#usually ...

days blur to years. she loss count of the time she spent on this floating fortress. it wasn't a prison after all. she had no need to keep tally of her never ending servitude. still the hands of the clock only seemed to trickle by. no one told her how grating 'immortality' would be.

there were very few items she kept from her past life. only one true constant of her existence among the living. she never told anyone this. not even kyoka. the less connections to her humanity, the better. that, however, was something she couldn't part with. no matter how many lives she lived. it was of silver. blade slightly dulled, but still capable of piercing flesh. the handle was wooden, carved in the shape of a wolf. she could see why it might've sparked his interest.

❛ that doesn't belong to you . . . ❜ she counters quietly, failing to hide the grave tone of her voice. ❛ hand it over, before i poke out your irritating eyeballs. ❜ seilah doesn't wait for whatever crude retort he had to offer, snatching the blade from his hand. by the sharp end, no less — not caring how it might cut her.

seilah turns away, knife resting in her open palms. the red which originally stained it now darkened. she remembers what it felt like — to run this blade through the heart of who she hated the most. who lead her to part from her mortal roots. the sight of it — of his blood, fills her with an alarming sense of comfort. pale fingers curling around the blade, she almost feels bad for snapping at jackal.

❛ this is . . . the only item i care about in this world. ❜ she turns her cheek, barely meeting his stare. ❛ it was used to kill the most hideous of monsters. ❜

a haunting smile lifts at her lips. ❛ he was human after all. ❜