Now, however, there is no laughter. Like the way a concert hall becomes deadly quiet after it had just boasted melodic tunes, where once was naïve joy has been replaced with a wariness, a thick coat of pessimism layered atop. The jests she makes while adopting the role of one of the perfect daughters of the Tachibana household ring empty to her, though they still incite the same laughter from those around her. The glittering decor of her family house do not sparkle as they once did -- their aesthetics no longer bringing pleasure. There always seemed to be something at the edge of her mind that loomed bigger than aesthetics, and to be caught up in the latter was naïvety to her now.

Frankly, she was getting quite tired of the fake smiles she donned. At her most aware states, she knew there was something wrong with her. Grief did not take this long to heal. She should not be so single-mindedly focused on one thing. She should not treat those around her with thinly-veiled contempt. She should not be embroiled so in her anger. That being said, neither could she find an exit from the oppressive anger. The only way out was also the very thing that pulled her deeper -- she found solace in hunting, in pushing her limits to hunt down the next creature that appeared on the streets, to win despite the creature’s supernatural strengths, and finally, to watch them writhe at the end of a pointed tip before they finally succumbed to death. Hunting had become not a noble mission gifted to her family generations ago, but a hobby, her personal interest, her life. There was nothing noble in her kills, unlike her sisters’ or her parents’. There was raw, unadulterated hatred, and sadistic satisfaction at inflicting pain to something so unholy.

Now, though, there was him to add another reason to her hunting. Dark hair contrasting her blonde, almost ethereal compared to her lowly human form. First seen through tears as she knelt by her brother, and again and again each time she killed, yet never close enough to touch, to interrogate. He was exactly like mist passing through hand, but she was not to be underestimated. This was a chase she was determined to win.

hamilton   /   starter sentences.

The stare he gives the man is colder than death itself. Sometimes Jae-sang finds himself in wonderment. Not at the reaper himself, but his own abilities to have coerced the reaper into his doing. One might call it narcissism, while Jae-sang considered it to be raw pride. Over the couple of months, the two had spent a large amount of time together. Whether that be because Jae-sang had a task in mind, or because he wanted to accompany the man as he retrieved another soul. Regardless of the event, a thin layer of comfort had developed. Not enough to crack through the wall Jae-sang kept up to the world, but enough for him to tolerate such a comment without jinxing the other.

“Do you even have a dog?” 

Is the only comeback he has to the retort. He wondered what sort of a dog a grim reaper would have. A hellhound? Or a Pomeranian? Asides from their first encounter, the warlock hadn’t seen much to fear in the other. Strange. Although he knew that the man could take his life with a snap of his fingers, Jae-sang didn’t fear it. It’s not to say that the warlock wasn’t afraid of death. While the mask he put on in front of the world would easily say that he’d laugh in the face of danger, life was worth living and Jae-sang planned to live for a long period of time. So was he not concerned about his hostility against the reaper? Was it because Wonil seemed too fond of humans? Was it because the two had made a pact that was unbreakable at this point? Or was it simply blind faith? 

Disregarding his thoughts, he let a scoff pass parted lips before rolling his eyes. 

December 17th, 2008. 2:34 am. Incheon, SK.

Cold air bit at exposed skin as the boy, now turned man, stood hidden in the shadows of the towering skyscraper. Cigarette hang from his lips, a habit he had picked up from his uncle one summer during his last year of high school. The weight of his final exam for the year had been lifted from his shoulders, but the burdens on his frame were far heavier than an academic standing. His friends, or more accurately, the boys on his floor who visited his dorm every now and then, had asked him if he would like to celebrate the start of winter vacation with a drink or two. In his usual fashion, Jae-sang had shook his head as a silent “no” followed by locking the door in their faces. None of them ever minded – that’s just what Jae-sang was like. A stark difference from the quiet, yet polite man he had been earlier in the year. When he hadn’t dipped his toes back into spells that would leave him feeling hollow in the following months.

With hands balled up in his pockets, he watched the woman who wandered the streets so late at night. Surely from overtime at work, he had kept track of her workaholic tendencies ever since Jae-sang had set his eyes on her. In order for the boy to have his mother returned back to him, for him to regain his livelihood, he would have to take that of another. He knew not her name, nor her family. Details were unnecessary and would leave him more hesitant than he already was. The first, and only time, Jae-sang had taken a life with his own hands had been accidental. He had not paid heed to his father’s warnings and the result of that had been bloodshed. His head pounded at the very thought of the moment. Left covered in a stranger’s blood, at the ripe age of 15. He had sat with head between his knees, body shaking until his father found him and discarded of the victim that still haunted him. Yet here he was, only three years later. This time with a purpose.

His throat had dried by the time he had finished repeating the spell in his head. Over and over and over until the words sat on his tongue and were only needed to be uttered. The magic wouldn’t work its course unless he said the spell out loud, spoke it into existence. The worst part of the entire revival ritual was the collection of his victim’s blood. His fingers curled around the glass of a test tube he had smuggled from his university’s laboratory, grip so tight he feared shards would explode in his jacket pocket. Cold air filled his nostrils as he slowly walked under the shadow of the building to keep up with the woman before him. Her back to him, unsuspecting but surely paranoid with the way her pace had quickened. Many women were scared of men at night, and Jae-sang didn’t question why. It was men like him that increased their fears.

Once the figure turned a corner, so did he. His pursuit seemed to have been joined by the presence of another. A face he had seen before in a form that had left him petrified. The reaper. In his peripheral, he can see the shadowy entity watching over him, but something about the way he watched so intently put Jae-sang further on edge. The quicker he did this, the better it would be – is what he told himself. Once. Twice. Five times until he knew he had to rip the band-aid off sooner or later. If he wanted his mother back, he had to do this.He had no other choice.

Stopping abruptly in his spot resulted in catching the woman’s attention. She looked over her shoulder at the boy who now had his eyes closed, tears threatening to pool behind his eyelids as his lips murmured the language of the dead. Latin rolled off a Korean tongue, and he could hear her coming closer to him. Something along the lines of “Son, are you okay?” hit his ears. A hitch in his throat almost terminated the spell, but he quickened his chant, the last word hissed past gritted teeth just when she reached out to come to his help. Jae-sang opened his eyes to see the woman’s face whiten in horror. The breath had been taken from her lungs, arm still outstretched in an attempt to aid the very boy who had been her demise. He could see the realization and fear in her eyes as her body crumbled to the ground. Legs twitching as she clawed at her throat, fingers itching to tear away the invisible rope choking her windpipe. One minute. Two.

Two and a half was when her limbs fell to her side. Life less. Two and a half minutes was when Jae-sang found himself face to face with the reaper who didn’t appear pleased with his actions. Tears stained his cheeks, but there was nothing to read behind his eyes as he looked upon the dead body, addressing the reaper without looking at him.

I'm feeling emo at 1 am. ONE. AM.