night diner attached, serving dishwater coffee and greasy fast food. Beside it was a dingy bar that had seen better days, but its cheap drinks and pool tables made it a relatively popular haunt for students. Outside of this were a bunch of small buildings, both owned and empty, that scattered across the main road. Further up was a dirt road with a secluded graveyard and long, flat plains.
It was still early in the evening that she could see vehicles passing by, unloading then driving off, guests trickling in and out of the establishments, loitering around to smoke and enjoy the cool breeze, or heading onward to other destinations. So many places to be, so many sights to see. There was plenty of time to take her pick of the litter. Wynter hummed, smelling the corn sweat and sour decay of the season’s leaves in the air. Then, overlapping it, the distinct aromas of those standing closest to her. They were malleable, shaping and shifting as she drew nearer.
It was always a gamble with what would set her off. The scent of cologne, the smoke from a cigarette, a lock of lustrous hair, toughened, wizened hands, the pout of a Cupid’s bow. The list went on. There was an unpredictability and randomness to it. Something she couldn’t exactly plan for. It kept her on her toes—she liked that.
This time, it’s the color of his eyes. Electric blue, like a flash of lightning in a tornadic storm. A look that could pierce her whole. He’s young, even younger than when she had been Embraced. Someone with the rest of his life ahead of him. Arriving on his own, he stumbled over his feet like a newborn duckling as he shuffled into the bar. She trailed behind him, keeping her distance and avoiding the uneasy stares of the patrons around her.
Shy and awkward in his mannerisms, he couldn’t even look the bartender in the eye when he ordered a drink. He glanced around the room as if he were waiting for a date, but recognized nobody. There wasn’t a reason to check his phone, Wynter knew, because he didn’t have anyone. He exuded a quiet sensitivity that made her debate whether he sketched portraits or scribbled poems under the covers when everyone had gone to sleep. She tracked his patterns, how long it took him to finish his drink, whether he would order another, and the intervals when he used the restroom.
Just as he was fidgeting with a restlessness that indicated he might leave, she swanned over, casually brushing against his shoulder as if it were an accident. It was enough to catch his startled gaze as she burrowed under, branching into all of his senses, his extremities, feeling the nakedness of his conscience merge into her own. In a split second, his eyes darted away, the fear of intimacy making him blush.
Wynter gave him a smirk as she continued past nonchalantly, letting the sensations he experienced wash over hers in a shared bond. There was the taste of bitter hops on her tongue, and a sudden lurch in her gut, as if she were free falling. She had marked him, and now he was hers.
It didn’t take long for him to wrap it up for the night, paying for his tab before walking out the front door. She followed his tracks, but went off in the opposite direction, and waited at a point further along the road. When she saw him reach into his pocket for his phone, possibly to get a ride, she whistled softly, like a call she had learned for hunting game.
When he peered up in her direction, she had gone, causing him to frown and scratch his head, as if he had imagined it. Only then did she reappear, like a ghost flicking under the street lamp. Coyly, she placed one foot directly in front of the other, heel-to-toe, and then again, repeating the process before shifting her weight and twisting her body with the sway of her hips. He heard the sliver of a giggle as she beckoned him, and he swallowed hard, intrigued by this strange apparition.
As he moved toward her, Wynter pivoted on her heel and strode off briskly. Each time he picked up the pace, she matched it, and soon, he gave chase, yelling after her, “Hey, wait!”
He was so absorbed in catching up that he didn’t realize she had vanished. When he came to halt, crouching over with his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath, he found himself completely alone on a narrow and unknown footpath. Sweat poured down his brow and he could feel the burn in his legs. He fished out his phone again, the screen light illuminating his anxious face, but before he could find his bearings, a petrifying growl erupted from behind him.
He caught sight of Wynter, harrowing and grotesque in her true monstrosity. Her jaw was extended into an uncanny position, as if the slit of her mouth had ripped at the sides, and froth dribbled down her elongated fangs. Without a second thought, he screamed and bolted forward, sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him.
She pursued him, gaining in speed, but held back to a nominal degree, just to grant him the false hope that he might escape. Like this, she toyed with her victim, enclosing in upon him, driving him to the spot where he needed to be. At last, she saw it nearing, the metal gates of the cemetery that had been serendipitously left open, inviting them into its arms.
A cry rang out as the man tripped over the slab of a gravestone, and he tumbled face flat onto the ground. As he tried to scramble to his feet, she spun him around and pounced on top of him, before winding a wire rope around his neck. He struggled against her grasp, and although she was of a smaller physique, his exhaustion coupled with the element of surprise put him at a disadvantage.
With all her strength, Wynter tightened the garrote, causing him to sputter and choke. She watched in fascination as his eyes bulged, and his face changed shades like fall leaves. First red, then purple, then blue. Tears streaked down his puffy cheeks and saliva drooled from his swollen lips. She lived through his fear, his anger, his sadness, his confusion, as a series of questions arose. Of—Why? Why? Why?
Why me? What do you want with me? Why did it have to be me?
I didn’t do anything wrong. So, why?
Oh god, I don’t want to die. Please, why?
There was a certain melancholy and thrill with taking away the life of someone so young. She didn’t even know his name, yet what she experienced through their uncanny connection was precious to her. Everything he felt while he was strangled to the point of death. The moment of asphyxiation. The way the light left his eyes. The ebb of violence ushering in the sublime. It filled her with such an immense joy, her cup was abundant and overflowing. And soon, her own crimson tears started to fall as she laughed through her sordid weeping, the sounds she made almost indistinguishable from an animal in distress to one in heat.
Wynter rubbed herself against him, the bittersweet arousal coming in thick and heady. Panting and moaning as she felt his muscles convulse before relaxing, the skin along his jaw sagging, making his cheekbones more pronounced. His mud-caked fingers had stopped their clawing and he lay on the tufts of grass beside the headstones, muted and serene, like a sleeping angel.
She wiped away the scarlet droplets that had spilled down her cheeks with the back of her hand, their cloyingly sweet fragrance lingering afoot. Caressing the waxen pallor of his neck, she traced the outline of the garrote which had dug in deep. Her body was moving on its own accord, still grinding against his hips as she leaned over, kissing his frigid gray lips with fervor and devotion.
It only made her hungrier, as she suckled his plump flesh, parting them before licking along his limp and bloated tongue. The bulge in his soiled pants gave her pause, until she vaguely recalled such a phenomenon that occurred after death. Ripping his clothes open, she found his hardened erection, wet with stink and fluids, and gasped wantonly into his mouth.
Lithely, Wynter shed off her undergarments and took him all the way in, hissing at the fullness of his girth. Wrapping her hands around his abused neck, she rocked her hips, riding him viciously and savagely, grunting and yowling as if she were in a frenzy. Within her crushing grip, she felt the spine of his neck crack, and a wave of euphoria flooded every fiber of her being, as she let out a broken wail into the stillborn night.
Shuddering, she lifted herself off him, drawing in rapid, shallow breaths like a remnant of a memory while she redressed. The sweat that oozed from her pores disgusted her, along with the moist patch on her back. The nefarious craving and desire that plagued her had dissipated and she was lucid again. Kindred she met often claimed that no other feeling could compare to the act of drinking, but secretly, she differed. An anomaly among anomalies. Even her diablerie of Aila hadn’t come close to what she felt in her brief incursions.
Kneeling by the corpse, she retrieved her set of syringes from her leg pouch and got to work, extracting it for what it’s worth, not wanting a good source of blood to go to waste. Up until today, she didn’t quite understand what made her so adverse to drinking straight from the tap. What was different from plunging her teeth into a vessel compared to her kind, which she could tolerate? Did she find it unclean? Uncouth? A reminder of a life she no longer had? It had confounded her sire, Chiara, who regarded her habit with disdain, but never once bothered to correct it.
As Wynter fed herself from the tools of her trade, allowing the tepid blood to splash past her throat, an ominous, dark shadow loomed over her. The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end as she stiffened and bristled, readying herself for an attack. Where the hell was Elena? Wasn’t she meant to be keeping watch?
Her ears pricked up as a voice spoke. A voice she knew through and through.
“Tsk tsk, you’re a fussy drinker, ain’t you, princess? You know… if I have to wean you off again, I will. And this time, you can bet your ass it's a promise, doll.”
It was husky, tired, and worn. It was intimate and familiar. It was home.
(partially kicked off me writing that small cyberpunk AU oneshot, tho not related to Galbatorix there. Because he doesn't care to be human and is a proud rogue AI in a hijacked human body.)
Se Navali Šar Planina, performed by Arany Zoltán (macedonian folk song)
Ich Was Ein Chint So Wolgetan by the same (from the Carmina Burana)
@ridiculus-mus
Written for Prompts of Darkness, hosted by myself and @vampemoqueen!
Prompt - Acceptance. AO3 Link
Forced as Dhampyrs to work together, Hailin and Nobuo have never seen eye to eye. An altercation with a gang lord makes them reflect on old prejudices.
Content Warnings: Blood and violence, injury, cannibalism, racist language, hurt/comfort, references to Mage.
Author’s Note: I’m finally writing for Wynter’s mom! It’s fun exploring her younger days before she became the austere figure her daughter knew. For context: Hailin, Nobuo, Soon-hee, and Wai Mun are a group of Dhampyrs who are under elusive orders from their respective Courts to work together.
They had planned for it, meticulously, leaving little to no room for error. That had to count for something under Nobuo’s lead. He wasn’t one to throw caution to the wind, nor did he suffer fools gladly. Priding himself on precision and perfectionism, he controlled the motley crew of dhampyrs, himself included, with an iron hand, and she hated that.
When Hailin thought of Fujiwara Nobuo, she pictured a bone white room, sharp clean lines, and glass so clear that a single ray of light could pierce through it undistorted. It was as if he had cut out the soul from his shell to stay impeccable and pristine, constantly placing himself on a pedestal above them. She hated him all the more for it, and swore that one day she would cause his ruin. It would be her greatest joy to see the back of him, she believed.
For now, she had to keep her head down and obey, like she always did with her family, the mandarins at Court, and every single being in the impossible order of hierarchies she reported to. Hailin let out a despondent sigh, earning her an irritated scowl from Nobuo, and a raised eyebrow in concern from Soon-hee. Wai Mun was already ahead of them, scouting out the place.
A group of dhampyrs walk into the lion’s den—Bao’s den, to be exact—now what could go wrong? Anyone, and that was everyone, who knew Bao spoke of his name in fear and revered whispers in the seedy underbelly of Hong Kong. These nights, he ran a tight ship, the gang he led were ferocious and brutal, unflinching in the face of death. What made them loyal to a fault? Many wondered, but never found the answer.
Just as they approached, a volley of bullets ripped through the air, and in a flurry of movement, each of them narrowly dodged to avoid them. Taking cover, they returned fire at their assailants.
“How the fuck did they expect us? There wasn’t supposed to be anyone along this passage!” Wai Mun yelled in between shots.
“Wasn’t the surveillance cut?” Soon-hee added.
Nobuo remained stoic, but his lip curled in disdain as he replied, “Someone must have tipped them off.”
From the other end, they heard the thundering of footsteps, men shouting and clamoring as they brandished machetes wildly above their heads. They were being surrounded and ambushed. All routes of entrances and exits that they had so laboriously mapped out were rendered useless in a couple of seconds. It was almost as if the gang had predicted their every move.
Who would have sold them out? Hailin struggled to visualize a name or a face of one of their adversaries. There were plenty, but none of them could have figured it out. They had been careful, hadn’t they?
A thug rushed toward her, but she countered him easily, her combat prowess honed from her years of training since young. Grabbing his machete, she sliced the blade into another man's chest, watching him crumple to the floor as blood sprayed across her blouse.
“Cannon fodder,” she remarked without batting an eyelid, and Nobuo nodded curtly in response. These gangsters had been sent over to harass them and detract the group from their real goal.
Wised up, Wai Mun gestured at a small clearing in the path ahead. “Nab the bastard, Fujiwara. I’ll flush these guys out.”
“I’ll stay and cover you,” Soon-hee declared.
“Hailin, with me!” Nobou barked, as he anticipated a break in the gunfire before dashing across at full pelt.
Finding herself once again stuck with her nemesis, she suppressed a grumble of displeasure as her legs carried her in time with his, following closely behind. The two of them made their way past the horde miraculously unscathed, fighting off any stragglers as they ventured deeper into the nest.
Yet for Hailin, there was something exhilarating about such nights, living life in the fast lane, not knowing if she would get to see another day. It was a feeling of freedom in the loud, bustling city of neon lights, jam-packed traffic, and cramped buildings, away from the stuffy Courts she had served at. She wished it could last forever.
Soon, they encountered what they were looking for. Long shadows danced around the walls as Bao gathered his belongings, while a bunch of his fiercest men stood watch, fingers poised around their cleavers and at the trigger. A severe glance from Nobuo cautioned her. He shook his head to emphasize his warning.
Right on cue, she heard that little voice in her head, the one that returned to her in these moments where she walked a tightrope, egging her on.
Forget him. Do it. You’re so close. Don’t you want to see Bao squirming at your feet like the worm he is? Come on. Do it!
Hailin’s penchant for taking high risks often drew the ire of not only Nobuo, but also her father, who had acknowledged her talent, but disapproved of her recklessness. She wondered where her defiance came from. Was it the luck that her kind possessed? The rush and thrill of gambling with it, as if it would never run out?
And so, she attuned herself to the vibrant scarlet energy in her body, bending it to her will as she focused on a cigarette that one of Bao’s cronies was puffing. The room became enshrouded in a thick cloud of smoke as the men scrambled around, baffled, and coughing violently. Seizing the opportunity, she leaped toward Bao, landing with a roundhouse kick to his neck.
Suddenly, she found herself back at her starting position, crouching next to Nobuo, going through the exact same motions as she had done a minute ago. It was as if her mind couldn’t catch up to the physical pull of her body, except this time, Bao was prepared and evaded her strike, causing her to lose her balance, and fall in a heap to the ground.
What the fuck!
Before Hailin could react, a pair of pallid arms, ice cold to the touch, snaked around her waist. She felt her breath punch out of her lungs as she was yanked flush against a chest, then blow after blow of heavy shotgun shells reverberated through her ribs, but there wasn’t any pain. Turning her head, she came face to face with Nobuo, his skin toughened and corpse-like, having called upon the dead, dark art to shield her.
The surprise in his eyes was evident, as if he couldn’t believe that he had just jumped in, sacrificing himself for her. Time seemed to slow down as she peered at him in astonishment, similarly unable to comprehend what he had done. He could have left her to die, and she wouldn’t even have blamed him for it. It was an easy way to get rid of her, after all, and hadn’t that been what he always wanted?
A raucous blast interrupted her reverie, and they watched wide-eyed as Bao screamed and vanished into thin air, sucked into an invisible vortex. There was something uncanny and vulgar about it, like reality had been warped. Hailin heard tales of these strange, shamanistic folk, whose practices were more prevalent than others in the region. So, as it stood, Bao had actually been one of them? But where had he gone to?
By this point, Nobuo was doubled over, groaning in pain as he soaked up the damage. He didn’t have much more to spare. Through gritted teeth, he commanded, “Go! Take the stuff and get out of here! I’ll regroup with you later!”
“Fuji—”
“Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?” he hissed.
Hailin bit her tongue to prevent herself from lashing out. Shoving her to the side, Nobuo opened fire on the remaining gang members with his uzi. The distraction he had caused bought her time to swipe the items of interest from a nearby counter and book it out of the room. If they couldn’t get Bao this time, at the very least, they would have his curiosities to tamper and trade with.
Halfway through the maze of corridors and hallways, she stopped. A sense of unease built up within her, as no matter how much she had previously convinced herself that she would be happier if he were dead, she couldn’t bring herself to leave her teammate behind. Spinning on her heel, she headed back in the direction from where she came.
Drawing near to the location, it was unusually silent, but as her ears pricked up, Hailin could make out the low sound of growling and snarling. Guardedly, she peeked into the room and the sight in front of her made her gasp. Blood and viscera stained Nobuo’s mouth, shirt, and hands, as he feasted on one of the men that he had put down next to him. His jagged teeth chewed into flesh, and spindly claws gripped his knife as he carved it into the victim’s bowels.
He behaved like a rabid dog in his bloodlust, and her P’o lurched forward both in fear and excitement, recognizing one of its own. Hailin covered her mouth in shock. Never in a million years had she thought that someone like Nobuo, who carried himself with such nobility and esteem, would debase himself to such a nature. Alerted to her presence, he finally looked up and met her eyes in a mixture of fury, terror, and defeat.
Having suffered grievous wounds from his altercation with Bao and his men, and running low on the life force he needed to mend them, Nobuo found himself in a precarious position. He was incapacitated with the final bullet in his chamber emptied. Consuming other humans for their Chi was a quick and dirty solution he reserved for situations like these. It was something that filled him with shame, but as long as no one knew, he could tuck it away in a box and never speak of it.
Instead, his crimes had finally caught up to him. The deities were enraged, sending that girl he detested over to mock and brand him as a demon worshipper. Such as his luck would have it. Nobuo let out a bitter laugh as he leaned his head against a pillar.
Who was the ‘dirty savage’ now? he questioned ruefully, recalling the insult he had hurled at her, as well as the ones she spat back during their first meeting. All because they were born on the opposing sides of history.
However, Hailin stood rooted to the ground, staring at him, unblinking. He couldn’t read her thoughts and it made him furious.
“What are you waiting for? Now’s your chance,” Nobuo challenged. He would accept whatever fate was to befall him head-on, honorably and without a shadow of a doubt.
At this, she twisted her mouth and strode toward him. Stooping to his level, she draped his arm over her shoulders, lifting him to his feet and escorting him out. From a safe distance, Hailin set off a homemade explosive to get rid of the traces of evidence before escaping. Nobuo stumbled into her side, limping as she guided him through the passageways. Brows furrowed in a haze of confusion, he blabbered on in protest.
“Shut up!” she snapped, dragging him along more forcefully.
He relented, his constitution still frail and weakened from the fight. By the time Hailin reached Soon-hee and Wai Mun, Nobuo had slipped into unconsciousness. She felt for his pulse, and it was faint, but still present.
“What the hell happened?” Soon-hee exclaimed, assisting Hailin by propping Nobuo up on the other side. Her gaze darted from his grisly, ensanguined face to the gaping holes that riddled his body. Wai Mun was looking on similarly.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Hailin replied tersely, burying his secret with her. “Bao’s disappeared. Some sort of shaman, I think, but we have his trinkets.”
“Right.” Wai Mun nodded, hurrying them toward a getaway van before hopping into the driver’s seat. “We need to beat it. The police will be here any second.”
They shuffled in and tore off the road at breakneck speed, leaving the wails of sirens and their flashing lights behind.
Back at the safehouse, Nobuo drifted in and out of wakefulness over the next few days, gradually recovering as he felt his vitality return to him. Now and then, he heard the murmur of voices of whom he assumed were his associates, caught a blurry glimpse of someone by his side, and picked up the subtle scent of the sea and jasmine.
He dreamed of home and longed for it. The serenity he found in its harsh landscape, rural and unspoiled. The crashing of waves, the white blanket of snow, and the chill in the air that gripped his bones, offering him solace and clarity. Not like the noisy and pungent smells of a city he didn’t belong to, in which he felt so foreign and alone, despite its dense crowds. He had been sent to prove himself, needing to be strong, and never showing an ounce of weakness. Because he was perfect. He always was.
Eventually, when Nobuo roused, he saw the last person he expected in the room with him. For a while, Hailin noticed as he observed her in confoundment and curiosity, but paid him no mind, continuing to busy herself with dressing his wounds, which had mostly healed. She could sense his mistrust in the way he stilled and shrank away from her, as if this were a trap that she had laid out for him.
After a bout of silence, Nobuo sat himself upright. Clearing his throat, he suggested, “You want something in exchange. Is that it?”
He was smart, Hailin had to admit that at least. It wasn’t too far out from what she might have done, had it been under different circumstances. He knew how she played her games, toyed with her subjects like chess pieces, infiltrating them one by one, without them realizing that they had been deceived.
“Sometimes, you do what you have to do, Fujiwara. I’m sure we both know that very well…” she began. Rising from his bedside, she went over to the sink and let the faucet run. Cold water splashed onto her hands, washing them clean. She waited until she had turned the tap off before continuing.
“I’m not telling anyone and there’s no price attached.”
Nobuo uttered a scoff in disbelief as he shifted his gaze away, looking out the window. It was all tarmac, chipped paint, and concrete. Dull and gaudy collectively. “Why?” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “Why are you helping me?”
An audible sigh fell from her lips. Her shoulders slumped and she let her head loll before pulling herself together and regarding him.
“I don’t know,” Hailin responded truthfully. “I should hate you for what your people did to mine, but who’s saying that? Do I really hate you or am I forced to because of somebody else’s hate? Does it make sense? I just… I don’t see why. When you saved me back there, what made you? What made you think of me as anything more than Chinese scum? Do you really believe in that? I called you a devil—”
“A Japanese devil,” Nobuo interjected, though the ghost of a wry smile appeared on his face.
Hailin huffed in exasperation. “Yes, that. I don’t even know what it means anymore. Do you? It’s just words I’m constantly repeating, and I don’t think I feel…” she broke off, holding her breath as she searched his eyes desperately for an answer. Weren’t they the same? Cut them both, and they would bleed.
Her face had gotten hot with embarrassment, a reaction she experienced every time she had an outburst like this. Like a reminder of her vulnerability that she had failed to rein in, to keep her emotions in check. On the one hand, she envied how calm and composed Nobuo seemed, yet on the other, he felt most human to her when she had witnessed him at his lowest.
“I don’t think I can hate you, Hailin,” he said softly. “And believe me, I’ve tried.”
She nodded, understanding the conflict that he had endured with a certain intimacy. Brushing aside the strands of hair from her face, Hailin gave a hint of a smile. Then, she bent her head, saying, “I’m sorry,” even though it came unnaturally to her.
In a similar fashion, Nobuo bowed slightly to acknowledge it, his deep brown eyes reflecting hers. “I apologize.”
There was a hesitance and stiltedness to it, but it was a start.
