Chapter 16 — “Blood-Stained Letter”

Love begins to write itself.

---

Morning at Saint Elora is quiet. Too quiet.

The courtyard smells faintly of rain and wisteria, and the breeze carries a chill that doesn’t belong to spring.

Himari walks through the hall, eyes heavy from another sleepless night. Mizuki hasn’t spoken to her since that strange morning — since the smile and the bandage and the words that still echo like a curse.

> “You wanted me to stop crying, right? So I smiled.”

Now, Mizuki only watches her from afar — always smiling, never blinking.

Himari tries not to notice.

Tries to pretend it’s normal.

---

She finds the letter in her locker between classes.

The envelope is pink, faintly smudged with something dark — maybe ink, maybe something else. There’s no name on the front, but the handwriting is painfully familiar.

Her own.

For a moment she thinks it’s a prank.

Then she opens it.

Inside, a folded sheet of paper — neat, deliberate, the edges torn slightly from trembling hands.

She reads.

> “I love you.

I love you more than myself.

I love you even when you lie to me.”

Her stomach turns.

Every letter, every loop of her handwriting — identical. Even the small heart she used to draw at the end of her notes in middle school.

But she didn’t write this.

She can feel she didn’t.

At the bottom, a final line:

> “Even if you leave me, I’ll follow.

Even if you die, I’ll stay.”

And beneath it — a faint, rust-colored fingerprint.

Blood.

---

The paper shakes in her hands. She stuffs it back into the envelope just as footsteps echo down the hallway.

Mizuki.

Her hair tied up neatly, uniform pressed, the faintest smile on her lips.

> “Good morning, Himari.”

Her voice is bright. Sweet. Normal. Too normal.

Himari’s throat dries. “M-Morning.”

Mizuki tilts her head slightly.

> “You look pale. Did something happen?”

> “No. Just… tired.”

The silence that follows feels like the space between two heartbeats — small, fragile, dangerous.

Mizuki’s eyes flicker down, and for an instant, Himari thinks she sees it — a smear of red at the corner of her fingernail.

Then the bell rings.

Mizuki smiles again, softer this time.

> “You should rest more, Himari. You look like you’ve been crying.”

She walks past her, the scent of turpentine and lavender trailing behind.

Himari stands there long after she’s gone, clutching the letter until it wrinkles in her hand.

---

That night, she can’t stop rereading it.

Her reflection in the window wavers with the candlelight, pale and trembling. The words crawl through her mind like vines:

> “I love you even when you lie to me.”

She tries to write a reply — a denial, an apology, anything — but her pen keeps shaking.

Finally, she tears the letter apart, throws it into the trash, and goes to bed.

But when she wakes up the next morning, it’s back.

Perfectly folded, placed on her pillow.

---

This time the writing is different — messier, more frantic.

The strokes are darker, deeper, as if carved into the paper.

> “You don’t need to answer.

I already know what your heart says.”

> “When you smiled at me today, I wanted to die.”

> “Your lips looked so soft — maybe I should cut mine to match.”

Himari drops the paper, her pulse hammering.

She looks toward the window. The glass reflects her face — pale, terrified — and behind her, on the desk, sits a small bouquet of dried wisteria. She didn’t put it there.

There’s a tiny card attached, written in the same handwriting:

> “You’re mine, right?”

---

She runs to Mizuki’s dorm room during lunch.

Knocks once. Twice.

No answer.

She turns the knob. It’s unlocked.

Inside, the curtains are drawn. The air smells faintly of metal and perfume.

Mizuki’s sketchbook lies open on the bed — pages filled with Himari’s face.

Some are smiling. Some are crying. Some are asleep.

And on the last page —

Himari’s face again. But this time, her eyes are gone.

Just two blank, white circles.

Beneath it, in red ink:

> “You said you wanted a break.

I broke for you.”

Himari stumbles back, her breath catching.

Then she hears it.

The faint sound of the shower running.

Through the half-open bathroom door, Mizuki hums softly — the same lullaby she once sang under the wisteria tree.

> “Mizuki?” Himari whispers.

The water stops. Silence.

Then the door creaks open, steam spilling out.

Mizuki steps out, towel wrapped around her, eyes bright, smiling.

> “You shouldn’t be here,” she says sweetly. “But I’m glad you are.”

Himari can’t speak.

> “Did you read it?” Mizuki asks.

“The letter?”

> “You… you wrote it?”

Mizuki’s smile falters, just for a second.

> “No,” she whispers, voice trembling. “You did.”

Himari takes a step back, heart pounding.

> “You don’t remember?” Mizuki asks softly. “Sometimes, when we’re in love, our hearts do things before we know it. Maybe… it was your heart writing to mine.”

Her tone is gentle, almost apologetic. But her eyes — her eyes are burning.

Himari can’t breathe.

She runs out before Mizuki can finish her sentence.

---

That night, Himari dreams of a blank page that bleeds when she touches it.

The ink smells like her own perfume.

And in the distance, a voice hums softly —

> “Even if you die, I’ll stay.”

When she wakes, there’s a third letter waiting on her desk.

Sealed with a kiss.

And faintly smudged with blood.