Calling Hakubo her husband, smiling provocatively despite his lack of reaction, picking up dying animals just so they would feel sad when she was gone, she was cruel, shameless, barbaric, despotic, nothing like the cute, tragic kannagi she acted like.
Persistent too, she had a habit of prodding at him, while they were in bed or lying in a field of flowers. She would trace his ribs with her nails and pinch at his stomach, loom over him with a sadistic smile and irritating words — “Is someone ticklish?” — while he stared back, blankly. Once, when Sumire was drawing shapes on his back, he felt his lips twitch, and she didn’t stop looking pleased about it for another half a decade.
Not only that, but she would ask him to reciprocate, to “tickle” her, claiming it was part of his husband duties. She would blush and squirm and wring her hands, all a display. He wouldn’t give in. It was just another of Sumire’s whims, like requesting a romantic night on her last day alive, or asking him to go to hell for her.
Then they sacrificed her. So, he did.
Maybe Hakubo did care about her; he’d preserved her, despite his intention, despite her desires, in a repeating world that refused to let her die. He avoided her for one hundred years, and then he found her again, under a flurry of cherry blossoms.
He brought Sumire shelter in a cave, admitted that he had been suffering for a hundred years, and kept his promise.
“Ah—! EEHehehe, Hahakuboho! That tihihickles!”
He “hmph”ed, clawing down her sides and hips and pulling squeals and smiles from her. “Don’t act cute. Yer the one who wanted this.”
“Ahehehee~ youhouhou rehemembehered,” she giggled.
Furred hands squeezed her thighs like he’d practiced. Clutching his sleeves, she tossed her head back and rolled, eyes moist and crinkled shut.
Swallowed by her hair, Sumire was as delicate and difficult as he remembered. He only stopped when her breathing became ragged, and she melted against the cave wall.
He loomed over her as she huffed and trembled, giddy. “Are ya happy?”
She reached for him, brushing his ear, and grinned. “This has been eating at you all this time.” Her hand cupped his cheek, eyes an adoring, hollow blue. “Of course I’m happy.”
His eyes following, he covered Sumire’s hand with his own. He took in her resigned smile. “This time, I mean it.” He closed his hand around her wrist. “I’m gonna take you for myself.” He dragged her closer, cradled her to his chest, and bit down on her throat.
Morsel by morsel, he consumed her, as was his assignment. She didn’t cry or beg, not a peep, an echo of that day. Her blood dripped from his claws and clung to his cheek. Her warm flesh grew cold on his lips as his teeth tore it from her bones.
