Wandering Monk

Before anything, the most important bit of information in this situation is; how many people can see this thing.
Answer: probably only us.
The next stage is, just how much of it is invisible to them?
It seems like, even when trailing its shadowy coat along their forearms, not even a twitch came back in response from any passenger.
Without even a glance toward it, it's safe to say that they couldn't see or hear any of it.
But that doesn't necessarily mean it doesn't affect the tangible world in any way.
Thousands of cells die every day, but we never feel, hear, or see any of it happening.
Almost like an answer to my questions, a piece of paper, a map or brochure of some country location, was crumpled beneath the thing's feet, while the passenger that had let it fall looked around her in confusion, before realising that the caved-in tatter of paper was her lost leaflet.
I see.
Sorrow could see the same thing too, and he gave me that same glance of 'yes, now we definitely have to do something'.
More often than not, these things are relatively harmless, only really creating issues for those that can see and sense them specifically, which aren't all that many people.
And even then, it's more like the kind of juvenile ghost story than anything truly dangerous.
Alright, now that we have some more specifics down, just how exactly were we going to deal with it?
"If we don't want to draw attention, we can wait until it enters that backwards carriage, since it's where the bathrooms are. Unless some unlucky guy is strolling towards the bathroom, then we're good."
Sorrow already had some semblance of a clear plan in his head, or at least, his instinctual lines of thought were already kicking in to motion.
Trying his best to shield the rest of the carriage from the horrific sight, he pulled his long-sleeved, grey woolen jumper over his face, clutching a tissue and pretending to be coughing into it, while he reached one hand around and pulled his blade from the Rabbit-Hole inside of his throat. Little droplets of blood came spurting out, almost like when you brush your teeth at a weird angle with an electric brush, and the toothpaste bursts away like shotgun shells.
At worst, people would believe he had some kind of awful medical illness.
Unfortunately, these things were not only difficult to control, but fluctuated on the basis of numerous factors, so pulling out a smaller blade wasn't really an option. It was going to be his sword, for better or worse, and although he quite carefully slid it out and down his sleeve, he couldn't help but look extremely awkward, and honestly, it might have just been easier had I walked over there and covered the view with my body.
Which is exactly what I did.
Sorrow sputtered behind me, while I stood at his side, then realising the awkwardness that would probably only draw more attention, sat beside him on an angle that would still provide some cover.
"I'm good now, do you have eyes on it?"
I peeked down the corridor, at the rows of elbows and shoulders lined up like a parade, and the hulking black back of the monster.
"Yeah."
"Good, now tell me when it reaches the end of the carriage."
"Sure, but..."
But from where I was sitting, it looked strangely like...
It was heading around back this way.
Why was it returning?
Could it not continue forward?
Was it a phenomena isolated to this carriage?
Or had it noticed us?
Did its nose prick up at the use of Sorrow's Rabbit-Hole?
Like a dam erected instantly at the neck of a river, all my thoughts were blocked when I turned my head.
Ah, I really hope she has a plan, and I won't be cursing my irresponsibility for the millionth time.
That is, at the opposite end of the carriage, Char was standing magnificently, with her opaque turquoise dress flowing, and a bottle of perfume in one hand, while holding a small electric fan in the other.
The scent of lilac was slowly drifting down the corridor, floating silently downwards towards the shadowy mass enticed by its needles of scent.
Things were coming together in a broken up, slipshod fashion, but it was beginning to make sense.
A tinged early love symbolised by lilac, that symbol...
Just how did Char manage to scrounge up those scattered and impertinent bits of information into a full-formed painting?
That symbol was imbued by humans with a plethora of history, ideology, and purpose.
So much could be read from that symbol, but the time and place made it clear that, at this moment, there was a single line of thread that connected it to our situation, to the black figure lumbering back down the corridor, brushing up against but never rousing any of the passengers.
"Pesotsky's heaven-sect. That's why the lilac is drawing it in. Without being allowed to pursue any kind of romantic feelings with another human that does not 'fall into their threads of fate, like a fly in a spider's web; approaching the fly with the kindness of an angel, unwrapping it only to set it free', it was painfully obvious, honestly, lacking in originality I could say, that someone with dregs of resentment like that would arise into a monster."
"No, it's true," Sorrow turned to me and whispered, wiping the blood from his lips with his pale knuckles, and carefully adjusting the makeshift blade-slot on his wrist, made from a dark hickory leather that had called on his renowned critical thinking from numerous situations like this. You would think the office would supply us with at least the materials, but even that Sorrow had to go out of his own way to find and stitch together.
"It's too unoriginal. Everybody would be sprouting up like weeds into monsters should those kinds of feelings be enough to do so. Hell, every monk in that monastery, across this region, would have almost enough reason to do so."
"I suppose so... Then, it has to be something more. Lilac... What could Char possibly know?