Archive of Our Own

She must’ve felt this somewhere, sometime ago. The horror crawling along her nerves, this dread snaking in her bones and blood.

This memory was familiar.

The air was cold and light that evening. The waning twilight cool and she was so young, contemplating over simpler things like what beverages to drink for the hour and the snacks she can procure from the pantry.

Merely few things required her attention back then, only needing to think about the coming days with the winter cold settling in, her mother’s questionable choices in decorations for the yuletide, and the light specks of snow falling on big sis Yui’s face.

“Do you think father will come home this year?”

Her mother looked at her. Despite her age, she can tell the smile given to her was strained, one fleetingly repaired and amended, just enough to convince a thirteen year old. It was unfortunate that it wasn’t enough; such small details never escaped the notice of young Kyoko's already analytical mind.

She sees Yui wince in the corner of her eye.

“Perhaps so.” Mother swallows. “Perhaps not.”

That’s the best answer she knows she can get.

“Okay.”

Mother sighs. “Do you miss him?”

She contemplates on the question. “No.”

And truly, she does not, but she makes no move saying this aloud.

“I don’t even remember what he looks like.”

This was true, too.

It was quiet for a few moments.

“Well, I think there's nothing to worry about.” Yui sets a hand on her shoulder, her cheeks and her nose a pale pink from the cold, and there is a small upward curl to her lips. “You have us, don’t you?”

She smiles at that.

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t wistful. It wasn't yearning and aching and missing the company of a man she hadn't seen in the last three winters, and there were no creatures lurking in the dark, ones she had read about in the chronicles hidden in the floorboards of her father’s room, these shades of unknown horrors biding their time.

She places her hands on the ground, traces the random patterns of the wooden floorboards, watches as her fingers twitch, and the way her pale knuckles slowly darken and turn red from the evening cold.

“It’s a bit late now.”

An observation she says out loud, drowning in the safety and warmth of the fireplace. Mother touches her arm, and then her jawline, and then her cheek. She leans into the touch.

“It is, Kyoko.”

She doesn’t feel sleepy yet.

Yui sniffs at the air. “Something's wrong.”

Like something is burning.

“Uh-huh,” she says, motioning to stand and turning her head towards the backdoor of the cottage. “I heard some weird noises coming from the back.”

Mother pales.

“We have company.”

They make haste around the cabin, quickly grabbing the shotgun and silver bullets on the table, her mother looking pointedly at her accoutrements before gently placing something into Kyoko's hand.

She stares at it intently, holding the wooden stake close to her heart. It’s a bizarre object, claimed to be blessed by priests and imbued with holy water and even more peculiar enchantments, all written in a language she has yet to learn.

(She's heard the sounds, the rustling and the running and the whispering of voices. The sound of gunshots in the dark, the bloodlust in the air and the screams that echo into the night.

Their bodies are ways away from her, the blood sucked dry and whatever remains clinging to their faces like parasites; eyes and teeth—their own—hollowed and sunken into their skin. And the fire eats at their bodies like hungry wolves to their prey.)

There are tears in her eyes, and she wills herself to stay still, the only sound in the burning room being the blaze and her breathing and the maddening tsk-tsk of the metronome. A vampire enters the room, blonde hair in twintails, tattered clothes, and her father’s silver necklace hanging around their neck.

The world waits with baited breath as they leave.

And when she grabs desperately at her loved one’s remains, she bites down on her lip and traps the scream in her throat as her hands are lost to the flames.)

When she wakes, the fires vanish with a gasp.

Morsels of knowledge come to her in bursts, the instincts she's trained to embed in her muscles and brain, lodged too deep by anguish and fury to be removed by time; how to breathe (fumbling in and out of the blinking of her eyes, the shoddy fabric of her tent she wakes in, squinting into the sunlight through the opening of the binds), pack up her things (after she walks out of the tent—cleverly blending in with the canopy at the side of a raging river—an emotion rolling in the pit of her stomach as she takes in the living, breathing world around her), and hydrate (when she finally finds her bearings and drinks from the canteen of boiled water she had prepared the night before).

But first, she wakes, and along with it come the memories of the burning house.

She stares at her hands, paying no mind to the itch at the leather covering it—a sensation that had been senselessly bothering her for the past few days—and she goes through the motions of feeling for them with reverence. Index, middle, palm; she’s memorized the patterns of the burns the same way she did with the house floorboards, and doesn't entertain the need to remove her gloves to do the same.

She stands and prepares to leave, since she’s got the truth to find.

When Kirigiri wakes, she has only a legacy left to her name. And she knows she is looking for someone (a desire she must quench, a mystery that beckons, a vengeance she has to act on, a pull in her chest she knows she will understand soon).

Jabberwock.

That’s what it says on the wooden sign over the tavern doors, and she can tell the once bold colors have been lost to time long ago. It is far into the night with the fire of the lanterns illuminating the empty boulevard, bending shadows on the cobblestone and the reflections of her boots on the puddles look crystal clear without the company of fog and rain from the afternoon.

She tugs at the fraying ends of her hood and keeps her face down. Novoselic—the foreign word rolls on her practiced tongue easily—is supposedly peaceful, a town ways away from the capital, one that made little noise in its social circles in an attempt to avoid enemies or attract unnecessary attention, and apparently vampire-friendly if the rumors were to be believed.

The blood politics and dangers that came with enforcing territory and hierarchy were allegedly a rather rare practice for the covens up north, the troupes having made peace that they preferred going into hiding and evading notice from anyone not of their kind.

The duchess and her scribes had told her it wasn’t quite true a few days ago.

She pushes and the door opens quite loudly, the chips at the bottom scraping against the floorboards. While the bar was small enough to alert any customer of a new presence, the few people in it were too drunk and the bartender too apathetic to give a shit.

Good. Sometimes it was better not to look anyway.

She can brush aside the stares easily. She’s used to it—it comes with the job, the all the meant-to-be curious glances that turn to frightened gawking, lips curling into scared sneers and nervous chewing at the insides of their cheeks—it is the most horrible of signs and the most dangerous of omens, for all intents and purposes, if a vampire hunter was in the vicinity.

Kirigiri sighs inwardly, walking casually to the corner and pulling out a chair across the barkeeper—taking note of the brown hair and the one odd strand sticking out. The stool squeaks quietly under her weight, and she pulls out two silver coins from her pocket, slides it to him, and waits.

He doesn’t even glance up to look at her.

“State your business,” he says distractedly, towel rubbing at the one spot in the glass that won’t come off easily, for whatever reason. “And please, one within reason.”

Kirigiri observes him briefly; if a room could breathe, this place would be choking for air. She straightens her spine, the thirst in her throat quieting in the face of the glum atmosphere of the inn. One of the lamps flicker, a small disturbance that came with the breeze of her entry.

“Sonia Nevermind,” she answers lowly, idly tapping at the wooden legs of the barstool. “Sonia Nevermind sent me here.”

The name hangs low, like fog, like shadow. Nobody between them seems to know what to say, how to react; the patrons are wayward and curious, straining their neck and ears for further information. The barkeep carefully avoids her eyes, staring straight at the door, before finally gaining enough courage to meet her gaze. “Who are you?”

“Kirigiri.”

Nothing else is said afterwards. She sees the spark of recognition in his eyes before he buries it, the gleam in them assessing, evaluating, and finally closing in resignation. She clears her throat, grateful that she doesn’t have to explain herself and her credentials any further.

The man’s frown holds, unmoving, but a small crease appears between his eyebrows, signaling his own trepidation. Finally, he sighs, his stance unwinding.

“Were there any vampire sightings here recently?” He mutters to himself, head low. “Weird.”

He then raises his head again.

“Hajime Hinata,” he says coolly and sets down the glass, her head dipping imperceptibly to indicate that she is listening. “I watch this little town. I'm an informant, mostly, but while I'm still green around the edges I'm also the hunter stationed here. What do you need?”

A week’s worth of sleep, and maybe food that didn’t taste like it came out of a rat’s ass, but she doesn’t say that out loud.

“I'm finding someone,” she murmurs, can feel her expression slanting, hardening. “They have answers I seek. Ones I value highly.”

He hums in thought, one thumb digging into the planks of the counter. “Do you have a name?”

She nods.

“Celestia Ludenberg.”

This answer comes with the same ease that has led her here, though perhaps it cannot be same for the man across her, with the way his eyes widen.

“Her?” He asks, blinking, his posture turning cautious. “Are you nuts? Information and assignments on Ludenberg are scarce, very scarce, and rarely taken in general. Duchess Nevermind doesn’t even know who that is.”

He looks her in the eyes.

“Duchess Nevermind isn’t the reason you’re here, isn’t it?”

She simply nods again, finding the motion a sufficient answer.

“I see.” He narrows his eyes, chest expanding in an uncomfortable rhythm before it finally calms and relaxes.

The tone of his voice in the reply is lower, quieter; anyone who might’ve been listening to the beginning of their conversation for gossip to spread has moved on by now, shadows shifting, players darting on. He rests his head back against the wall. “Why is it always the insane ones that come here?” He mutters to himself, his expression unchanging.

She has her ways, finding leads in between jobs and contracts for years, but that’s not something to tell strangers. It had taken her here, the trail and clues fresh enough that she could feel she was close.

“That woman has something I want,” Kirigiri says blankly. “Enough that I must find her and contact her personally. Are we reaching an understanding?”

Hinata squints.

“Who are you?” She turns away with the question, finding the rest of the patrons of the tavern a much more interesting subject before turning back to him. “Who are you really?”

“No one important,” she says quietly. “I’m just a hunter like you, looking for answers along the way.”

Hinata hums, but does not answer. Not at first. This is a man who bears silence well, but Kirigiri has learned the same skill in less time and mastered it in more.

“I hope… you find what you are looking for,” he says eventually.

She does not respond, does not speak of the shadows within her or the burdens she has carried in the years before. But she suspects she does not need to, and Hinata proves this assumption correct when he finally meets her eyes.

Hinata appraises her, seemingly judging how much all of this should be worth. “Well,” he says firmly, wetting his lips, “if you’re this far out into the region, then her territory could only be at one direction.”

There are many, many things that are a comfort to her and others that are not.

The weight of the revolver in her hand, the stifling yet sturdy fabric of her leather tailcoat, the soft sounds of the pre-daybreak breeze all around her, and the embers that come to life when the mark of her silver bullets hit true; these are things that she had grown accustomed to, a solace that the lying faces of nobles and greedy clients hadn't been able to emulate.

She had worn and wielded these for the longest time, listened to the muted whistling of grass and traveled through forests in the dark. This, a thing she must do, a mission she was willing to pay the price with her life.

Five vampires in three days.

This was a part of the woods where the specks of dust don’t hit the ground, and the metal of her gun is warm from use and there is nothing between her and the enemy, his mouth covered with fistfuls of dust, of fire, the stake in her hand heavy as her heart.

It doesn’t weigh much.

“Please—”

She stares at the vampire’s agony-contorted face, the air hot and the bullets searing his insides out, bones of his bones, skin taken away from the ribcage then set ablaze, and the taste of her own blood lingering in her teeth.

“Please,” he begs, drowning in his own fluids like a newborn, the sap leaking disgustingly through his skin like sieves. “I had to do it! I was going to starve!”

There was parts of this more raw than what it was, like they had a choice, but this one in particular had chosen to ask for mercy from something he didn’t regret.

He wasn't anything particularly stellar, too alike and too similar to her daily contracts that there was nothing worthy to note—merely an overconfident fledgling that ravaged a village in an enthusiastic blood rage—though at the verge of death they were all the same, lying through their teeth when their crimes catch up to them. No differences to be made here.

I understand, she thinks, how it feels to be hungry for a need you cannot feed. You’ve just chosen the wrong way out.

“Stop squirming.” She mutters, reloading her revolver. "It will hurt less."

He screams more at that, the annoying sound drowning out her exhausted sigh.

It’s a great night, she thinks of saying. For you to stay still. Let me extinguish the lights, let’s go into the night.

Let me hide you from the world as you turn to ash.

Sixteen victims. Three were children.

It didn’t used to be like this, so the rumors say.

The distances between civilization held the clues to her plight. There were lost cultures in fallen stone, foregone tales of harmony and coexistence floating across plains and farmlands, wispings of a prophecy carried by the wind. She had walked into a monstrous web of vampiric conspiracies that have lingered long before she was born, and now she must collect the pieces her father had failed to grasp, searching for the ancients that hold the key of this everlasting conflict.

No one had supposedly lived this far knowing too much. She was fortunate to have found anything, or the fact that she even knew the mastermind behind the centuries and centuries of animosity had been a woman, if at all.

Years and years of stigma had turned this dispute into something far beyond a single person like her would ever dream of extinguishing, the root of it all lost to time. There was nothing left but hatred and paranoia fueling both sides, the ill will garnered making it much more difficult to find any common ground.

The hunters and their practice used to be commonplace, back when they were deemed a bastion of humanity, its banners and renown even reaching the islands off the coast, rallying the noble and just to abandon their peaceful lives for the apparent greater good.

But this was before the war, before the reports say the hunters walked into business they shouldn't have—an insidious scheme that spoke of catastrophe for the humans and vampires both—and their retaliation had slaughtered as many as they could before being overrun. Other recollections say otherwise, that the vampires poked their noses into something similar and started their massacre in the shadows long before the hunters could band together, slowly picking away at the human population until it became a glaring problem no one could ignore any longer.

Sometimes Kirigiri contemplates the circumstances that have led her here, tries to scrounge up a sense of closure for the past; would her life be different without the burning house, would she have known a normal world and a normal life if her father had not been a hunter of, would her mother and sister have lived, would her family be free from the burden and knowledge of this world-ending conspiracy. Would she be here, in the darkness of the woods, halfway across the world because of a woman who had stolen a mystical necklace of her birthright, a woman of frightening strength and dominion thought by most to be a myth.

“No! I can give you anything you want! Please!” He lets out a stuttering breath. “Please… just please spare my life.”

Well, perhaps. She'd found as much normalcy as she could find in a lawless and rotting world.

(She doesn’t want to think about the fact that maybe before this man turned, he lived life as simple as it was, all the memories that were made, and the love was good. So good to him.)

“I can humor you then.” She looks at him meaningfully, before shrugging. "I have questions."

(Or maybe he talked to his loved ones on the hot summer days like everything was right in the world, where it wasn’t so lawless and life was a paradise, curling into his family’s side like the last missing piece of a puzzle.)

Or maybe, she just needed to stop being so distracted on the damn job.

“Yes, of course!” He exclaims, nodding frantically as if what she said was true as he groveled on the forest floor. “What do you require of me, wise huntress?”

She nearly chuckles at the patronizing tone.

(How annoying, for this world to be so unkind.)

“Ludenberg Manor,” she says, “I need accurate and very specific directions.”

He stills.

“Keep going north,” he says, and she knows he’s saying the truth, “You’ll know it when you see it.”

And a gunshot was the only sound for the next few miles.

He laid limp then; skin aflame with the sunrise, fangs glittering in the light and the stake in his heart buried deep. No different than any other bundle of bones buried deep within this planet.

The smell of death invades her nostrils.

She looks away as the body burned.

In quick succession, Kirigiri realizes a few things the moment she steps foot into the edge of the forest: the dense fog, air cold and lifeless; immediately, she knows this place is dangerous—a storm is forming, lingering in the cracks of the sky. The clouds were darker than they were hours ago, the thunder is loud and it rings by the shell of her ears.

The only eyes on her form were that of dead trees scattered across the meadows, and she reckons there is much work to be done for it to stay that way.

At least, she can attribute it to her training and years of experience that she would know if she was being watched or followed.

See, the thing about major vampire territories—ones that were worthy of being addressed by titles such as household names—is that you can practically tell where the boundaries for humans end and where the vampires begin.

To the trained eye, it’s easy to tell where the terrain starts to twist and the atmosphere changes to something like a warning, a foreboding simmering at the back of your neck that would tell you to just walk away and let the mystery remain.

It’s become normal to her, in a way, so she can admire the somewhat organized chaos of it all.

From the distinct markings on the trees, to the old and aging signs by the roadside. There were the symbols and the flags, or the formation of torches at the shoulders of the pathways. Each and every coven she had come across had their own sets of rules and practices; she wasn't dealing with barbarians or brutes without a shred of intellect, but people with critical thought, people who had chosen a different path in pursuit of their objectives.

A perilous, unwise path that more often than naught let them to their deaths, but a path in life nonetheless. These customs weren’t necessarily to separate themselves from the humanity they have left, but to feel and grasp onto it.

All this, to them, is their way of being alive.

A home that lives and breathes, she muses. How astonishing.

But there are things that feel less familiar the further you travel inward: the solitary nature of her trek down from the summit and the strange, dark and twisting trees. The branches move as if they were assessing her and the danger she posed, responding to the instincts racing in her blood and flesh, and the glowing light inside a lamp (a comforting yellow that pricks at the pull in her chest) offers a suitable enough beacon in the penumbra of the bizarre woodland she had found herself in.

But as she sets foot in a clearing where the ground plateaus and the grass sways, it feels foreign nevertheless, and she wonders about the unusual geography, mainly because that’s easier than wondering about what creatures reside beyond the shroud of the woods.

The calm before the storm gives way to a seemingly used pathway, the tracks and freshness of the ground suggesting the busyness and its frequency of use. The torches are lit, piercing through the mist and alighting the image of a sizeable mansion looming in the distance. The building is foreboding, but the likeness of the stained glass windows being so clean, so vivid and not covered in a single trace of dirt and soot and whatever grain nature can offer throws her off-course for a short moment.

A strange way to welcome her, Kirigiri thinks, and it's only through her various encounters with nobility and the patrician class that have given her the ability to tell how she knows the signs. Perhaps it’s the flowers: buds that carry and spread fully outwards, their assemblage beautiful and gorgeous even this far out in the woods.

She trails her fingers along them as she walks, gentle in her touch, barely brushing against the petals, the curling vines, the thick shrubs with dark green leaves, all obviously attended to with a diligence she can respect. 

There’s something dreamlike, too, about the architectural structure of the Ludenberg Manor: the subtle protection of the forest, and ironically enough, the life blooming around her; the crunching steps she takes towards a destination she has no ally in. The tall and dark foundations give the manor an impression of a dwindling, muted splendor: the stone architecture intricately carved in places are in great condition, speaking to the skill and level of care given by its renovator, and the clocktower rising eerily and overlooking the entirety of the estate like an omen, hands moving constantly, gears continuously turning regardless of its age.

And there’s a hint of the same quality in the air, heavier and alarming now, when she spots something new, something darker, something that calls her name in a more literal manner.

“You made a wrong turn, miss. It’s quite far out.” A voice calls as she sharpens her senses—two hostile targets that make the hairs at the back of her neck shudder. "Strange. Only people with a purpose come this way in the woods, hunter."

One in front of her, lanky, green hair, and sporting a dark blue tunic. The sword by his side looks too heavy for him to carry, apparent in his gait and the heaviness of his footfalls against the grass.

One somewhere behind her, beyond the dead trees and within the safety of the fog.

“I’m right where I need to be,” she briefly eyes him before raising her voice. “I seek to have an audience with Countess Ludenberg.”

He eyes her, green eyes peering at her in the distance between them, appraising her with a mildly curious look. “You want to speak with the lady? Really now?”

She observes the way the lump in his throat returns in a familiar spasm of nervousness, and even as he quickly buries it Kirigiri immediately recognizes the uncertainty in his body language. He seems oddly uncoordinated—freshly-turned possibly—lacking the unearthly beauty and grace a vampire would normally possess, and while as a human he would’ve looked charming regardless, instead he came off as unnerved and inexperienced.

As luck would have it, he wasn’t looking for a fight as much as she was.

“Well, I don’t really know why you want to speak with her,” he says, seemingly mindful of keeping his voice unyielding, lips chapped. “Which is odd, because most people who come here are always out to kill her.”

“That’s to be expected of a vampire and its dealings, yes?" Kirigiri says with a wave of her hand, pitching her voice a similar tone. "However, that is not what I am after. I merely wish to speak to her. In a peaceful manner, preferably."

He blinks.

“Why would I believe that?”

She sighs.

“I’m in the heart of your territory, alone and outnumbered. The next town isn't in a few miles, and no hunter worth their salt is stupid enough to do that unless their intentions were diplomatic," she chuckles, without much humor. "Or suicidal, for that matter.”

He blinks again.

“She’s correct.”

A new voice says, feminine this time, coming from beyond the safety of the smoke and the forest, and she swears she can suddenly hear the thunder rattling across the sky like it’s crackling along the confines of her skull. She watches her own hands turn sharp as they twitch against the cool metal of her revolver. 

“Please, do not fret. We appreciate diplomacy as much as you do.”

The stranger, now visible as they emerge from obscurity, only nods once at her, almost imperceptibly.

Light green hair. Taller than her even with the combat boots, and this one, unlike the first, had the elegance and eerie allure a vampire would typically have. Judging by the way she held herself, she also knew how to fight.

With eyes that Kirigiri now understands to be much more older than the boy before her, the woman watches her more discreetly.

“Your name?” The new one asks. “We need to know your name.”

An exchange of information. They are at each other’s mercy. She recognizes the signs, the offering, this place that isn’t hers, a battle that can’t be fought.

“Kyoko Kirigiri.”

The stranger smiles.

“Excellent,” she clasps her hands together, motioning for her to follow, her strides towards the manor slowly relaxing yet never losing its confidence and grace. “I am Kirumi Tojo. This is Rantaro Amami.”

“Heya.” Amami falls into their pace with practiced obedience, his shoulders slumping over the loss of a prospective threat. "Nice to meet you."

She dips her head, if only to return the amenities. “Likewise.”

“Both of us are subjects to the head of the house. There are a considerate number of us here who inhabit the estate in service and deference to Her Ladyship,” Tojo says, tone level, Kirigiri hears the warning in the undertone. “Welcome to the Ludenberg Manor, Miss Kirigiri.”

She almost snorts at the added honorific, merely allowing a small twitch of her lips. Tojo seems to notice this but makes no comment over it, walking forward and urging her to follow through the winding upward stairs leading to the entrance of the mansion.

“Come now,” she says politely. “You will be able to speak to her soon enough. But I must ask, why do you need to speak with her lady?”

A poking, evidently prodding question, one that will decide whether or not she was welcome to speak with their mistress in person. 

“She knows things, and I need the information.” Kirigiri concedes, the void of uncertainty over her circumstances mildly nagging her at the back of her mind. “I know enough not to provoke her in that regard.”

Amami laughs. “A wise decision on anyone's part,” he remarks offhandedly, adjusting the sleeves of his coat. “As long as you don't do anything brash or stupid, we guarantee that nothing much will happen to you and you'll be able to walk out in one piece.”

Tojo chuckles.

“Indeed, the mistress is quite the character,” the woman adds, shooting Kirigiri a measured look. “Although, for your sake more than hers, I advise you to tread carefully.”

Kirigiri quirks an eyebrow.

“I’ll… keep that in mind.” She says flatly, an assured statement. She won’t yield for fear of a difficult conversation.

Tojo hums as she seems to settle with the conviction in her answer, motioning her with a hand to stay in place. Amami follows suit, mirroring the easing posture as he trudges after his superior, speeding down the hall as they leave Kirigiri in their wake.

As they part away from her in the lobby, she takes the opportunity to walk around to examine each and every detail of her surroundings.

She hums. The inside of the estate itself is achingly more pristine than the outside, whatever materials used to reinforce it are dark—taking on a strange obsidian hue—and the accents are all tinted silver and gold, as though its owner were following a specific pattern or style, soaking each and every corner with opulence lest they deviate from their desired aesthetic.

The knocker, one that she memorized in detail before stepping into the lobby, has the head of an ornate snake, its head curving in a circle as though it was eating its own tail. The heels of her boots echo loudly against the floor, not that it would’ve concerned her nonetheless. Vampires’ senses weren’t to be challenged nor questioned.

It’s gaudy, filled with so much grandeur and decoration—the elaborate chandelier, in particular, is an incredibly distracting detail that nearly makes her chuckle—but what Kirigiri finds interesting is that there’s nothing significant to be gathered from the materials scattered. That bit of knowledge causes her eyebrows to raise, and she glances at the decorations in suspicion.

Such blatant display of wealth tell no small amount of the power this particular faction of vampires likely have. So much of these riches flaunted so freely, and still there was nary a single speck of personal information.

She weaves with the silence to examine the walls—flawless, spotless, and completely absent of any portraits or clues to inform her of the type of person she was dealing with. These were vampires who knew what they’re doing, at the very least, and she respects that attention to detail. No tells, no signs of use, no sort of sentimentality or attachment.

This is what they all are, merely superficial. Fake. A front. A façade.

Their welcome was furbished with the intent to intimidate and deceive. Nothing if not bold and clever. If she was anyone else, she likely wouldn’t have figured it out. She was dealing with someone who knew which and what cards to play, and it would be needlessly obtuse and unwise on her end to say or do otherwise. Underestimating your opponents never bode well for anyone in her line of work.

“Kyoko Kirigiri,” a voice from behind her says, and she turns around so casually as if she wasn’t startled by its sudden entrance. “That is your name, correct? Do inform me if they’ve heard it wrong.”

Behind her is a dark haired woman, dressed in an extremely intricate black and red dress, the claw-ring on one of her fingers glinting menacingly against the firelight, her posture giving the powerful illusion of presence. She stands steady on her heels, arms crossed languidly in front of her body, and she’s pretty—beautiful, even—of course, the way vampires usually are at first glance. Her eyes are a surprisingly striking blood red. She looks about Kirigiri’s age, though she understands it’s likely the age this woman must’ve been when she was turned.

“That's me,” Kirigiri breaks the spell, introducing herself with a courteous incline of her head. “And you’re the lady of the house?”

“It is I,” she answers, mouth curling and gaze appraising. “Welcome to my estate, Miss Kirigiri.”

She grimaces. "Kyoko. Kyoko is fine."

The woman’s lips quirk a tiny amount. "Of course, Kyoko."

Kirigiri levels her with a calculating look, evaluating the vampire to the best of her ability. Truly, she knows that vampires held this sort of forbidding beauty, knows they should be seductive and striking, but she’s never quite seen anything like this before. If anything, anyone this lovely was essentially a walking hazard, human or vampire. There was a difference between pretty, she thinks coolly, and well, hot.

And the latter was always infinitely more dangerous.

"Ah, right. Where are my manners?" The woman giggles, and the sound is enchanting but Kirigiri pushes that thought away to the back of her mind, “Celestia,” she says with a dignified bow—her accent refined—clasping her hands together under her chin, and Kirigiri has this tiny, uncanny urge to touch her face. “I am the Countess of the Land, Celestia Ludenberg. You wanted to speak to me?”

Kirigiri answers before the bizarre tension from earlier has a chance to form again. “Well met, countess,” she squares her shoulders, composing herself. “I won’t mince words: I come here with a simple query, one I wish to acquire without resorting to violence. I am in need of specific information.”

“Oh?” Ludenberg’s lips wind upward in polite incredulity, her expression bemused and intrigued. “Do elaborate.”

“I’m looking for someone,” she says vaguely. “I reckon if there were anyone in this continent who would know of their identity, it would be you.”

"A flatterer," the countess says charmingly, seemingly pushing past her reservations, but her smile is too wide to be genuine. “You seem civil enough. What can I do for you, dear hunter?”

Kirigiri doesn’t speak for a moment, composing herself before she stares the vampire in the eye again. "I'm looking for a woman with a silver pendant. The leader of the original coven of vampires," she says confidently, noting the way Ludenberg's eyes widen in surprise. "The original coven guilty of the last widely known genocide of hunters, apparently regaining power after centuries of silence, and one I have business to deal with."

“Hm.” The vampire walks towards her, voice level, her hand inching to the sleeves at her arms, tracing the stitched lines that lie there. “I admit, I was expecting many things, like cattles to barter or services to offer in exchange of protection, but you seem to be diverting all expectations I have of your likeness so far." She stops, staring at Kirigiri intently. "This is not information you acquire with ease, nor should be in the know of in the first place. Where did you hear this from? Are they credible? Reliable?”

She walks around her in a slow circle.

“See, vampire hunters aren’t rare, of course. However, most of them are unbearably, unbelievably foolish and obnoxious.” She says, arms crossed, lips peeling into a dangerous, dangerous, smile. “Being here, standing before me is evidence enough that you are cunning in a way, but that does not set you apart.”

A challenge. She stops right in front of her.

“Tell me. How are you any different?”

“I do this for a living.” Kirigiri narrows her stare, ignoring the sensation of being touched. The lack of any inflection in her voice makes Ludenberg’s eyebrows rise delicately. “I've been investigating this plot for years, passed down and left behind to me. The fact that I've found you means I actually know what I’m doing, and I have a boon others do not.”

Ludenberg tilts her head, curiosity evident in the gleam of her unnervingly red eyes.

“Oh? What would that be?”

Her lips twitch. “If I told you, I wouldn’t be alive talking to you otherwise.”

Ludenberg allows a smile—a genuine one, not out of politeness—and her eyes seem to just glow a bit more under the chandelier’s candlelights as they stare each down.

“What a shame. But you're confident and straight to the point,” she says, putting a hand to her chin and studying Kirigiri closely. “I like that. You’re a rare one, Kyoko, unassuming and unwilling to present all her assets to the table immediately. Most would’ve given up talking to me as I tend to drag them on circles all the time.”

Kirigiri lifts an eyebrow mildly.

“How so?” She asks good-naturedly, hearing Ludenberg click her tongue in distaste.

“Unlike you, they don’t know what to say or—god forbid—know how to speak to me,” she says boredly, twirling strands of her hair around her finger. “Most of the time, the guests that have spoken to me on diplomatic terms were all too intimidated, too dumb or too impatient, I suppose.”

“I’m a first?” Kirigiri responds wryly. “It is an honor.”

“Indeed,” Ludenberg’s smirk stretches a bit wider, and the torches by the walls flicker for a few seconds into the blackness before fanning out and igniting once more. “You are competent, Kyoko. Perhaps I am willing to accommodate your line of questioning.”

She nods gratefully. "My regards. I look forward to your assistance, Miss Ludenberg."

Her face scrunches a little at the remark. That was probably meant to be unseen, but whatever’s going on between them was making them drop their walls in some strange sort of way. “Countess," she corrects with a coy smile, "but if you insist on calling me that, please, call me Celeste instead.”

"Celeste." She parrots, then looks at her again. “What do you propose we do?”

Ludenberg smiles knowingly.

"This boon you speak of," she says reticently, and despite herself a twisted sort of eagerness ignites at the back of Kirigiri's throat at having been found out. “Such a puzzling ability. I've been attempting to lightly charm you for the past few minutes we've been speaking, dear hunter." Her red eyes narrow. "My abilities are results achieved through a century of use and experience, yet you show a remarkable resistance to it that I cannot reconcile exists. I can't help but be insatiably curious."

Kirigiri chuckles, the hint of a snarl on her mouth. “It’s because I'm immune to vampiric hypnosis.”

Her steps falter once before resuming, making a show of examining Kirigiri up and down before her attentive gaze stops at her face, where their eyes meet and she holds Kirigiri's stare just a few moments too long to seem casual.

"Oh?" Her already feral grin stretches wider, her following laugh almost a cackle. "Interesting. I'd like to prove that. Give me one chance to demonstrate my best and I will discuss our circumstances.”

Kirigiri quietly blows a shot of air through her nose out of amusement. She smirks, as if the curl to her lips were to be lifting a finger, beckoning her to try.

“Go ahead and find out,” she says, still holding Ludenberg’s eyes without a hint of fear or hesitation.

There’s something particular about the glint in the vampire's eyes when Kirigiri answers, something dangerous and disgustingly exciting, and she considers her options, her two desires clashing with each other: a call for caution, the other an earth-shattering conviction. She doesn’t need to say she’s already charmed even without the magic, without all the deception, the smoke and mirrors, it would be admitting defeat.

They were both playing games, the pawns to each other’s boards, an odd and revolting game of chess that she shouldn't be allowed to play.

“So?” She says one more time, as if to taunt.

The countess takes to it like a shark smelling blood in the water.

“Very well.” Ludenburg says, fangs out, the pinpricks of her teeth glinting dangerously under the torchlights, and maybe if she was crazy enough she would’ve found the threat incredibly attractive. “I will be your judge tonight, dear hunter.”

Without warning, the woman steps forward and she is levelled with a stare. Her pupils contract and dilate, red eyes glowing menacingly, and Kirigiri can imagine the apparent signs of a seduction happening on her own.

And truth to be told, she doesn’t want to give up the act just yet. This odd and unexplainable magic had been used on her so many times that the effect is lost forever, the wonder of its casting provoking nothing but entertainment. However, the same power, on the lady of the house, for whatever unknown reason she feels compelled to seek out, is entirely different.

It feels like a memory.

(Like their names are so ancient and yet so familiar on each other’s lips, and she’s being told of a story of the rivers running beneath the earth, the divide between sky and land, finding a strange sort of comfort in the way she runs her mouth and rambles, and then, and then, and then—)

She blinks, and the intensity in her own eyes must’ve caught Ludenberg off-guard, because she’s being stared at like she’s the first source of water in the miles stretch of sand, and none of them even think of speaking, of talking, or pretending to know how to breathe. They are just standing across each other, and the room dissolves to dust.

She doesn’t know how to explain it just yet, but in this moment when the manor disappears like paper to fire and ink to feather, Celestia Ludenberg doesn’t seem like a threat, like her natural enemy—and there is no risk and no games and no bitterness.

And maybe just two women.

(She doesn’t want to admit how easily Ludenberg's voice—a rich, velvety sound that refuses to leave tickling the base of her spine—gets underneath her skin, wanting to be so consumed by whatever feeling this is, needing the sensations inked and novelized into the parchment across every dotted margin of every existing page. God, god, someone get her before she drowns in the feel of it all.)

And when Kirigiri tilts her head down she finds her hand over Ludenberg’s chest, and her fingers being held by one of hers, the claw ring shining tantalizingly against the black leather, so tender and so raw, she wonders if she’s hallucinating.

(She has the urge to take her gloves off. She doesn’t follow it.)

“See?” She whispers, letting it hang in the air and waiting for it to sink in. “Is this enough proof?”

They don’t move.

“You're… a very interesting specimen.” Ludenberg chuckles, staying in place, her eyes boring into her and searching and, Kirigiri hopes, not finding the answers in any way lacking. “One I find appropriate to thank the circumstances that have brought you here, all for me to unravel. By whatever strange magic you possess, you're telling the truth. I would know lying wouldn't be a good look on you.”

Such an innocent and guiltless observation, but one that tightens the muscles in her arm. She has to fight the renewed impulse to place her hand on the woman's waist once more.

“What makes you think I'm not lying to you right now?” Kirigiri counters, confident in her composure that it comes with a crooked smirk. "I could be lulling you into a false sense of security as of this moment, and I'm confident enough in my arsenal that I can impair and injure you horribly."

"Riveting scenario to mull over, but highly unlikely." A scoff, followed by a dismissive wave of a hand. “Though in my opinion, you would make a good liar,” Ludenberg says with a smile, a real one, a motion that has her eyes crinkling at corners, leaving strange lines in her face as if those set of muscles hadn't been pulled in a while. “It is just unfortunate that you had to lie to the one who knows it for what it is.”

“Does this mean we reach an understanding?” Kirigiri comments with a hardness to her voice, cutting to the chase. “You have the information I need.”

Ludenberg barks out a laugh.

"More than! You have a spine, hunter, and that is a rarity in of itself." The vampire bellows, a cocky quality to her expression, the blood red of her eyes absolutely mesmerizing. "You make for fascinating company, one brave and well-behaved enough that I do not mind indulging."

Kirigiri opens her mouth to make a somewhat crude comment about being called 'well-behaved' when somebody clears their throat. Tojo is standing on the end of the large stairway, by then do they realize they’ve been standing very near each other for way too long.

Ludenberg breaks away first, clearing her throat.

“We will smoothen the details of our deal tomorrow. Kirumi shall take you to your room for tonight,” she says distantly, the mask falling back in place. “It is quite late in the night and I expect you to be exhausted from your journey. Do not worry, I imagine that your accommodations will be more desirable than the last few weeks you’ve been travelling.”

It takes a minute for her to move, finding it hard to take even one step forward.

She attempts a smile, but she finds herself grimacing instead. “You're all, not like, going to kill me in my sleep, I hope?”

"Goodness, no. We have more class than that." Ludenberg rolls her eyes. "As if the likes of you would let that happen, regardless."

Tojo glances between them, clearly privy to the bizarre undercurrent of tension boiling between them. “You better watch yourself, my lady,” she warns seriously, an unpleasant edge to her voice that immediately forces Kirigiri to take pause. “We’ve never seen anything quite like her in years.”

“No need to remind me,” Ludenberg tuts haughtily. “I’m perfectly aware.”

Kirigiri narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Whatever you want it to.” Her fangs are foreboding and wicked against her grin, the smile on her face unsettling. “You’re a clever little thing, no? You will figure it out soon.”

Of course, they’re no longer playing games; they’re in an ancient estate wrought in darkness, and Kirigiri can only think of sacrifice, of shattered stained glass slicing through her skin, of holding it to Ludenberg’s mouth and commanding her to drink. They stand in the grand hall, much too soaked in blasphemy and sin to ever repent its past, and Kirigiri knows she’s not much help, more of a contribution to its growing list of crimes than a solution.

“The rooms,” Tojo interrupts, shoulders tensed, the sexual tension between them apparently too palpable and uncomfortable to an outsider that a line is crossed. Some things are just not for the faint of heart. “Shall we?”

Kirigiri allows herself a short laugh at the painfully obvious intervention, letting Tojo lead her away, but before she ventures further into the hall the countess grabs at her wrist. Turning around, she notices a small, but genial tilt to the vampire’s lips.

“Your conditions shall be discussed in my office. Let my servants navigate for you tomorrow.”

Kirigiri nods, the grimace on her face from earlier slowly turning into a manageable smile.

“Sleep well, Miss Kirigiri.”

“You too,” she realizes the mistake the moment the words leave her mouth. She must sound silly, but finds that she doesn't mind. “Oh, right. You guys don’t sleep, sorry.”

Ludenberg chuckles heartily; finally, Kirigiri thinks with a dull whisper of satisfaction, finally an honest reaction. The curl to her own mouth, though small, is outwardly impish, and she hopes Countess Ludenberg feels the shiver in her spine, feels the heat in her igniting in her unfeeling skin. They're both not easy people, and she must know this.

“It’s appreciated, nonetheless.”

Under the firelights, her eyes glow a hungry, smoldering red.

Standing in Ludenberg’s presence feels more different than it was last night at the lobby.

The closeness of it all is more intimate, dangerous, and it’s not because this space is not the ideal place to fight in case she turns against her, but because it is the same closeness that dulls her senses to the one, single, most important thing in the room: only the head of the house, deferred to by her vassals as Her Ladyship, Countess of the Land, and this is a testament inherently to how quickly their eyes find each other the moment Kirigiri steps foot into the room.

She hums while looking around. Ludenberg’s quarters is spacious and gaudy—as expected from a woman of her character—taking in the vibrancy, the expensive ornaments, the purposefulness and gaudiness of the layout, but most of all, she feels the eyes focused on her own.

“Good afternoon,” Ludenberg greets amicably, and Kirigiri’s gaze drifts down to the table, examining the surprisingly humble procurement of two teacups, a teapot, little plates for sugar, for honey, and Kirigiri idly wonders if she must enjoy these specific set a fair amount, even if vampire anatomy said otherwise. “Glad to see you’re doing well, dear hunter.”

“Thank you,” she says aloofly, but she’s in a strangely good mood today so Kirigiri throws the countess a proverbial piece of meat. “I haven’t slept that well in a while.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Ludenberg says, clearly the thought of Kirigiri sleeping unsoundly never crossed her mind. How cute, being so confident in her ability to observe and please. "Have you any guesses to what I have to propose for you? The information you ask for, one I admit is extremely sensitive, does not come without a price.”

“Security detail, assassination, patrolling,” she drones. “Information gathering, spying, maybe tailing some high profile regent. I’ve gotten many contracts over the years, as I’ve told you before, I know what I’m doing.”

Ludenberg giggles, examining her with blatant curiosity, and if she didn’t know better she might’ve mistook it for unbridled awe, but she’s well-versed in observation to know the difference. “My, you thought of everything. I never thought otherwise, but the scope of your expertise is quite impressive still.”

“So, which one is it?”

Ludenberg grins. “It is none of the above.”

Kirigiri raises her eyebrows high, but immediately subdues the reaction with a smirk of her own. She starts mulling other possibilities in her head. “What is it, then?”

“Assist us.”

Assist me, she infers, but it is left unspoken.

Kirigiri sits down and starts pouring a cup of tea for herself, eyebrows furrowing ever-so-slightly in interest. “Explain.”

“I have many enemies, Kyoko. Far more than you could ever dream.” Ludenberg frowns, her mood growing more solemn than before. "And one of them, I suspect, will be making a move against me. I know myself it is anything but peaceful." 

The vampire clicks her tongue in disgust.

“Those ingrates have been trespassing into my territory for a good amount of time, now. They never dared do anything than be a minor inconvenience, but their crimes against me and the house have been increasing in severity as of late, including stealing and killing my livestock and poultry." She scoffs derisively. "Last week, however, they’ve crossed the line and burned down one of our farms.”

She nods for her to continue. 

“I am being warned and provoked. The current information I have at hand tells me the most likely they’ll attack will be in a few weeks. A month at most." Ludenberg levels her with a look. "I have made numerous transactions with them as of late to give them a chance, and yet they've been very… unfriendly, per se, with my compromises. If you're familiar with the term, we are currently within the makings of a blood feud."

"That’s troubling."

"Truly. I reckon that with you around, fending them off will be easier… and they won't know what hit them. I shall personally make sure they never think of crossing me ever again." The countess snarls, fangs glinting in the afternoon sunlight. "Do you understand the parameters of my terms?”

It’s a particularly nondescript job with her level of skill and prowess, but she pretends to think it over, not wanting to give the other the satisfaction of winning in this little exchange so easily.

She knows Ludenberg sees through it right away.

Kirigiri finds the sheer unflappable belief the woman has in her decision somewhat attractive, in a way.

“Fair enough. I accept.”

Ludenberg smirks carelessly, dangerously, and they stare at each other and watch as the playfulness turns into a haze, she doesn’t know whose breath catches and hitches first, but not knowing is mostly a grace; this exchange is odd, like she’s being made fun of, somehow; like she was being found out of how easy it is to get underneath her skin.

The sudden intensity in the vampire's gaze catches Kirigiri off-guard but she doesn’t look away prematurely; she allows the staring contest to happen, still naturally, finding a strange sort of calm in the red of the lady's eyes, like hers is the only one that could look it in the eye. She’d only evened up to her stare because she couldn’t resist, but maybe the feeling had been mutual.

“You would be a fool to say otherwise. The terms I offer are always a two-way street if you’re willing to pitch in the effort.” Ludenberg says evenly, her tone of voice a low and peculiar pitch Kirigiri can't identify. “A wise choice, dear hunter. Your aid will be treasured.”

“Likewise.” Kirigiri plays along, but a boiling sort of anticipation pools in the base of her skull. “With all that aside, what do you have for me?”

The curl to Ludenberg’s lips flicker in the sun.

“A name,” she murmurs. “What you will get is a tale, and the name that came with it thereafter.”

It is more than enough.

She nods.

"…as you wish." Ludenberg says as she shifts in her seat, becoming slow and careful in her movements, the worry lines around the edge of her lips showing—likely an unconscious mannerism, though Kirigiri gets the odd sense of an apology in the way she finally settles in front of her. "I see you do not discriminate in the wisdom you wish to obtain. Please, help yourself for this will be a lengthy discussion."

The countess waves her to the assortment of refreshments in front of her, and Kirigiri makes a curious noise in her throat. Even if the tea is now cool, she makes no comment over it, letting the lukewarm drink coat her mouth with consideration as the vampire picks through her words with clear care.

“I have noticed, all this time, how you’ve come to such knowledge and yet you carry this with an investment most do not have.” Ludenberg begins, steepling her fingers before interlocking them once more, a habit that strikes Kirigiri as a nervous tick, in some distant way. “You are an outlier, no normal hunter of this generation should know the existence of the original coven and the transgressions of their master. Perhaps your blood and heritage is far more involved with our affairs than we thought, hm?"

A disturbingly precise guess, one that has her shoulders tense; her hands twitch against the pocket in her jacket that holds her revolver, but she doesn't act on it.

“Is it now?” Kirigiri asks instead, willing a cordial, polite tilt to her lips.

She’s successful; the countess allows herself an entertained chuckle.

“Regretfully, you are human. Far too young to know the early version of this particular footnote in history, such is the fate of anecdotes from departed times. Only the oldest vampires know this story by the first tongue, its original language, and to know it you must be of socially acceptable rank and power to be in the fold." Ludenberg leans forward, looking into her eyes. "What iterations of it have you come across, I wonder? How many retellings have you seen or heard in your lifetime?”

Her existence, Kirigiri is beginning to realize, will always be a tricky dance, but especially when things are finally beginning to gain some semblance of clarity. She answers with what she knows to be the truth, in every angle she can find (her own blood and mind and the beat of her heart).

“The story changes depending on who you ask. I know because I've been around.” She purses her lips. "But the one I believe in is two centuries old. A creed carved in stone, and later through a tome unique only to my lineage."

The mysterious glint in the woman’s eyes make Kirigiri curious, but the urge to ask is buried away before she can act upon it.

“Your first answer is most certainly the popular consensus for various folktales, human or nonhuman.” Ludenberg says eventually, her sigh, though quiet, is just enough to reveal the exhaustion creeping on her shoulders. “Though the second is very telling of who you really are and what I am truly bringing into my abode. You're not one to be trifled with, and I trust you to listen carefully. Will you stay while I tell you the version with which I know to be the closest? I am told I need the company, on occasion. There's nothing more lovely to a story than one with an audience.”

Kirigiri blinks, then nods.

“This is not indulgence, but an expectation I place on you.” She continues, and Kirigiri’s not entirely sure she knows what exactly it is that the countess is referring to. "For the reason that—"

“—intelligence is no gift nor talent, but a power for you to wield, if only you’re willing to shoulder the burden of knowing.” Kirigiri whispers, though she trails off at the end, shockingly certain of where exactly she had seen and read the quote last.

“That is very acute verbatim of one of the oldest texts.” Ludenberg raises one amused eyebrow at her. “Are you sure you really need me for this?”

She coughs awkwardly. “I am missing numerous crucial details. Please, carry on.”

“The quote, unfortunately, is an apt description of the influence my name holds and a morose reflection of my social life.” She harrumphs, the tone of her voice surprisingly kind, but not unsteady. “I shall begin with the most important detail: in the beginning, there came a woman of noble upbringing. But in all the sights and all the cities she had made her journeys, across every inch of soil on this planet, she found no entertainment, no satisfaction, nary a sense of enjoyment or contentedness in anything she'd done.”

“A dangerous character to be.” Kirigiri comments, sipping from the cold tea and keeping her tone neutral.

“Indeed. Boredom is a catalyst for many things in our world, but also people of monstrous power,” the countess continues. “One I am mildly guilty of, as well. At this point in our little tale, our lady's boredom had become something more insidious. Two gods in one entity, a being that adored chaos had given her an ultimatum; one of cadaverous white, and the other of a strange blackness. They sought to create pandemonium, and surely this woman with nothing to lose gave them the means and the ability. She had contracted vampirism through a strange magic, and from that day forth she began seeking an empire of her making. One that will end up lasting for nearly half a millennium."

The sheer number of years carves into her, opens a hole in her lungs. "Nearly half a millennium?"

"Certainly. It would be awe-inspiring, but considering her alleged personality, it is nothing if not utterly horrifying." Ludenberg remarks casually, nose scrunching in thought. "It had been a gruelling four-hundred and fifty years of terror for any who dared oppose her power. Until one night, under the light of the full moon, she grew bored of her dominion and vanished.”

The presumption of power required to be in reign for a significant number of years uproots the balance more than anything else she could’ve said, and it’s the only thing that forces Kirigiri to reconsider her options.

“Yet after centuries of nothing, she returns anew…” Kirigiri mutters reproachfully, voice trailing off, a grimace forming. 

It shouldn’t bother her. This was a detached account of a major past event, its origins adrift in the yesteryears of history, told through the eyes of romantic storyteller with a penchant for wringing her words through rose-tinted glass.

But when Ludenberg continues, her voice is thoughtful and wary, as though she believes in it wholeheartedly.

“Perhaps she had found purpose in her wrongdoings, perhaps she's resurfaced with the same desire of being entertained again, but one fact I can say for certain is that no one, and I mean not a single on this planet, is capable of being equal to her power on their own.”

It’s a slightly similar tale to the one she's read in her father's collection of journals hidden across the world, one she's been looking to complete since she was fourteen years old; the last book that possessed this story had been an unusual case of sheer, dumb luck, found completely intact in a random formation of catacombs she stumbled upon six years ago.

Kirigiri knows, is painfully aware, that it won’t end with death, her own or anyone else's, a punishment for misplaced courage in the face of absolute mastery of vampiric strength and magic.

But she can’t help but think that this is a simmered down version of the real story; that control over the truth never abates without being forced. This is a perspective gained by another person's experience, a retelling through their eyes, and she understands at last, for the first time since she’s started this lifelong journey, wonders if some of the knowledge she's unearthed are better off lost to time.

Ludenberg accepts her silence as its own answer, shrewd stare fully meeting hers. It’s only then that Kirigiri comprehends the true meaning of her age, of the centuries she's lived and the lifetimes she's endured—the years adding up without an end in sight—for how much she’s seen and been through.

"Her name is Junko Enoshima, the notorious Queen of Vampires."

Her mouth simmers in a thin line, sharp and pointed, the clarity of the explanation has begun drifting off. She remembers the grave of her mother’s eyes after her father left and refuses to become what she can’t afford to be.

She isn’t dead just yet. She won’t lie down and act like it.

“I dislike taking part in needless bloodshed.” Kirigiri states plainly, and Ludenberg furrows her eyebrows at that, her scowl deepening in time with the mood of the room.

“Yes.” The vampire sighs. “So do I.”

She dreams of the burning house.

She’s lost count of the times she’s seen this. Kirigiri is no genius, even if she believed differently, but she knows this is another dream.

How young she was.

She can see and remember more clearly here, where the light of the moon is dimming, and there’s no witness to the fires other than her own.

Nobody’s listening anyway.

Although, even if the belief is decades old, she likes to think that there’s still someone out there. She would like that, pretending that someone is still there for her. Finding company that didn't make up of burnt and rotting corpses.

(She remembers how it went down vividly, actually, she saw them and their blood soaking the floorboards, and they weren’t shaking from the adrenaline, or from the panic.)

Kirigiri can’t quite say what she believes anymore, can’t say what she’s practiced in the past without this particular memory blocking her out, but she still holds the whispers of tradition within her (stored in the same space in her mind that holds the deathless legacy of her family name and the conspiracy she's chased since she was fourteen years old) and finds herself drawing closer.

She has little care to spare for the trivial things, but given where she is (the burning cabin, the queen of vampires with the silver pendant invading her family home), she does not feel remiss in watching the remains of what she'd failed to protect.

(It was the fear. The kind of fear where Kyoko woke up to the smoke and there is blood—that is not hers—on her body and she picked up at Yui’s cape, torn and tattered and her Mother didn’t look so much like Mother anymore.)

She looked at her hands.

(And she felt it, the shrieks in the air and cries in the distance, the smoke clings and turns to soot on her cheeks, and it is warm. So warm. Too warm.)

She retracts and coils into herself. Rubbing at her wrists, as if to check if it was still there.

But everything else—

She only knows she needs to keep moving.

Everything was so hopeless then. Even if it was for mere minutes. She’d just think about them instead.

She loved the comfort they brought to her in her sleep, sometimes she’d imagine they were still there. She would never dream of the burning house then.

Kyoko Kirigiri would be whole in their embrace—this she thought so much of—so full and made of everything in their arms.

She would look at her sides and the empty spaces that existed there, and she thinks about the warmth it used to occupy.

It wasn’t the warmth that killed her when she was thirteen. It was the warmth that made her feel like she was living, still. If she thought hard enough, maybe she was no different to a vampire. A dead woman walking.

But maybe, if she’s had her vengeance, she’d be okay by then. And if she knew the name of what took everything away from her, she’d had something to curse at in the daydreams of her sleepless nights. So she kept holding on to herself, even if the cracks were getting bigger and bigger as time moved on.

(Even if she was losing herself in the process.)

After all, everything in her life had always happened way too soon.

“You’re not much for sleeping, are you?” Ludenberg says blankly, observing her with an amused quirk to her lips. “I’ve lost count of the times I’ve seen you out here when you should be sleeping, dear hunter," she chuckles. "Sometimes, I like entertaining the thought that you’re a vampire yourself.”

Kirigiri tuts under her breath. “Perhaps you're not too far off.”

“Is your room not to your liking?” She tilts her head. “I can arrange better accommodations. There are clearly many rooms in this mansion, Kyoko. It’s not much of a problem for any of us.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s better than anything I’ve had in years. It’s just,” she inhales, she exhales. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“I thought,” Ludenberg scowls, the heat in her voice palpable, “that from the first few times, you would know better than lie to me.”

Despite herself, Kirigiri turns to face her fully, drawn by the sound of her voice, lower and slower than it normally was, but as much of a sin as always. Her words sink into Kirigiri slowly, piece-by-piece, and she allows herself to calm down before looking her in the eyes again. She huffs out an exasperated breath, changing her entire countenance, and the years that don’t belong to her finally disappear from holding down her shoulders.

“My apologies, your highness.” Kirigiri bows halfheartedly, her smile humorless as she drops her arms. “I should have known you weren't going to let this go so easily.”

Ludenberg looks at her closely.

“Night terrors, my dear?” She knows this is nothing probing. Merely a statement of fact, as if she was familiar with the experience. "Those are definitely a bother, aren’t they?”

Kirigiri nods, a tired smile tugging on the corner of her lips, the motion entirely unconscious and mortifyingly inconvenient. “They are.”

"Ah, yes." Ludenberg preens, obviously pleased with her answer. “Of course. I admit, from my years of living, that I would know exactly what waking up from a nightmare looks like. It’s one I see on you very clearly.”

Kirigiri relaxes into the explanation, easing her defensive posture. "The Countess of House Ludenberg gets nightmares? That's very incriminating information."

The joke has its desired effect, managing a small and delighted giggle from the lady of the house.

Hours earlier, she had gotten herself acquainted with the halls of the estate, determined to memorize its layout. It’s unusual for her to walk around so long without seeing a remarkable amount of combat, but she is thankful for the reprieve—especially thankful for the hours of company it brings her with the countess, in a way that their conversations later in the week do not require the vampire to use the regal mask she uses around as her servants' esteemed sire.

She sighs, a quiet sound that people who didn't pay attention would normally miss.

"Tired?" Of course, Ludenberg catches wind of it instantly, a pure and unrestrained honesty ghosting her expression that makes Kirigiri's knees nearly buckle. "I shall leave you alone for the night to let you get some rest, if you wish."

Kirigiri only shakes her head in denial, surprising herself by how unconcerned she was with the level of attention Ludenberg seems intent on giving her. "Not really. Just restless."

Ludenberg squints at her for a moment, before clearing her throat.

“Do you know how to dance the waltz?”

Kirigiri blinks at the strange and abrupt question, quirking a bewildered eyebrow. "Um—I'm sorry?"

She understands that this, this was a real, honest question—a considerate offering for a distraction while she scrambles for driftwood in this sea of undesirable answers.

Ludenberg coughs, shifting on her heels awkwardly. "The waltz. You know how to dance it, yes?"

No, she wants to say, in this moment she thinks she wants to be left alone, choke on her own misgivings, push her away. But it’s not really the same thing her heart wants, for once.

This time, she obeys.

“I do.”

“Excellent.” Ludenberg says, equal parts thoughtful and timid (Kirigiri did think she was capable of that, just not so soon, but she finds that she likes it, whatever this thing between them is). “Would you like to dance with me?”

Kirigiri lifts her hand reluctantly, having half the mind to back away, but then Ludenberg steps closer and takes over, the tips of her smooth and unblemished fingers sliding along the leather of her gloves.

To her internal embarrassment, the back of her neck produces a (mortifying) blissful warmth when there had been an impatient tug on her unclothed wrist, immediately erasing any worry or hesitation she had in the first place.

As they begin to dance and inaugurate a flow to their footwork, the moonlight bends, the room drifting to dust. She waltzes with her, hands so gently placed over her hips, and they talk quietly, mindlessly—whispering and so much whispering.

(She was in the house, and the fires burn more gently than violently, cracking flames flicker into the night, and there were no bodies, no blood, and no haunting tsk-tsk of the metronome.)

She follows her lead until Ludenberg is willing enough to hand the tempo of this odd dance to her, studying the vampire's smooth, elegant movements with a genuinely curious interest; even though she’s seen vampires move thousands of times before, knows how graceful they are, how effortless, there’s something about her that draws Kirigiri’s attention, forces her to watch, a choice made for her the moment those red eyes met her own.

If Ludenberg ever notices her staring in the time she's spent here, she never says anything, only tosses her a glance back with an amused expression on her face.

And so, finally comfortable in her own skin, she tells of a story, secretly, silently, mindlessly, and it is midnight by then.

"I was thirteen." Kirigiri allows, quiet and sure. She entwines their fingers perfectly, taking a half-step forward to close the unsatisfactory impersonal distance between them, keeping it from opening. "The house burned down, and there were no bodies left for me to bury by the time it was over."

She talked about it all. The silence that follows her storytelling must be what the inside of a coffin sounds like; no sort of corpse can be as quiet, as still, as calm as a vampire, and not a single one of these stories has made Ludenberg ever back away. Instead she draws closer, attentive and watchful, seemingly content with the lack of personal space.

The torchlights of the lobby illuminate their movement, shadows abound like an art form, animating the world around them as they prance around with an established rhythm, neither taking a single breath.

Kirigiri imagines the offshoots of this moment—vines, thorns, spider webs, mangrooves—spiraling and soaring outwards from this one ineffable blip in her lifetime, sprouts of possibility that they might follow together, should they begin to even fathom of choosing it.

"I got turned during a fire, coincidentally. Though it is unwise of me to pretend thinking it matters now, lifetimes later." Ludenberg starts in the silence, her frown pensive. "I was a young woman who was way in over her head, so tantalizingly close to usurping the throne for a local gambling ring in my village. I was—I believed myself to be cunning, so efficient with my ways to use my intellect, weaponizing my usage of brevity and wit. Yet it was all for naught, merely a naïve endeavor that attracted some… very unsavory attention."

She purses her lips. 

"From that untimely night, my fate was sealed."

She remembers the house.

"I had nothing to my name." Ludenburg continues, even lower now, much softer than the last. "I had not been around for the inception of this estate, instead I assumed ownership after certain circumstances. It belonged to an Earl before me, a chauvinistic man with no significant achievements of note, guilty of kidnapping and murdering residents from the settlement I've lived in with such shoddy spellwork that is nigh embarrassing for the laurels he boasts. Utterly incongruous."

The vampire's swallow bobs her throat, and Kirigiri wills herself not to be distracted by the graceful lines of her neck, by the cords of muscle made taut by holding back.

"In my ire, I took his title and his life."

Kirigiri smiles, amused by the overflowing pride in the inflection of the vampire's voice, glancing at her. Ludenberg seems to take notice of her expression, her own mouth curving in response.

"I was fifteen when I got my first kill," Kirigiri dips her, letting the silence hang another moment longer, faintly surprised at the faint ping of memory her words bring, rattling with an odd sort of homesickness from somewhere within her. "I fretted over that particular affair for days. Very embarrassing, but also very understandable."

"You were a child." Ludenberg raises an amused and incredulous eyebrow at her as they rise again and sway slowly. "I can hardly call that embarrassing, more like horrific."

She chuckles. There might be more to say about that, she might have some explanations, but instead Ludenberg merely stops her with a sharp shake of her head.

Instead, she decides to talk about her hands.

Can I see them? Ludenberg had asked at one point in the night, and Kirigiri doesn’t know how many hours they’ve been standing there—simply dancing, talking, talking and talking. The stained glass that frames the end of the hall and highlights the grand staircase of the lobby glows a gentle, baby blue.

She doesn’t resist.

“This is the mark of a survivor.” The statement is little more than a breath, and Kirigiri feels it deeply, the gaps in herself, the things cleaved away by loss. "It's wonderful."

“I've been dreaming—for years now." Kirigiri replies softly. "The burning house, Enoshima and the silver pendant—” She cuts herself off with a sigh, eyebrows furrowing, posture unwinding as she hums in thought. “Now I'm here, chasing after the shadows left behind by my progenitor, one I've been chasing for a decade, only for it to be something that's far beyond my abilities.”

That is the root of the problem, no? Kirigiri does not know the names and faces in her father's notebooks intimately, cannot place them in her own history, but in Enoshima's hands is the silver pendant rumored to be her only vice and weakness, and even then there is her own incapability of obtaining it in the reality of the situation, all a weight on her shoulders that seem nearly impossible to bear.

The vampire looks at her. “I cannot claim to know what your pendant truly will do to the likes of an ancient like me or Enoshima. Or its origin. I can only guess that there is power in that relic, still, that speaks to your heritage more than it does to her.”

In Ludenberg’s fingertips, Kirigiri feels the steady thrum of power, currents of vampirism and magic just under the skin, building in pressure and aching to be released. She knows the answer to the question on her lips, but asks it anyway.

“Then what is it? If not myself, who has guided me here?”

For a moment, Ludenberg halts, stopping the momentum of their dance. Her lack of awareness to Kirigiri's true agendas do nothing to blunt the intensity of the calculating look that digs at some instinct within her that has her wanting to confess to a crime she doesn't recall committing.

“I cannot answer that. It is one you must look for on your own, in your own time.” She says confidently. "It seems like you've found yourself in quite a conundrum."

Kirigiri chuckles dryly. "A very complicated one, I'm afraid."

"What do you want to do about it?" The countess lets go of their intertwined fingers, running her knuckles idly against the bottom of her chin, thinking, watching the torches flicker and the shadows shift across the ballroom. “The very truth of this situation would make any human run away with their tail between their legs, preferring to live their lives in feigned ignorance. And yet you stay here, upholding your end of the bargain and seeking for solutions to an impossible problem."

Kirigiri observes her for a moment, watching Ludenberg's eyes flash—a wee second—but one that has her eyes grow more vivid in color; Kirigiri lets the moment stir within them, waiting, as if recognizing the split edge of a decision, the thin line of all dark and dangerous games.

“Well,” Kirigiri says after unsticking her voice from the back of her throat. "For one, I'm very hard to get rid of.”

It takes an unfair amount of effort for her to restrain her smile at that, knowing vaguely the direction this conversation is going, knowing exactly where they’re both going to end up eventually, for the second time since they met. “Truly?” Ludenberg counters wryly, seemingly unable to keep the mirth away from her tone. "You’re stubborn? That's a very incriminating detail to give me on such loose terms. I hope you are aware."

Kirigiri holds back an honest-to-god laugh, hearing the ridiculousness of her own words back to her, the irony loud and intoxicating. Ludenberg rolls her eyes, too entertained to be bothered, too genuinely wanting.

In actuality, there’s less of a dispute here than there should be. Kirigiri knows in her bones, in the way the woman in front of her has not moved away from her personal space, listens to the flutter of her heart, the flames alight all around them, and in a way they both warm her all the same. The pull in her chest is too strong, the ballroom compounding its own walls, taking her in, no exits bound. Everything sinks, rises like the moon overhead, coloring the stained glass walls.

"I like to think of it as equivalent exchange, even though the circumstances are unfruitful on my end." Kirigiri says, her grin growing. "It is only fair."

“Well, I’d like to propose a solution to your dilemma.” Ludenberg murmurs against her jaw, sultry and seductive, feeling the porcelain floor shift and rotate beneath their heels. The vampire bridges the gap between them with her mouth, leaning upward, her lips brushing against Kirigiri's like a phantom. “I hope something of this calibre is to your liking?”

Kirigiri swallows, unable to help herself, lips parting, voice coming out coarse and winded. She whispers huskily, “You make a compelling argument."

Her red eyes flash greedily. "Would you mind doing a demonstration?”

She moves at that immediately, palms cupping Ludenberg's waist, drawing her in without hesitation; they’re past the pretenses, too exposed for any deception. The countess bridges the remainder of the distance with a sigh of surrender, capturing Kirigiri’s bottom lip and kissing her with an eagerness far from the playful detachment of what was initially offered. Kirigiri sinks into her far too easily, eyelids fluttering shut, her tongue sweeping over the other's lip; let me in, she’s saying, let me in or else.

But Ludenberg breaks their kiss, straightens up, clears her throat; she licks her lips, seemingly searching, before looking at the dishevelled state of their apparel; Kirigiri briefly wonders what she would look like without it, if the suggestive curves of her dress match the flesh underneath. She thinks about finding that out for herself.

“So soon?” Kirigiri asks, breathless, but still unable to hide her amusement. “Should we not have done that?”

"I'm afraid any longer and I might just milk you dry." Ludenberg says coyly, giggling in clear delight. "But no, it is not that. In fact, I disagree separating from our prospective affairs of the night rather violently. I've just come across a very striking revelation that needs our immediate attention." 

She quirks an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Ludenberg actually laughs, but it fades into another, longer exhale; her mouth retains the smile, slowly growing into something kinder, a softer sort of yearning that finally reaches her eyes. “I thought I’ve forgotten,” she says, an emotion Kirigiri can’t quite place lingering underneath. “Your enthusiastic company made me remember some things. I thought I lost it a long time ago.”

"I see." She decides to pry, patiently. “What is it that you’ve found?”

“It's a strange feeling,” Her hands are thin and pale across Kirigiri's cheeks, finding each other behind her neck, graceful and comfortable if not for the speed with which they retreat back to her shoulders. Not yet, something whispers, there is a territory of intimacy they are ill-prepared to discover and explore. “I feel like I have a heart again.”

Ludenberg’s eyes flick up and then down again; she takes a deep breath as she resets. Again, the countess hums, though this time, she fails in her neutrality and deception, eyes crinkling with the a new sort of fondness that threatens to spill out, threatens to stress the already erratic pace of Kirigiri's heartbeat.

“I feel the same,” Kirigiri manages to rasp out. “When you put it like that.”

“How so?” Red eyes linger over her with a softness that should be heretical, her heart feels just on the verge of bursting in the silence.

“I mean, it’s always been here,” Kirigiri continues, fingers curling and stroking, bold movements despite the hesitance that bears down on her shoulders. “Perhaps I’ve just… forgotten that at one point.”

Ludenberg giggles. “With you, I tend to forget that my heart technically stopped beating a long time ago.”

“This is the weirdest irony. You’re the vampire here, not me.”

The woman grins, fangs flashing shamelessly.

“Indeed.”

And it’s as if she’s ready to pour out forever from her lips. It’s them. Maybe, just maybe, if their circumstances were a bit more different, Kyoko would know that she would be here—she can imagine herself pointing at her chest, where her heart is—and Ludenburg just belonged there. She swears she belonged there.

“Kyoko.”

Her name slips from Ludenberg's lips like a sigh (or a commitment, hidden and lurking in the linings like a promise). Kirigiri moves closer again, drawn in by the enchanting sound, foreign and familiar and new (all three things happening at the same time, layers upon layers, adding impossible and absolutely perplexing to the list of what made up the gorgeous and enigmatic Celestia Ludenberg).

The vampire whispers—no—pleads, “I'd like you to address me by my first name, from this moment on. No titles, no formalities.”

Kirigiri's movements still briefly, then tilt, lifting Ludenberg's chin back up from where it’s fallen, so she can see the anticipation in her eyes, surely a crystal clear reflection of what shows in her own.

"Celestia," she murmurs, much too close than is absolutely necessary. "I shall serve you to the best of my abilities in the duration of my stay."

At last, Ludenberg sharpens, offers her a lopsided, satisfied smile instead, the truth is infinitely more dangerous than any of her beguiling and belligerent masks; she runs her tongue over the point of a fang.

“Don’t worry,” she says imperiously, a current of power ringing underneath her voice, and Kirigiri finally sees all the layers to her that have yet to be uncovered. “I shall give you my utmost attention.”

Kirigiri walks into her assigned study, a few papers crushed under her boots as she heaves out a sigh.

She had elected to shadow Ludenberg during the briefings that called to various members of the estate, and somehow, despite the sheer magnitude of preparation for an apparent major feud between two notorious covens, they’d proceeded at an enjoyable and pleasant pace.

Kirigiri pays attention to the dynamics abound in the house; Ludenberg is the revered sire—the way in which she carried herself was impressive, her chosen style of leadership without any glaring signs of weakness—and her attention remains there, despite the widespread fascinations of the house elsewhere. Ludenberg does not seem to fault her clearly biased focus, but in fact seems to relish in the extra attention.

There were some interesting characters walking these halls, too, one she’s managed to establish a decent rapport with a few weeks into living here; a man by the name of Tanaka, in particular, was an encounter she was struggling to convince herself to be anything remotely real. Let it be known Celestia’s associates were not boring company in the slightest.

All of them had taken a brief look at her and decided she was no stranger in these walls. It was a jarring observation she found hard swallowing, there had been something suggestive lurking in their eyes, faint, gleaming, deliberate; it speaks to a sort of inner joke Kirigiri wasn’t in on, can’t possibly comprehend in the period of time she was allowed here.

She holds back a snort—was it perhaps she was canoodling with their boss? It was a comical notion to entertain, at first, with the image of supposedly sinister, conniving, and scheming vampires running interference on her behalf, but there was a chilling kind of acceptance behind the teasing, one she can’t seem to reconcile with. Why had it been so easy?

There’s no use understanding what they saw in her for them to accept her so quickly. They’ve been around for hundreds of years. It’s easy to forget the fact that her presence would not mean much in the vast reach of their lifetimes.

Or that’s what she kept telling herself anyway.

She could just sleep it out, but she doesn’t despite her exhaustion; she takes time to examine each inch of the room given to her, careful not to disrupt the semblance of order she’s established, just staring, touching, and returning.

Kirigiri can’t explain why, but every facet of the brief life she’s built here is enthralling and enchanting: her revolver sitting over her bedside drawer, covered in a thin layer of dust, shockingly untouched for a week; the loose pile of maps and schematics piled precariously on her study desk, dog-eared and worn at the frequent usage it went through daily; her closet, which is deceivingly large for the minimal amount of clothing she carried around in reality. She carefully thumbs over the lighter with the luxurious engravings Ludenberg had given to her as a joke the day before, resting just beside the papers in her study, and it looks like nothing Kirigiri would ever use, let alone own. 

The easy part of this was that Kirigiri would say she did her job and did it well. It was done and done. That the hour she shot the last arrow from her crossbow, the last bullet from her pistols, it was the last time she’d be here.

But is it what she really wanted, in the end?

What is she without the raging heart taken away from her eleven years ago?

What else can she do, when her heart burned away with her mother and her closest friend’s corpses—at the house that smelled like sandalwood and scented candles?

What was she to do, when the only place she called home, were now specks of dust in the wind?

(When she wept that evening, the soot clung to her cheeks, and she dirtied her face as she scratched at it, at her hair, at her neck, at her clothes, and she wished for death and death alone, then and there.)

What I will do is, a younger, angrier version of her would say, I will come to the danger. I will reach to it. To the truth of it all, even if it kills me.

She groans out loud. Certainly, a mid-life crisis was not on the list when she came here.

She sits down on the cushioned seat of her study, and it’s surprisingly comfortable for something that likely doesn’t see much use, judging from the sheer amount of guest rooms in this manor. She stares at the ceiling, watches the torchlights dance, and fights to stop the cluster of uncertainty welling underneath her heart.

Instead, she imagines the house from her dreams, more than a decade ago, with visions of herself running happily across the grass while her family watched from the patio; remembers how she’d laugh at the way the remnants of the haybales got stuck in her hair. How she’d curl up on the floor in front of the fireplace and fall asleep during the cold winter nights. How she used to run the hills with her father, thinking she’d be able to acquire the same nimbleness he got from his travels.

You can just walk this off. She hears Ludenberg’s voice in her head, speaking the only comforting words she has on repeat. Hundreds to thousands have fallen before you, and you don’t have to be the next.

Sleep does not come to her.

Had she come to the right place—

(You can just walk this off.)

—but at the wrong time?

Ludenberg seems somewhat surprised to see her lounging peacefully when she visits her room around the evening, her posture slack and feet up on the desk of her study. The lights are dim and flap with the air of wings, coalescing around her. The room seems to focus on her when she steps through the door, black strands turning brown against the light, her dark dress an odd contrast against the mahogany of the room and—

“Well, aren’t you comfortable?”

Kirigiri squints as she finally fathoms the sight in front of her, feeling a pulse, like a heartbeat without presence. The colors are odd and misplaced, blown up and boiled down; the vampire almost looks blurry to her, like her own eyes are still coated in rain and mist, like she’s staring at a painting deliberately out-of-focus. An ethereal image that takes her breath away.

“It’s a luxury I won’t be having once I leave.” Kirigiri shrugs, removing her boots from the desk but still keeping her stance unguarded. “Might as well.”

“That’s understandable.”

Ludenberg steps quietly to her side, leaning over her shoulder to inspect the papers on her desk, settling beside Kirigiri with an uncharacteristic carefulness. The vampire shakes her head when she meets her eyes, reaching out and running her fingers gently through the loose strands of hair falling across Kirigiri’s cheek, brushing them away from her face.

Her lips ghost a small kiss over Ludenberg’s wrist—it’s probably an astronomically stupid idea to touch a vampire when her revolver was not on her, considering they were creatures adept at taking advantage of vulnerability and weakness—but Ludenberg only blinks slowly, gazing languidly down at her, delicate with her ministrations. She watches the vampire’s body shift when she handles the chair, forcing her to face the countess fully, muscles gliding underneath her skin, but never tensing. 

“There seems to be something on your mind.” Kirigiri finds herself asking despite herself. “What can I do for you?”

The sentiment stagnates, crumbles under pressure. “Do you not have duties around this time?” Kirigiri tries again, uttering the question as if that particular string of words had been said a thousand times before, despite merely being weeks old. “This doesn’t seem to be a normal visit.”

Ludenberg does not speak. She bears silence differently, vastly different from the barkeeper she’s met weeks ago. She continues tracing her pale and slender fingers along the same path, her temple, her cheekbone, her jaw; Kirigiri concedes, allowing the intensity in her shoulders and body to weaken to her proprietor’s touch.

“Kyoko.”

Kirigiri meets her stare.

“Should the encounter go without complications, your contract is finished by the end of the week.” Ludenberg clears her throat. “Meaning, you leave at end of this month,” she says to her, and Kirigiri can’t help but think at how much it sounds more like a question than a declaration.

“I do,” she confirms regardless, ignoring the anxious twitch in her fingers, keeping her voice level. “I still have much to do, now that I know just what it is I’m after. I cannot impose.”

Ludenberg lifts a hand, palm fully cupping Kirigiri’s cheek, and her fingers curve automatically against the corner of her jaw, the shell of her ear. Kirigiri leans into the touch, and it’s all the sign the countess needs to gently coax herself down, not quite sitting on her lap but unbearably close enough that she practically was, eyelashes fluttering closed.

“Surely you can compromise?” She murmurs, voice softening. “Another week to get your bearings straight sounds fair, no?”

“You are rather insistent on getting me to stay here.” Kirigiri points out whimsically. “You’re not just buttering me up to be a blood sacrifice to some strange coven-exclusive ritual here, are you?”

Ludenberg sighs, but doesn’t pause her movements. “Whatever presumptions you have of our kind that led to that is very untrue and moronic,” she argues mildly. “And yes, I’m very insistent. I can’t let you go gallivanting around on a suicide mission without any sort of insurance.”

She pauses.

“Not when I’ve found you.”

Her eyes widen at that. Oh.

Well.

Kirigiri hums shakily at the admission, watching Ludenberg’s gaze darkening slightly, giving her every chance to sit up and run away; she never does, only sits there, waiting, strokes slowing down with a burning need that grows apparent to the both of them with every second passing. Kirigiri moves, palming her hips, fingers applying the barest amount of pressure through the vampire’s nightgown.

The slant to Ludenberg’s lips is somewhat guilty. “Well?”

Kirigiri raises her eyebrows, trying to figure out which reaction is winning or if it’s appropriate, her mouth curling into a strange, bemused half-grin. Ludenberg takes immediate notice of the expressions seemingly at war on her face and smirks at her.

“I’m sorry but um, well.” Kirigiri begins with an entirely unwilling smile on her face, “I’m… trying to decide if I’m supposed to be turned on, or upset that you’re literally seducing me to stay here.” Her tongue slips out—the blasted traitorous thing—licking her bottom lip.

Ludenberg lets out an evil and shameless laugh, but Kirigiri hears the nearly painful pang of longing that lingers underneath. “You cannot blame a woman for trying.”

“True enough,” Kirigiri says, blatantly checking her up and down, giving way too much attention to the area where the vampire’s dress had hiked up, the amount of thigh on display alarming enough to knock an innocent man unconscious. “I think your damn plan is working though.”

Maybe, for tonight, she’ll forget about herself, just for a while.

She feels the throbbing of her own pulse at the side of her neck. The room is sweltering, too hot; it sizzles, it burns, but it’s the opposite of unpleasant.

With their lips still hovering so closely together, she whispers. “May I?”

Ludenberg closes her eyes as she mumbles and closes the distance with a, “Yes, you may.”

In the second their lips touch, the world stops, and she wonders, for just the moment, if the abyss where Ludenberg’s heart sits at is beating, fluttering, throbbing, and her eyelids drift shut as she wonders the same for herself.

The kiss slows, slows naturally, and there’s a comfort in here, so she doesn’t pull away—Kirigiri swears, fuck, she swears it’s like she belonged just right there—she’d done it in the heat of the moment, but now she’s left thinking if this was an eventual sort of thing.

There’s no way to explain this, Kirigiri thinks, stunned into speechlessness by the red in her eyes; her smile is gently curved, like something soft, the way silk folds, the way candles melt. Kirigiri can’t stop her stare from wandering; her skin is pale and there’s so much of it on display, all places she wants to rest her hands, use her mouth.

Ludenberg fits in darkness, that’s the thing, wearing the shadows of the night like a second skin, the personification of the moon swallowed, still reflecting light, but in the daybreak—

In the look, in them, the feel of them in the room, so content in this unmoving silence where the only thing left to do is to let the moment unravel and swallow them whole.

“This is bad,” she says idly, breathless and starstruck when they separate, meeting Ludenberg’s gaze. “Now it’s definitely working.”

“Is it now?” Ludenberg snickers at the way she’s unable to scrounge something in her brain for a witty response, like thinking is a process Kirigiri’s apparently never heard of before.

They return for another, desperate for the feel of the hands tugging at her scalp, the heat under her clothes, the warmth of the candlelights, the air leaking from her lungs, the little hitch to Ludenberg’s each inhale, and Kyoko asks for another— Ludenberg allows her, and another. Another. And another and another. And suddenly clothes feel too restricting.

Really, this isn’t something she’s ever dreamed of having, her tongue sweeps so hotly and greedily at Ludenberg’s lips, her gloves (ones she want to take off) gripping casually at the open slit on the woman’s thigh, but maybe, maybe, maybe she’d want to dream about it more.

“Stay.” She whispers, an almost unbearable tenderness. The ambient noise is nothing but a hum; the room of impossible colors refract against their bodies like glass.

Don’t leave, she infers, don’t you dare leave.

“Okay.” Kirigiri finds herself saying, and she means it.

And then she was tilting her head back, her neck open and the pulse throbs louder.

Again, she dreams of the burning house. 

This one though, for the first time, doesn’t induce that much rage as it should.

Well, it still did turn her guts inside out, for one, but it’s kind of more of a natural thing, a more normal reaction to seeing and experiencing the carnage. Of realizing you’re in a nightmare again, one that you’ve lived a million times before.

There was hope in this. Here. She sees it.

She thinks of her mother’s eyes, Yui’s, shining so brightly and more radiantly than the sunset—a fine inception to the fall weather that evening had been—and if she could say it back then, she would say Kyoko Kirigiri treasured these.

Maybe, maybe her father was there too. Somewhere.

Their eyes. Their smiles. The way they embraced her.

And the hope that carried her so much that she felt it even years later, at the way she looked at her hands and be reminded of how warm theirs felt against hers. At the way she curled at their sides on the hot summer days.

And be reminded that the world wasn’t always so lawless.

Kirigiri smiles to herself. She wants to think so too.

“Let me help you,” Ludenberg says the next morning at the breakfast table. The two of them had been alone that time of the day, their associates electing that they couldn’t quite stomach all the… fanfare that came with a hunter outright sleeping with their boss just yet. “I will help you.”

The fork stops midway to her mouth. “What?”

Ludenberg scoffs under her breath. “Do we not understand each other? Did I take away too much blood from you last night that you forgot?” She rolls her eyes theatrically, the accent in her voice falls away just for a bit, enough for her to realize she was being teased. “With Enoshima, obviously.”

“I don’t quite comprehend.” She chuckles charmingly, letting her body language relax, as if she’s somehow supremely comfortable with stripping herself bare to a creature that could kill her in an instant. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Enoshima is elusive,” the countess says simply. “Very much so. There’s a reason you’ve never heard much of her aside from your childhood encounter. But with what remains of my kind—older ones, lucky ones—those who’ve lived for more than a hundred years would know, she has made many enemies over the course of her reign. Even the enemy of our enemy is no pushover, Kyoko.”

“I… see.” She says, raising a curious eyebrow. “That’s reassuring?”

Their interactions should follow the same pattern, but this one was different, notably, and their atmospheres don’t blend; their conversations before that fateful evening remind Kirigiri of every dark and twisted path, every cold and deadly corner, shadows and tendrils lying in wait. They mirror it well and at the same time it could never be the same, shrouded in the morning daylight, the current of tension between them coiled to a point where neither could tell where it ends and where it begins.

It started as a game of callous chess, all expectation, no equals made in a match where they never bothered looking at each other from the other side.

They fit here better. Even if the moon isn’t back in the sky where it belongs, or that the stars are still in the wrong places. It isn’t that they’re on the edge of something, a mutual understanding warring with itself over whether or not it’s finished forming.

It isn’t that she’s a human whose life has begun winding itself to a centuries-old vampire, a woman who was essentially an antithesis of everything she stood for, the blackness swallowing the light inward.

Kirigiri pushes one portion of the toast in her mouth, wipes the crumbs at her lips with the back of her hand. “How do you propose we do this then?”

Ludenberg’s lip curls, viperous. 

“Kill her before she kills you.”

Kirigiri smiles back unwillingly at the arrogant declaration, subtly covering her lips with a hand propped under her chin, catching the bemusement in her partner’s eyes before it goes away.

Ludenberg continues, “Fear has always been the means to an end since time immemorial. Knowledge goes hand-in-hand with fear, through rumors and hearsays and the reliable word of mouth. Fear creates hatred towards inaction, thus begins the desperate search for knowledge. Let them know, let them have a glimpse of the evil that lingers in the horizon.”

“Given the glaring increase in human mortality as of late, the meaning of the situation would dawn on them rather quickly.” Kirigiri says stoically, parsing through Ludenberg’s words with an appropriate level of caution. “This is… very unconventional, especially on your end, you realize.”

“Very much so, but I want it to happen anyway.” She huffs, chin held in her hand, stare darting across the room as if mentally scratching x’s across a map. “I want each and every one of us—even the damn ghouls—talking, watching, knowing that every nook and cranny we wish to hide in is unsafe and unwelcome. I want to see them squirm.”

“You wish to make the lot of you restless and hankering for a way out,” Kirigiri finishes, grasping at the meaning and the complications of the plan being presented before her. “Give Enoshima an ultimatum that forces her hand, so we can acquire insight on what we can do about her.”

“I’ve never been able to do much snooping around given that my house and its inhabitants carry a suitable amount of notoriety,” she says playfully, tracing mindless patterns over the silverware in front of her with a finger. “My movements gather too much interest and that will simply not do for spywork. You, however, are entirely the same way Enoshima is when it comes to leaving any tracks: you have none.”

“I’m… practically a ghost,” Kirigiri agrees, her sober tone contrasting funnily with Ludenberg’s mischievous one. “I can do as I please.”

“Perhaps, I can handle the politics while you handle the background dirty work,” Ludenberg muses, strangely detached with one finger on her lip. “I deal with old, withering and bickering elders on a daily basis. It’s rather amusing, watching them writhe and flounder like children.”

“Is this the state of affairs? Agitate the peace, and hope our target scampers out of the shadows in the midst of all this unrest?”

The vampire laughs. “In the best way possible.”

“Hm. Is this why so many are terrified of you?” Kirigiri asks quietly, intrigued despite herself, but does not approach the inquiry with the brutal outspokenness she is known for.

“You know by now that the world of the supernatural is lawless.” Ludenberg tells her vaguely. “With only so few keen on keeping order, death is a penalty that is attained by many very easily. What I am proposing is incredibly tame in comparison.” She pauses, pursing her lips. “With that being said, what model is your firearm?”

Kirigiri hums lowly at the slight detour of topics, taking her silver revolver out of her jacket pocket, snapping the chamber open, clicks and reloads the wheel; Ludenberg eyes it appreciatively as it shimmers, her gaze curious and appraising. She goes through the motions with ease, then flicks her gun shut; the silver has been cleansed of the dust it has drawn during her stay, the metal glinting brightly against the morning daylight.

“A very fine one,” Ludenberg comments, giving the device a discerning glance. “And in great condition as well. It’s been quite a while since I’ve last seen one in the hands of a hunter.”

“My father’s, and the man before him. So on and so forth.” Kirigiri murmurs, her voice strangely cold. “This particular model is really old. How long have you been around?”

Ludenberg sighs loudly, blowing her bangs out of her face. “I am nearly two centuries old. I was turned when I was twenty-three.”

Regardless of her age, she is still beautiful. Kirigiri realizes this belatedly, when her fanged grin spreads across her face like the fine stroke of a paintbrush. (This is by no means a romantic analogy, but it is the most apt; far better than the comparisons to the dark night sky that Kirigiri has become a companion to as of late, found herself ruminating on in the nights where her worries plagued her like devils on her shoulders, despite her best efforts.)

“How… how are you certain this will work?” Kirigiri finally works up the nerve to ask, tone sharp, the strong cadence present in her usual voice returning with renewed vigor. “You count on fear and unrest, a variable with unlimited possibilities and an enormous margin of failure, and yet you are assured in its success. What about it makes you so sure?”

There are many answers to this question. Most of them, Kirigiri has accounted for in casualties and obvious errors, but the one Ludenberg settles on now is entirely her own deduction, and for the first time Kirigiri does not know where it truly comes from, if not from somewhere within the red of the vampire’s eyes.

“Risk-takers are never certain of the results, Kyoko. Take heed.”

Kirigiri waits for her to continue.

“It simply means that if given the chance, things will never go the way anyone expects it to.” Ludenberg says, sounding exactly the age she is, shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly. “And in this suicidal game we waded ourselves in, that is more than enough.”

Another woman might let this answer speak for itself, but Kyoko Kirigiri is a relentless discrepancy in the framework of the universe. She leans forward and asks (with layers upon layers of questions and unearthed discoveries, the wunderkind of vampires holding the answers just right before her).

Junko Enoshima’s infamy reaches so far.

And it may as well become the very same thing that will kill her.

“Will it work?”

The smirk on Ludenberg’s face grows wider, turning prideful and conceited.

“Yes.”

They end up winding themselves in each other’s lives, with minimal contest. She’d go out of her journeys and go on with her life as usual, but there’s a house, a home—she’s not ready to call that yet, but it’s close—waiting for her. And sometimes, they would end up bumping into each other while Kyoko’s on the job, and Celestia would playfully try to make it harder for her with the little free time she has.

There used to be so, so much unoccupied space, a lot of secrets here and there, maybe a few more revelations to be had, but Ludenberg lives there, and a bit more of her and she might just forget she was her prey in the first place.

The coven catches wind of the changes surprisingly quickly, and Kirigiri surprises herself by how little she minded their nosiness in the matter. There might’ve been a few protests initially, but after a while they’ve resigned—no, that wasn’t the right word—accepted that there was no one else perfect for their mistress other than her.

If anything, after she’s proven herself, she was allowed into their abode without complaint and with more cheer than she expected to have, like there was always this empty spot with her name on it. It’s an appreciation that’s better left unsaid.

It’s difficult to be around her former employer without touching her in some way. A hand at the hip, maybe at her thigh, maybe fingers on her arm, or a hand at her cheek—she can’t stand for it to be anyone else.

That realization itself is gruelling and difficult to swallow. It’s everything and not nearly enough at once, too early, too soon, too many missing pieces but enough for her to piece the bigger picture together: given permission, Ludenberg forces her back against the bed, unbuttons her pants, lifts her own shirt up and off, and now there’s skin worth talking about, now there’s room for art. Kirigiri wants this feeling to consume her, wants a hand around her throat. There is something to be said about solace and belonging in this haze of pain and mystery.

Ludenberg allows a gasp, hot against her, capturing her mouth in a frenzied, dirty kiss; her fang catches, sinks, blood pooling in her mouth. This entire affair is ruthlessly pornographic, but it’s nothing compared to the way it feels to taste her, cold and warm all at once; the imprint on her lips is small, and the flow ceases immediately when she pulls away, their mouths now smeared a dazzling red.

That’s when it strikes her: she could get used to this, she thinks, and her hands are flipping through the books of the romance section of the manor library, page after page, word after word, looking at each and every story and how they were written with pride. She laughs at it appreciatively.

Written on banners and crests and finery, Kirigiri has seen tales of romance for as long as she can remember. Odd and incredibly ironic, that for a woman of her education, it’s only now she truly understands their meaning.

She thinks of the time she imagined herself pointing at her chest, and she feels for the words so deeply she almost gasps—I know it, I swear, I swear that you were here. You belong here, no one else can.

I swear, Kyoko would point at her heart, I swear you belonged here.

“It’s always the same with you hunters,” Ludenberg mutters to her, like the world hasn’t stopped turning, like everything hasn’t frozen in place because Kirigiri is there, looking up at her in wonder. “Such impudence in the beginning, only for ungraceful submission in the end.”

Kirigiri’s heart flips several times in her chest. The realization she now holds stings. There’s smoke filling her lungs, and she wants to say the words out loud with an alarming desperation. Love is some form of pain, of fire, but also the subtle lift of the corner of Ludenberg’s lips (the one that always lets her know she’s not entirely serious with the scathing things she says).

“There are appearances to keep.” Kirigiri tells her, waits a beat. In it, she thinks the same words again. There are appearances to keep, but not enough for you to bypass those rules entirely.

Everyone else must’ve realized they were a pair of lovesick idiots, enough that they’d want to twist the world in on its own axis, and to touch each other so purely and so raw—with their bodies, with their lips, with their hands. 

“Celestia,” she says quietly.

Their bodies draw so close it almost blurs to nothing.

Kirigiri’s eyes glint even without light; she knows because Ludenberg’s eyes reflect it very clearly to the point that it almost seems like a mirror.

Let me see you whole, she thinks of saying. Let's keep the lights out, let's keep this between us.

Let me love you fully.

Let me find you in the dark.

“My turn,” she says dangerously, nudging her up, and Ludenberg steadies herself above her mouth with her head thrown back.

It is summer. Months and months into the future, perhaps a year later.

“Drink my blood.”

“No,” Kyoko says with finality. “I can’t.”

Ludenberg’s expression immediately contorts, more monster than human, shadows drawing angles against her skin. “Are you certain,” she hisses, all fury and ferocity.

Kirigiri knows, at the very least, that despite the fussing, her partner respected her choice. She was a lady of her word.

No matter how much it hurt the both of them.

“I would love to spend lifetimes with you,” she says dejectedly, like she’s being strangled just by being here, “but I have an oath to follow, and cannot.”

She can’t bear to watch humanity die while she looked the same.

“You know,” Ludenberg begins, imperious despite the sadness lingering in the corner of her lips, “I would be crying or screaming at you in rage. However, it is unfortunate, I’m smart enough to have anticipated your choice. You’re special like that.”

Kirigiri smiles, unabashed.

“How do you want to die, huntress?”

The question is there, the double entendre is clear; she’s smirking in a way that it’s facetious, but it is muted, saddened, still somehow beautiful because it is a part of her that is inseparable.

Kirigiri looks at the papers strewn on the table. All familiar; maps, plans, black tattered clothes, her father’s silver pendant.

“Glory? Riches?” Ludenberg asks, her voice playful. “Surrounded by beautiful women? One hundred dead bodies?”

She laughs. “No.”

The burning house.

The tsk-tsk of the metronome.

Can you hear, she would say, can you hear the vastness of the gratitude I whispered into your hearts?

Reckoning is upon them. The weapons in the armory are ready for excessive use. The hunters are gathering. The revolution is a ruthless forest fire that grows and grows as the clock whirrs and time moves on.

Behold, the twilight comes.

She smirks, a dangerous little thing.

“I want to die giving Junko Enoshima,” she says cockily, “my last ‘fuck you’, nothing else.”

Her voices fades off in the darkness, a friend to her now; a single footstep hits the floor, and then the strong presence hovers in front of her, staring in. It’s all she needs; she’s been waiting for the signs, the whispers, the rumors, the hearsays of death and struggle. Anywhere there’s a massacre, Enoshima is there. Ludenberg’s machinations have worked splendidly, much to her chagrin.

The vampire rolls her eyes, but the grin on her face, fangs out and shining menacingly, Kyoko’s never seen anything like it.

She likes it. So she memorizes the look, for what could be perhaps her last time.

“I never thought otherwise.”