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“You’re making yourself sick.”
“I know.”
“Why not go to her? She’d welcome you with open arms.”
The worry that pinches Tsuyu’s timeless features pains Ochako. More than the thirst, it’s Tsuyu’s suffering that undoes her. The gnawing pit in her stomach pales in comparison to the hemorrhaging hole in her heart that hurting Tsuyu causes.
In another lifetime, Tsuyu and Ochako are destined to spend eternity in each other’s arms, satiated by their everlasting love.
In another lifetime, Ochako’s soulmate isn’t a puckish, blonde human that will weather while Ochako does not.
“I can’t.” Ochako shakes her head, eyelids fluttering closed. “She’s not you.”
“You’re not you,” Tsuyu argues. “Not like this.”
Of course, she's right: Ochako hasn’t been well for some time. An errant spark could set her paper-dry skin alight. Even the sun’s treacherous rays can’t brighten her once ruby eyes, now pallid and dull. And, in truly morose and heart-rending fashion, her smile has long since ventured from her hollowed cheeks.
Tsuyu had argued with Ochako, knowing the cost of what she asked. Argued through and through that Ochako seek out the young woman whose blood would return her to health.
Heart crumbling and ashen, Ochako refused and rebuked Tsuyu’s attempts, too stubborn to crawl into the arms of a human she didn’t love but was destined to be hers.
But, no longer.
Tsuyu, loving Ochako unwaveringly, leaves.
When she returns, it’s with Himiko in tow.
Ochako can smell Himiko before she’s crossed the threshold. Her throat is raw, and her fangs press past her colorless gums, digging into her lower lip. Two pinpricks that she’s too numb to feel.
“You brought her here?” Ochako hisses, a wounded growl building in her throat at Tsuyu’s betrayal.
Before her, Tsuyu stands, hand in hand with Ochako’s personal hell—and her salvation.
“You are going to die, Ochako.” Tsuyu’s tone is flat and colder than the grave she’d crawled out of once upon a time. “I won’t force you to drink from her, but please listen to what she has to say.”
The pallor of Tsuyu’s skin contrasts sharply with Himiko’s ruddy hue. Humans, even pale ones, always appear rosy against the backdrop of ashen vampires, whose undead flesh is cool toned and muted. Himiko is no different. Or perhaps, the ways in which she is different delivers her as a treat more divine than ambrosia.
Beside Tsuyu, Himiko is life embodied: her aurum eyes shining like twin suns, her cherry cheeks flush with blood, and her parted lips curling into a grin so sinful Ochako can tell the human came willingly, unafraid and unbothered by what Tsuyu asked of her.
“Tsu-chan told me a lot about you,” Himiko chimes, swinging her and Tsuyu’s clasped hands. “Told me all about your tragic little state. Said only I can help you now. Isn’t that great? It’s like a dream come true. We’re gonna be the best of friends, Ochako-chan! I can tell already!”
Faced with Tsuyu’s and Himiko’s undivided attention, Ochako feels like an ant beneath the heel of a boot. The crushing weight of their expectations settles on her frail shoulders, and she sinks deep into her armchair, hunched more from anguish than hunger.
Releasing Himiko’s hand, Tsuyu strides forward, reaching to lift Ochako’s chin.
“Please,” she whispers, stroking Ochako’s cheek with her thumb. “For me.”
Tsuyu kisses Ochako’s forehead with absolute tenderness—tenderness that ought to signify how right they are for each other, rather than how wrong.
Then, she becomes one with the night, flitting away on leathery wings to leave Ochako alone with her soulmate, Himiko.
Ochako wakes to Tsuyu pulling her close. She feels her mate brush her hair from her eyes and hums as kisses are trailed along her jaw, across her cheeks, and then planted on her nose.
“Good evening, sleeping beauty,” Tsuyu hums, mirth in her voice as she holds Ochako to her chest.
“Evening,” Ochako grunts, squeezing her eyes shut. “Unless?”
“No,” Tsuyu tuts. “We sleep enough as it is. We aren’t sleeping the night away. Besides, you need to hunt. I promise it will wake you up.”
Kissing the top of Ochako’s head, Tsuyu stretches her limbs before disentangling herself and rising. She pulls their blackout curtains aside a hair and sighs in relief when moonlight is all that seeps into the room.
“Night’s young, but not for long,” she stresses. “Get going.”
“You’re no fun.” Ochako rolls out of bed, graceless as ever.
“We can have fun later.”
Ochako grins. She’ll hold Tsuyu to that promise.
“Tsu-chan said we’ve met before. I don’t remember meeting you, but I believe her. Seeing you now, I know I’ve been with you before. You’re unforgettable!”
Himiko perches on the threadbare divan that blocks the manor’s untouched hearth. It’s a piece of furniture better suited to fueling a pyre, but it belonged to Ochako’s parents, both carpenters of decades past. So she’s kept it, harboring the evidence of their handiwork—their blood, sweat, and tears—as though it’s a precious treasure.
“It wasn’t so long ago,” Ochako confesses, “and I wiped your memory—or tried to anyway.”
“Oh!” Himiko gasps as if she’s never heard anything more fascinating in her entire insignificant existence. To her credit, she probably hasn’t. “How come?”
Ochako hasn’t breathed in hundreds of years, but a deep sigh escapes her at Himiko’s question.
“It’s a safety measure. Humans ask a lot of questions, and they’d ask even more if they remembered being used as juice boxes.”
Midnight rain pelts Ochako as she wanders the lamplit streets. Water runs in rivulets across the smooth plains of her unfeeling skin, plastering her hair and clothes down. Indifferent to the weather’s rigor, her only concern is the thirst that claws desperately in her throat.
She barely hears the city’s nightlife cacophony of thumping music, raucous drunks, and howling motorbikes. She’s listening for a more distinct sound: the drum of a healthy young heart.
Clubs aren’t bad places to hunt. The marks are easy, pliant, and willing. Their blood is dizzying, and they’re prone to forgetting, even without Ochako’s power of suggestion.
Tonight, though, she doesn’t have to step foot inside her usual squalid haunts. She finds her mark in an alley, pressed against a club’s brick and mortar. Ochako’s not sure why she chooses this young woman: she isn’t alone; there’s a raven-haired man claiming her lips, and her hands rove across his stomach and up to his chest.
It’s not a moment Ochako should interrupt, but she does—because something about the blonde calls to her, as if they’re tethered through space and time.
Dipping into the young man’s mind, Ochako retrieves her mark’s name.
“Himiko? Is that you?”
“Oh yeah! Sorry!” Himiko chirps, pulling free of the man’s arms.
Ochako waits, fangs pressing past her upper lip, as Himiko collects the man’s number.
Then, Himiko approaches.
Across her cheeks, glitter twinkles. Her eyes remind Ochako of the Edo period’s first sunflowers, canary yellow and brimming with light. There’s blood on her lips that isn’t hers, and Ochako cants her head to study the sharpness of the human’s canines. It’s as if she’d been meant to be a vampire but had been dealt far too human a hand.
Her future is brighter than all the stars in the sky combined, Ochako decides. After all, it’s hard to beguile a vampire, much less one whose heart belongs to another. There’s something special about Himiko that defies logic — a palpable magnetism.
Shaking aside the revelation, Ochako takes Himiko’s hand and leads her into the night.
“Huh…” Himiko taps the corner of her mouth. “Well, it didn’t work.”
“It’s probably because—” Ochako holds her tongue, nausea rolling in her stomach. She can’t say it, can’t admit that her powers probably don’t entirely affect Himiko because they’re soulmates.
And why would you erase your soulmate’s memory? It’s an unthinkable action, one that Fate would happily wash away, eroding the offense.
“Because what?” Himiko prompts.
“What did Tsu tell you?” Ochako asks, ignoring the question and gritting her teeth.
Sitting mere feet from Himiko is torture. Ochako is teased by the suffocating scent of life made all the sweeter by their soulmate connection. Her every instinct pleads with her to sink her fangs into Himiko’s creamy neck.
But she can’t. And she won’t.
No matter how violently her instincts protest.
“She said that you need me, but that you’re too stubborn to find me yourself,” Himiko purrs, her cat-like eyes narrowing as her lips curl into a Cheshire grin.
The mouse becomes the cat. The prey becomes the predator.
Ochako’s throat tightens, her nerves on edge.
“Is that all she told you?”
“Mm, no.” Himiko shakes her head and clasps her hands beneath her chin. “She also told me that we’re soulmates, and you’ll die without me!” She sighs the words dreamily as if they aren’t impossibly morbid.
Ochako lets her head droop to her hands, her fingers tangling in her lackluster locks. Of course Tsuyu had told her. She’d always been the blunt face of a hammer, nailing home truths Ochako worked tirelessly to ignore.
“I don’t love you,” Ochako says bitterly, looking up.
She doesn’t want to hurt Himiko, but frustration poisons her better manners. This entire situation is unfair to her, Tsuyu, and even Himiko.
“Yet,” Himiko says with a sureness that irritates Ochako.
“I’m meant to live forever with Tsu.”
“But you won’t.”
“I won’t,” Ochako echoes, the words like sandpaper in her thirst-raw throat.
“Ochako-chan.” Himiko leans forward, batting her eyelashes and smiling warmly. “What do you think about soulmates?”
“I think they’re kind of shit.” Guilt blossoms in Ochako’s chest as soon as the admission leaves her. She’s awful, spiteful. Tsuyu would disapprove if she’d stayed. She’d chide her for rejecting Himiko so callously.
“I don’t,” Himiko breathes, a far-off look entering her eyes. “I think they’re wonderful—because, no matter how lonely you are, there’s someone out there that isn’t complete without you, someone that won’t toss you aside. And I think that’s really special.”
The quality of Himiko’s voice wavers between certitude and sorrow, leaving no doubt in Ochako’s mind that she’s hardly the first to dismiss Himiko.
If she was kinder, she could be the last. She could take Himiko into her arms and give her everything she’d been denied.
But that would mean treading on Tsuyu’s affections.
It’s like seeing color for the first time, hearing a sweet melody after ages of silence. It’s a dream of a sky so covered in clouds it’s safe for Ochako to venture out during the day.
It’s a new world, a new experience unlike any other: Himiko’s blood, an empyrean nectar.
Ochako’s eyes roll back in her head, fangs sinking deeper into Himiko’s neck. If she’s not careful, she’ll kill her.
“You know,” Himiko muses, “if you die, you’ll break Tsu-chan’s heart—if that sorta thing is possible.” She giggles at the thought.
Resentment flairs in Ochako. It’s just like this paltry human to assume an undead heart is an unbreakable one. Her ignorance is immeasurable.
A hiss builds on Ochako’s lips. She could lash out and silence her critic, her soulmate.
But…
She’s caught in a sudden swell of understanding:
She’s been unforgivably selfish.
Allowing herself to fall victim to her preternatural stubbornness is an ugly ending to Ochako’s story. All the uglier for the pain its abrupt conclusion would engender.
“Say, Ochako-chan. Did you come to this decision all on your own? Did you learn I was made for you and decide that death was your only option? Because if so, it’s not just Tsu-chan that you’ve hurt. I’m human, ya know. I’ve got feelings, too.”
Himiko crosses her arms over her chest, fixing Ochako with a piercing glare.
“I…” A lifetime of words flit through Ochako’s mind, but only a single, sorry syllable sticks.
“Thought so.” Himiko pouts.
Without warning, she pulls a gleaming blade from beneath the folds of her skirt, pressing it to the meat of her palm.
“I kinda always thought my parents would be the biggest disappointment of my life,” she says, her words needling Ochako, “but now I see there was a bigger disappointment waiting for me. All that waiting for ‘the one’ and you can’t even stand to look at me. You make me positively sick.”
She says it with a smile.
Then she drags her knife across her palm.
Rich, hot, crimson blood wells around the laceration and spills across her hand.
Ochako’s lips find Himiko’s palm between one beat of the human’s heart and the next. Reservations abandoned, Ochako laps at Himiko’s blood like it’s an oasis spring.
She’s on her knees before Himiko, crushing the human’s wrist with a steely grip so tight it staunches the flow of blood.
With her fast broken, the dam bursts. Instinct rips Ochako from Himiko’s palm, guiding her to the soft skin of her neck.
Fangs aching, Ochako sinks into Himiko. She feels Himiko’s snickers reverberate through her as she drinks, head swimming as copper coats her mouth and fills her throat, soothing the hungry itch she’d scorned.
Himiko’s euphoric giggling stirs something in Ochako, whispering to her that she’s failed.
Even as she’d fallen on the young woman, fangs bared with blood lust in her eyes, she’d played right into Himiko’s hand. She wasn’t taking advantage of Himiko.
Himiko had taken advantage of her, had used her thirst against her.
No matter.
Ochako can solve her little soulmate problem here and now—solve it and quench her thirst.
She drinks from Himiko and doesn’t stop, even when she feels the blonde tremble in her grip, even when she stops giggling and grows limp. The silence is welcome and broken only by the rattling gasp that parts Himiko’s paling lips and the sound of rain against the manor’s curtained windows.
“Ochako.”
A hand clamps Ochako’s shoulder, firm and demanding—a nuisance she ignores.
“Ochako, stop.” Tsuyu’s voice drives through Ochako’s heart like a stake.
“You’re killing her.”
Ochako wakes to Tsuyu stroking her hair and finds herself curled against her mate, face buried in her chest, arms circling her waist, their legs tangled.
Tsuyu’s touch is as gentle as the moon and just as comforting. She cards her fingers through Ochako’s locks and plants a kiss on the crown of her head when she stirs.
“You’re awake.”
“Yeah,” Ochako affirms, voice sleep-rough.
She doesn’t pull back to look at Tsuyu. She doesn’t want to.
All that matters is that, for the first time in weeks, she hasn’t woken fairing worse than a decomposing corpse. Her thirst is gone, her pain absent.
All is right.
Tsuyu and Ochako laying together, intertwined, their undead hearts content. Truly and utterly at peace. Without a single care.
Loving Ochako with enduring grace and infinite affection, Tsuyu doesn’t shatter the illusion. Doesn’t remind Ochako of how she’d nearly drained her soulmate’s life.
But reality, cruel and uncaring, looms overhead.
Ochako’s ruby eyes snap open. Her grip on Tsuyu constricts, her fingers digging in, and she remembers.
“Tsu?” Her mate’s name ghosts past her lips. “Did… Is Himiko…”
“She’s gone,” Tsuyu says, rubbing circles into the small of Ochako’s back.
Ochako wants to ask, needs to know. Guilt and fear congest her.
Tsuyu elaborates: “We spoke, and then she left. She won’t be back.”
“She won’t?”
“No.” Tsuyu pauses, her hand on Ochako’s back faltering. “We agreed that she shouldn’t. You were exceedingly unkind to her, preceding your careless attack.”
Misery had cloaked Ochako’s better sense before, her grief contagious, infecting her actions and words to the point of unforgivable, selfish hostility. Deoxygenated blood tastes better than the remorse that flows freely through Ochako now.
“Go to her. It’s the only way.”
Tsuyu stops stroking Ochako and reaches to lift the vampire’s chin. Their eyes meet, and Ochako feels her insides crumbling to ash at Tsuyu’s expression.
“But, Tsu—”
“Stop.” Heartbreak glimmers in Tsuyu’s eyes. If she was human, there’d be tears in them.
“You’ve gone too far and assumed too much,” she whispers. “It’s as though you think welcoming her into your life would ruin us. I’m not going anywhere, but you are. You are going to die because you’ve refused her. Think for a moment, Ochako. If Himiko is your soulmate, then you’re not mine either. That doesn’t matter to me. You matter to me, and I wish you’d listen. We don’t have to suffer. You’ve chosen to, and Himiko and I are paying the price for your self-centeredness.”
Tsuyu’s fingers on Ochako’s chin burn. The truth stings, especially when its messenger is her immortal love.
“Open your eyes, Ochako. Open your heart.”
Soles slick with blood, Ochako shuffles along the dock, feeling the evening tide swell with each step. Before her, the abandoned fish processing plant rises to meet the stars, its ramshackle glory bathed in blue.
Winds whip across the water, lashing at Ochako and tangling her hair, but even this gale can’t wash away Himiko’s saccharine scent.
Slipping into the plant, Ochako follows her nose, her mouth dry and chest tight. She hadn’t known Himiko lived in squalor.
Silently, she sweeps through the building. The pungent odor of wet dog and rotting fish muddies Himiko’s trail, but the distant murmur of voices carries to her ears.
As she draws near, the cocktail of odd scents strengthens. There’s Himiko, undeniably, but she isn’t alone. And the unmistakable odor of preternatural creatures permeates the air.
It occurs to Ochako that all she knows of Himiko is that she’s human. Nothing more.
Her soulmate is a stranger, and one that associates with monsters no less.
Through the dark, Ochako can make out a gathering of individuals tucked into the production line’s curve. Himiko sits on the conveyor, kicking her legs. Several men stand about, all listening to another speak. His rasping voice echoes off the plant’s rusted machinery, allowing Ochako to eavesdrop from the shadows.
“Their plan has potential. We’ll act with them for now. Toga and Twice. Starting today, you’re on the job.”
“That’s not a funny joke, Boss.” A man’s voice, different from the first. “What about Compress? What about Magne? I may not be human, but this makes me sick… Toga, say something!”
“What are we to you, Tomura? Will you throw us away so easily?” Himiko’s voice jolts Ochako.
“This is for…” Tomura, the first voice, starts.
“Boss, we’re not alone,” a fourth voice growls, interrupting.
Uninterested in trouble, Ochako steps from the shadows, approaching the motley gathering with her hands raised.
Seven pairs of wary eyes bore into her. Tension clouds the air and coils in Ochako’s gut.
Moonlight streams through the gaps in the plant’s roof, illuminating a decomposing man, part fae, part nightmare. His skin is scraped raw, his eyes glowing garnets. Before him, Himiko stands sure-footed, that same blade from before glinting hellishly. She’s pointing it at the man, but her eyes stray. They’re fixed on Ochako, wonder, disbelief, and hurt colliding through them.
“What are you doing here?” the man—Tomura—snarls.
“I came to talk to my soulmate,” Ochako admits, eyes locked on Himiko. “If she’ll agree to it.”
“You came back,” Himiko murmurs, her head cocked, exposing her neck. With an index finger, she idly traces the small puncture wounds left by Ochako. They’re twin marks sat just above her collarbone.
“You deserve to know why I was horrible to you… and an apology.”
Ochako balls her hands in her pockets. Her shoulders hunch, but not from the cold. Out on the pier, the wind’s harsh bite is a minor nuisance at best. Not to Himiko, though. The human’s extremities are ruddy, her skin wind-torn and lips chapped as she stands opposite Ochako.
“Oh?” Himiko’s lips form a perfect ‘o’ before her lips begin to curl, her canines—dull only in comparison to Ochako’s fangs—peaking past.
“Have you ever been in love?” Ochako asks.
“Of course!” Himiko nods ardently, hugging herself. “Falling in love is wonderful! Even when the person you love doesn’t love ya back right away. You just gotta show them how much they mean to you; then they’ll understand and love you, too!”
“Is that why you came when Tsu asked you to? Because you thought I’d love you back if you saved my life?” Ochako cringes at the obvious bitterness in her tone. She’s meant to be making amends, apologizing. Not poking the bruise.
To Ochako’s surprise, Himiko shakes her head.
“No, I wanted to see if my soulmate was someone I could love. Because, for years, I’ve wondered if I had one at all. So if I could love you, that would mean what Tsu-chan said was true: someone really was made for me. I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. But now I realize, it’s not enough for me to love you, not if you don’t love me back. Not this time.”
Her tone is sweet, her eyes sparkling. Still, the words sting.
“You love me?” Ochako whispers.
“Ochako-chan,” Himiko giggles through a wry grin. “I don’t think it would be possible not to.”
“But you don’t know me…”
“I don’t have to.” Himiko places her hands on her hips and leans near.
Up close, it’s harder for Ochako to ignore the scent of Himiko’s blood. The wind offers no aid in diluting its potent bouquet. It’s been over a week since she’d drank from Himiko, and her throat itches with renewed thirst, drawing her into the human’s space. Closer, nearer, tempted.
“Why?” Ochako questions, mesmerized by Himiko’s flushed skin.
“Because I could feel that you were different, and you love Tsu-chan enough to die for her. Nothing is more romantic than that, and you’re here now so that you can live for her, right?”
Himiko perplexes Ochako. Her answer paints her as a romantic from an age that never existed, and it answers little. She loves Ochako because Ochako loves Tsuyu? It’s nonsensical. It’s confusing.
Somehow, it makes sense.
Himiko admires Ochako’s affections so deeply she’s mistaken the feeling for love. It’s almost pitiable, but Ochako understands.
“Do you think I could love you?” The words ghost over Ochako’s lips without forethought.
“Dunno.” Himiko shrugs. “Do you want to?”
“Gravitas and Gravity?” Himiko plops into a chair across from Ochako, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. “What’s that about?”
She peers at Ochako’s book through narrowed eyes.
“You wouldn’t get it,” Ochako snorts, turning a page, which she scans instantaneously. Her eyes catch on several words and phrases. Chewing her lip, she inks out the remaining text.
“Not if you explain it to me.” Himiko pouts, rocking back in her chair.
“It’s a pet project,” Tsuyu says, breezing into the kitchen. “Leave her be, Himiko. And Ochako, don’t tease. If you don’t want to talk about your poetry, don’t work on it at the table.”
“Poetry?” Himiko’s eyes widen.
Amused, Tsuyu reaches for the human’s chin, tilting Himiko’s head back and kissing her forehead.
“The usual?” Tsuyu asks, stroking Himiko’s cheek with her thumb.
“Yes, please!”
Ochako grimaces. Blood pudding on rice is an offensive breakfast choice. Nevertheless, Tsuyu caters to Himiko’s questionable palate without judgment.
“Okay.” Tsuyu smiles, retrieving blood from the fridge and oatmeal from the cupboard.
Evidence of Himiko’s presence in the vampires’ lives is scattered throughout the manor. She only moved in a few months prior, but her footprint has become familiar, most notably in the kitchen, a formerly barren and dust-laden ruin.
After weeks spent researching, the benefits of Ochako and Himiko’s soulmate bond became clear to the trio, the most significant being the human would no longer age. In all other regards, Himiko remained mortal, meaning breakfast remained ‘the most important meal of the day.’ Thus, Tsuyu, shockingly smitten, had taken it upon herself to ensure the human’s good health.
Ochako still can’t quite fathom the bond between Tsuyu and Himiko, and a small part of her envies how easily they’ve opened their hearts to one another. Growing to love Himiko is a slow process, one that Tsuyu aced while Ochako struggles.
It’s not that the human is unappealing to Ochako. Far from it. Much like the night they first met, Ochako is mesmerized by Himiko, drawn to her and fascinated by her eccentricities. Her presence feels right, even if Ochako’s desires feel wrong.
The guilt that holds Ochako back from embracing the feeling that stirs in her undead heart when she looks at Himiko is unwelcome, and it prevents her from reaching out for anything more than a taste of Himiko’s blood
Covertly, Ochako studies Himiko, watching her and wondering. She daydreams about a future where leaning forward to claim Himiko’s lips comes as easily as drinking her blood, and she hopes for a day where her heart is as unbound as Himiko’s spirit.
“Don’t drag your heels,” Tsuyu scolds from her supine position on the divan. “You’re ruining the floorboards with your pacing.”
“I’m not,” Ochako snaps, levitating a few inches off the floor to resume her agitated treading.
“Ochako!”
“What?!” Ochako whirls on Tsuyu, eyes glowing dangerously and fangs elongating.
“The light.” Tsuyu points to a stream of daylight that’s snuck through the manor’s blackout curtains. “You’ve nearly passed into it a few dozen times at least, and it’s stressing me out.”
“Oh.” Ochako fidgets sheepishly. She’s not used to being awake during the day, and it’s easy to forget about little things like potentially fatal light when Himiko’s safety hangs in the balance.
“It’s useless to worry.” Tsuyu’s tone grows cold and curt. “Harden your heart, Ochako—and have faith. Believe that she’ll come back, just as she has every time before.”
“I just…” Ochako sinks to the floor and buries her face in her hand, swallowing a frustrated growl. “I hate that we can’t help. I hate that there’s nothing we can do to make sure she comes back safe.”
“Come here.” Sitting up, Tsuyu pats the divan and gathers Ochako into her arms when she obliges. “She’s resilient,” Tsuyu murmurs, kissing Ochako’s temple. “She’ll be back soon.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I know.”
The scent of Himiko’s blood is everywhere.
Ochako squeezes her eyes shut, gripping Tsuyu’s hand tighter. They stand shoulder to shoulder, fingers laced, as they wait in the foyer, their hope and hearts teetering on a knife’s edge.
Outside the manor, Himiko is wounded, gravely, if the potent bouquet of iron offers any indication. Tsuyu and Ochako don’t budge, though. They can’t.
Not until twilight turns blue.
Beyond the door, which is all that separates them from Himiko, are warm, golden rays that wash the manor’s drive in the last of the sun’s radiance.
And confirmation of the truth.
Ochako’s nails dig into the back of Tsuyu’s hand, but she receives no complaint. Tsuyu’s grasp is equally crushing.
Lips parting, Ochako attempts to speak—attempts to ask Tsuyu whether she thinks Himiko has dragged herself up the drive by tooth and nail or whether it’s merely her corpse that’s come home, carried in the arms of one of her comrades.
She fails, her tongue tied by the fear that she already knows the answer. Beneath the oppressive scent of Himiko’s blood, Ochako smells another presence and knows that her soulmate isn’t alone.
The manor’s door rattles, its hinges creaking. The sound of a key being slid into the lock lights a fire in Ochako’s chest, and her vision blurs as the primal desire to protect Himiko wells within her.
The knob turns. The door swings open.
Fingers slipping from Tsuyu’s, Ochako surges toward Himiko, throwing her arms around her.
Everything burns. Ochako feels too much, her emotions so intense that it feels as though she’s smoldering inside and out.
The pain is nothing to her.
Himiko stands on two feet, drenched in blood but grinning fiercely.
A dry sob escapes Ochako as she crushes the human into her chest, fingers fisting in the back of Himiko’s tattered jacket.
She’s alive.
Releasing Himiko, Ochako cups her cheeks, studying her face for a moment that feels frozen in time. Nothing exists to Ochako but Himiko, haloed by the sun’s dying rays.
The chains rusted around Ochako’s heart shatter, erupting into a million molten shards that tear through her as she finally sees Himiko and is overcome by the realization that she’s in love with her. Truly, properly, and without guilt.
It’s with that knowledge, knowing she’ll love Himiko until the end of time, that she kisses her, ignorant to the tendrils of smoke that coil from her arms.
And Himiko, having loved Ochako all the while, despite her stubbornness and failings, kisses her back.
It’s not until the pair break apart that Ochako sees the girl.
Scarred, bleeding, and not entirely human with a small horn protruding from her forehead.
Summer stars twinkle brightly, comfortably nestled together galaxies away. The moon looms before them, its blue rays mixing with the purples, pinks, and yellows that color the air, and a balmy breeze, rich with the resinous scent of sunflowers, floats between stalls and carnival rides, playing with Ochako’s hair.
The vampire can’t fight her smile.
It’s Eri’s first festival, after all—and their first outing as a family.
Careful not to crush Eri’s hand, Ochako leads the child through the throng toward a dazzling merry-go-round with fantastic creatures painted every shade of the rainbow. Himiko and Tsuyu follow several paces behind, hand in hand with smiles of their own.
Tsuyu snags a seat on an armored toad. Himiko cackles atop a doleful dove. Between them, Ochako stands at Eri’s back, steadying the girl as she climbs onto a jet black unicorn with opal eyes.
Immortality has a way of tainting a summer night’s ephemeral charm, but not for Ochako. Not when her heart is brimming fit to burst at the sight of the ones she loves enjoying themselves without a single, pedestrian care.
The ride lurches to life, music pouring from hidden speakers.
Tsuyu fondly watches Eri from the corner of her eye while Himiko, with her arms spread wide, throws herself back, clinging to the dove with her thighs. Wonder and awe glitter in Eri’s eyes, and she tosses her arms back to mirror Himiko, letting a grin split her face.
Ochako is captivated. Struck dumb by the sight and utterly humanized in the moment.
Twisting in her seat, Himiko looks back at Ochako. When their eyes meet, Himiko bites her lip playfully, her cat-like eyes narrowing and cheeks flushing. Ochako hears the human’s heart stutter for her.
If Ochako could blush, she would.
Instead, she rolls her eyes.
