#jsadhfk

                                                           I wanna hide the truth                                                 I wanna shelter you

One thing Bishamon had come to realize was that Grell was not so unlike her in more ways than she had once believed. That the other woman’s flashy smile was at times nothing more than false bravado, that they both carried within their own sort of demon. Sickening creatures of maddening terror and fury, that followed them unwavering through the years as they slipped by, with every step, with every breath, they took.

Both merciless divine warriors in their own sense, cloaked completely in crimson of their own design. Both nearly ruined, shattered somewhere along the passing fragments of time by some outside force, decaying slowly since from the inside out.

                                                           But with the beast inside                                         There's nowhere we can hide

The jet black darkness that crawled and seeped into Bishamon's senses was deafening. Bright and violent memories, furious screams of the past, a budding fear of the future, searing hotly along every aching nerve like molten lead. They took the form of those long since fallen names, of never ending piles of ashes and dust lingering within the world of the wayward, of those who had no hope left. They stared pointedly on through twisted, bloodied, faces, and sunken, dark hole eyes. They clamored loudly, screeching in a dizzying rush, and cried out for Bishamon with trembling, pain soaked, voices, begging for a salvation that would never come. Bishamon wore them upon her very skin as it had rotted away, adrift within that tomb of flesh and bone around her. Those cursed names she carved again and again into her desolate mind to never forget. She wore them on her red tipped fingernails as she had carved out the shattered pieces of what was left of her heart with her own two hands, throwing away the last, remaining, traces of the kind, complete, woman who smiled so sweetly that she used to know, giving birth to something new within it's place. A rising bitter sweet phoenix with only one emotion to give. Hatred

                                                                                 Look into my eyes

And Grell.....?

                                                                      It's where my demons hide

What was it within her own past had haunted her so?

                                                              It's where my demons ｈｉｄｅ

For her, they roared their heads in sheer triumph, shone on and on in the form of an elegant, but aged, crimson overcoat, with those mysterious and almost sloppy stitches adorning the very back right down the middle. How Grell flashed that razor edged grin, somethings too sharply, burying the old despair that lay beneath the great many confident winks and smiles, beneath that radiant makeup she wore each day. How the reaper strode with so much passion, taking every step as though she were treading upon the very world itself. It was easier that way, so much safer to stand that much higher over a miserable world, to trod upon it with little remorse, in place of being stepped on instead, of being hurt....again. There were those few moments where that luminescent and sure look upon the other's face had crumbled every now and then, leaving only behind a thin layer of such bare vulnerability and a wavering sense of great uncertainty. Who was it, Bishamon had sometimes mused as she had gazed into those unyielding green hues, that had wrought such a despairing expression upon such absolute and gorgeous features? Who was it who had left the crimson reaper shattered so, cracked in so many places? 

                                                                            Don't get too close                                                      It's  ｄａｒｋ  inside

This divine pair. They were complete opposites. Bishamon tossing her heart away and picking the loss and sorrow instead to hurl like a clumsy weapon at those around her, those who dared to stray too close to her reach. Grell, instead patching it all up, sewing her very heart upon her clothing and wearing it for all to see like a badge of carnage in a palette of crimson hues, bearing it’s weight every minute of every day like iron shackles bound to her delicate frame.

                                                                  At the curtain's call                                        It's the last of all

And yet at the same time, she and the reaper were also surprisingly exactly the same. As if held up to a mirror, gazing longingly with hope at the image reflected. Tracing those marks of suffering painted upon Grell was like a map of stars, one that was not at all unfamiliar to her. 

They clashed not together, but meshed into something more unified, an entire constellation within that black, open, sky.

                                                                  Don't get too close

Such a thing was terribly unknown, certainly more than frightening, and new. Yet, as Bishamon discovered, piece by piece..it was something that was also quite utterly...

                                           It's where my demons hide

.....ｂｅａｕｔｉｆｕｌ.