Collection of Epistolary by Us

I

Hall made of wooden doors and cobbled stone. It was barely lit by the date-coloured light that comes from the torch that is fixed every 2–4 rooms. It was pretty much the same environment, save the vegetation that sometimes spurt between the crack. What lies far beyond all these doors they passed always put into question, but there's no effort put to found out.

For Ichiha, she has been hyperfocused to find her mom. A mom that had cared her for life. She doesn't know why she felt a tinge of reluctance, but at the same time driven to learn more about her mother. Walking with the one that seems to made her a captive to fulfil her ever hungry mind.

"We are going to where your mother lay, no idea in what state she is, but my colleagues told me she was here," the guy that she come to learn as Marius said.

He continued with a sigh while the torch in his hand still breathing softly, "I can't guarantee whatever happens to her, but don't think of the worst to her."

Huh. What?

Then he stopped, in no particular peculiarity, like he learned every single detail that was lost on her. Just like before, therefore. No sign that she could learn, none of it that would make this singular spot in these stretches of hallway unique. And just like before, supposed he knew; he opened the door, admitting to a scene that she'd wished.

Her mom lay still in a bed. She dilated in place, mouth frozen agape. The man entered first, then make way for her while also putting his torch on the wall. Then turned the attention to her mom, who was just there. Breathing softly on flat raised ground made of slab stone. Unlike hers, she wasn't tied. Unlike hers, she wasn't distressed. To be a duck waiting for anything to happen.

Instead, she slept beautifully, with someone who'd attended her need. A woman that took care of her, with translucent skin and equally translucent robe that flowed through every little feature resembling human that she is. Like a spitting image, a brass tacks of what is God descended from heaven.

"Who is she?" A question, that falls short of accusatory, worry clouded in her mind.

Marius spoke behind her, "Saintess, seems that She come to check your mom."

"O, pay me no mind, dear child. Duly wise, mire is to make sure thou mom's aright." Saintess risen from where she was seated, she approached them both.

Marius, he came forward to face her: "Saintess," he bowed with his hand on the back and another on his stomach. "It seems that the ritual would be ready in time to come."

She tilted her head, hand presume the cup of her cheek with fangs showing. "Suppose so, I shall make haste." Her attention then turned to Ichiha, "Thou?" Then back at her mom. "Meet her now. No regret."

Ichiha became puzzled, but when she looked toward a smile on her mom. That's when her face is mystifying her mom

Then a force tugging on her heart, a foot move forward, then another. Then a gait, a pace, a strut of a walk cycle that turned into an animated run as she collapsed onto her mom. Squirming belatedly onto her lap. Sometimes she doesn't understand the feeling she had, but she got what she needed, so it doesn't matter.

Why she needed her mom?

To cry on, to burst forth, the feeling she had felt for the longest time she has ever been here. To learn what she had hold was not a healthy, but a poison of mind. A mind with memory filled through the filter that is a cloudy damask hue. To say nothing dulled her mind is inferiority to her own intelligence.

Yet she felt the ever presence proof to such axiom was condensed as true.

It was like she got transferred to nothing of place, a liminal boundary of what made her.

A hand touched her hair. Electricity raced through that is her skull like an ant racing between each scalic part of her brain. Her mom, Nanoka is her name, the name that reflected the beauty on her face. Her mom is beautiful, with eyes sparkling pink, nose small but cute in itself, a smile like the goddess of moon saying hello.

Her moon was a perfect rendition of what is perfect to her, or was it that she became. She likes her mom, those feeling — it was never gone.

• • •

II

Marius took that this is where he would leave them alone. Although the Saintess still stayed behind. But for him, he had walked toward the library. To learn the way here, he would count the door and torch that he passed, then examine the amount of plank the door has to confirm. That is how he navigated the hallway.

It's about two-hundred thirty-two steps to the door toward the library, then another sixty-three steps to finally reached it. It still in similar condition as to when he guided Ichiha around.

"I like to see when our plan has actually been realized," Shimizu said, half-peeved but also relieved. She had posted herself in a singular private room raised about 4 floor of the ground with wide rectangular glass that oversee the library. It was gowned by green curtain. With three stand desk, each accommodating different apparatus.

Marius closed the door behind him, ensuring no one to eavesdrop their conversation. He looked toward Shimizu with uncertainty in his eyes: "How about Nozomi?" Marius came to ask.

She closed her book, pacing slowly within the perimeter. "We don't need her any more." She allowed her eyes to peek through the curtain. "But keep her, as a contingency if anything go awry."

Marius nodded to her. But he, as diction as he is, making sure that every information was communicated through, added, "she was fighting with someone."

"What?" She turned, not really shocked. Instead, she was frustrated. "In this place?"

"Yes, she fought her own and a random bearer."

Her hand grasped her face. "She never learnt, huh." Then she took a deep sigh. Her stance docked forward, punctuated by the posture that she had adopted over reading books for so long.

"Well, I ought to congratulate you." Marius finally came forward a step from the door.

"Yep. The heavens soon will burn red." She bowed like she'd finished a performance troupe. "And I like to watch as theirs become unbearable to watch," she continued with hand on her hip, practically puffing her chest.

"Anyway," she continued, turning her head back toward the outside. "Prepare her, let her watch her mom. We need to strengthen our stronghold too."

"You mean to say Saintess' Grace?"

"You're talking my language!" She spoke excitedly, but also continued: "That's a touch harsh."

• • •

III

Nozomi, a name she had known since childhood. Written with kanji, meant desire for beauty. Fail to describe her actual appearance, ruefully white skin bordering that of vampire. Her naturally reddish iris stood out in the sea of black eyes. Small chin and forehead, temples mirroring each other. Forelock fringe swept to the right with bangs coming from both side like a curtain that reach her chest and straight hair growing behind that reach into her hip. Narrow shoulder with straight silhouette Tiny, long fingers. And height that beat most man that hasn't gone into puberty or just naturally short.

Countless people, had confessed their feeling. The very first time they laid their eyes to her, their heart throb in instant, lung twisted upon themselves, and their brain barely have the capability to command their puny eyes to look away.

She rejected them all, always for the same reason: she never felt anything for them. She doesn't even know why it must always happen. People fall for their feeling because of certain moment, or certain way and behaviour of their crush acted. But it must be mutual, the others, they must feel the same for it to ever worked out.

But this one came differently.

It slipped flat from her shoebox to her hand, a handwritten text that read something like: "meet me at the park."

Another confession note. One she would feel the need to reject them. So she walked toward the destination, expecting another boy that has braced himself for the lowest humility for an off chance that it will happen.

But no it was a girl, one she never had seen, she smiled as she saw Nozomi approaching her.

She moaned heavily. Light comes forth, she got kidnapped. To retold, she had collapsed. Now, "Where am I!" she screamed.

Her hands were bound tightly behind her back, tied to the frame of a chair. Around her, cardboard boxes were stacked high, forming suffocating walls in a damp, dim space.

"To see such a child of powerful family be in jeopardy."

Nozomi scanned the surrounding, seeking from where the voice comes.

Then, approached the same girl she just met. Donning the similar school uniform, she continued, "it really beat into my heart."

"Huh?" Nozomi struggled, her hand tied behind her back, with the frame of the chair keeping her from being free. She turned her head and spoke angrily, "what are you talking about?"

"Watch, this world is a really dangerous place for a kid like you." Her tone is not forceful, gentler, falling short of accusation. Yet Nozomi could not help but make her case.

"The— the what?"

This crazy girl, is she's fan with twisted mind? Nozomi cannot think straight, her brain is scattered like a bird. Especially with the damp environment and the realization that she got locked here.

The girl put her foot against her ankle. Pain quickly communicated into her. It was sharp enough like she got sprained. Her hand reached her, touching her chin, splayed to cusp the curvature of her lower jaw. Their faces drew closer.

So close they felt each other breath and the beat of it. It tastes bitter, like a coffee, grounded bean, hot-brew with strong acidic profile.

"Do you know your old name?" She finally spoke, her eyes were darting all over or rather intently grokking her face and all the feature within it.

"What?" Did this fan know even something I don't?

Came to realize, Nozomi had long known she is adopted. Who she had long called as her family isn't biological one. She tried looking for her biological family — paperwork, adoption centre, or people of their passing. Just a hope that maybe they might be reunited. But now her mind was set, decided that: family that she has now, the one that had been caring her for a long time is the real family she had.

School had long known of this fact. It always being thrown around, perhaps to hammer her down a peg. Because they can't stand someone all people would adore. Perfect. The thought by nitpicking what not made their idolized version of perfect will bring happiness to their rotten mind.

"The people, your old family, they soon to name you Hedwig." The girl paused, her eyes closed shut. "Shortly after you were born."

Hedwig. What? How is that my old name?

She produced a cylindrical tube with girth no thicker than a common pocket candy dispenser with a cap on both side that protruded in conical shape. Made of metallic material that closely resemble gold but not perfect like gold, possibly brass or other copper alloy. There was also a glass with liquid peeking through the vial, it is coloured in sicklish green, so green, pure green, not even neon green can compare to how truly green it is.

"This will cause manic if exposed to human," she promulgated with smiles breaching through each silence. A snuggled deploration,.

She is a serial killer! She wanted my blood!

"Don't worry, I don't need your blood."

"Huh, what? You're reading into me!" She screamed, chair creaking in a beat, sweat gland already in maximum overdrive.

Don't waste your breath here, oxygen is not enough for that, talk with your mind.

What?

What you think it is? the girl responded

Nozomi mind raced and back, fear and fraught. Too much liquid had dispensed from her body, that cloth started to cling into her skin. The rope made of large fibre that bound her starting to enlarge from absorbing her sweat. Slowly but surely her skin grew even more palish.

Great, let it out, the voice inside her urged.

Why, why, why, why.

Not there nor yon, keep the pace up, else you'll succumb.

The fibre of the rope adopt a new function to torture the now-overly sensitive skin she had turned into. The fabric clung into her, like a sludge that swirm between the transparent layer of her. A metallic, no, a silver necklace that she hid behind her collar burned her skin. Smoke began to rise from her hem.

The girl yanked it free, don't worry, I'll keep you safe.

Yet at great distress she stayed. She didn't know what this feeling she's having, or why the girl keep the vial close to her skin, puncturing deep into her skin. Her vision blurred, turned cloud white, but also charred black.

Breathing, she turned into. Though it does nothing to eases her mind.

• • •

IV

How long does one in averages lives for? Around 60 years or so, give or take. But the Saintess is a known vampire. That is to say, she is undead; no, not the brash raging kind, but composed and intelligent. She outlived any human, a ducentenerian, or simply 200 hundreds year old. Her wisdom ran so deep that no one even bothered to challenge her.

A true embodiment of a Saintess. Someone who had the capability to endure human sickness with only one goal in mind, to protect them, and preach the good value of human.

What is a human? A creature with gifted mind, to think, to be curious, to be compassionate. A humanity is defined by one simple parameter, whether people cared for one another.

A saint job, like her, is to bring about hope. Hope is for people to give, to share. Maybe… for her, to be joyous.

She stood, after watching the two brooding people drunk on their own love. A relationship of daughter and mom. Her hand reached for the door. Creak.

Walking through this hallway, she kept her composure. Supposed when one to define her demeanour, one would say mysterious, sly, disastrous; or maybe hope, wish, light. All of them could be true, yes, nothing exclusive about it.

Respect too, it ran deep here. People bowed before her like she is an image to be protected.

"Saintess!" An unfamiliar sound, maybe Ichiha. "Where are you going?"

She cocked Her head. Seeing Ichiha gasping for airs with her mom behind her.

"Ichiha, my dear child. What is it?"

Ichiha head pitched up, her mauve eyes now visible against the date-colored torchlight.

"Where are you going?" she asked back, waiting slowly with answer.

"Preparation for the ceremony soon to be held."

Ichiha turned around, her mom hand was rubbing agaisnt her. Then she, the mom stepped forward.

"Saintess, what's your name?"

"Not so, and yet thou art free to name me thus; mayst thou willed."

Nanoka giggled nervously. Her hand rubbing each other like a rat of this dungeon. Her gaze was somewhere but fixed onto the Saintess as she said, "Is it true that you're the one that had haunted my child?"

"Mom!" she shouted. "That is not what I wanted you to say!"

The Saintess smiled while both bickered. They then stopped, captivated when her mouth moved: "Forsooth, let it be mine prudence. Prithee, have me respite."

"What do you mean?" Nanoka asked.

"If ye would, may ye follow me; and thou, my dear child, as well."

Then the Saintess turned back, resuming her walks. With Ichiha and her mom trailing behind her, gritting their teeth. Their gaze was fixed at the Saintess. Like it's their hope.

They murmured behind her, then Nanoka came forward yet again: "What is this place?"

"Oh my, had not the butler told you?" she said, meaning to ask Ichiha who had Marius helped her navigate.

"Daring, but not mine one to be racounter, asked of someone else," she continued, opting to not answer.

Their walking ceased, when the hallway not a hallway any more. Instead, it is an atrium with wallpaper, scones, chandelier. A far cry from the dungeon appearance they had associated this place.

It was brimming with lives, people, all robed the same. Livelier, to say, all the more than the library from before. Maybe because of preparation the Saintess mentioned.

"Would ye have to be understood? All that has been leaves you with naught… prithee, give me leave to aid ye soul. Then adieu shall be mine thought."

They both stumped, stupefied, unable to discern much of the archaic talks. While her hand clasped, as she incantate something under her breath.

Then a burning sensation raced through their feet. Like it was a searing pain, their ground, was a sigil in it. White and saintly in a way.

She smiled, "Thy mark, shining as a true star, and welcoming thee with open arms."

What she meant was the brand on Ichiha neck, who has been glowing yellow this whole time. Her eyes too, misting purple tint.

She turned her back, "We shall soon be summoned unto your world; perchance ye remember what was once yours."

Two robed people from the murder of them stepped forward. With them black robe that had matching design. Indeed, it was an invitation.

Then she chanted again, "rememberest they will."

Her mom stepped forward, becoming with them first. Why she chose them? Why is she insane? But that is not the question Ichiha rather asked. She, too, felt the urge to just take a step.

To feel what it felt to be under her guise. To be yet assimilated again. She wasn't recruited into this 'Miyazawa' thing, no. She belonged here, like she used to be… something about it dozed here.

"Saintess," spoke someone womanly, breaking Ichiha trance. "Please help me with Nozomi." She gazed the environment, "oh, sorry disrupting your ceremony."

"Twas not a concern of mine. Go be free my child, or follow me."

Then they walked, leaving the atrium, and what is somewhat unrealistic recruitment ceremony.

Remember they will

Perhaps, this could worked out…