Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Celine had been right.

Even after they defeated Gwi-Ma, Zoey and Mira continued to hold her at arms length.

In the moment, she thought things would be okay.

After Celine refused to run her through, Rumi made the choice to finish what she was supposed to, come what may. She'd been prepared to fail, prepared to die alone, desperately.

But Mira and Zoey, her friends, her family, the two people she always expected to be there, were there. They were right there with her.

The fight was a blur, but their faces remained clear in her memories. Clearer than anything else she'd experienced before. They looked at her the same way they used to. With care, concern.

At least they could look at her.

And yet once the fight was over, once the adrenaline died down and they made it home, exhausted and ready to rest for the foreseeable future, Rumi tried to lift the mood. She mentioned the fight, and how well they'd all done. She said they deserved to celebrate, and pulled out her phone, speaking in a sing song voice about ordering food.

They shot her down quickly, insisting that they were too tired, and they could do that later. That they could eat after sleeping.

But Rumi noticed. She saw their gazes flickering to each other, watched as their lips thinned, and saw the way their body tensed and they avoided looking at her body. At the patterns covering her skin.

She didn't argue, just went to her room, while Zoey and Mira disappeared into the one they shared.

They hadn't eaten in a while, Rumi had been certain they were starving. She certainly was, but she waited. She laid in bed, messing with her hair, until she heard the chime of someone at the door, and smelled the food through the door.

Maybe they'd changed their minds? Rumi stood up, crossing her room in an instant before freezing with her hand on the doorknob.

The door to her friends’ room just closed.

She let go of the door, walking back to her bed and dropping herself on the edge of it. She stared at the small metal basket near her bed, her trash bin, and felt a pang deep in her chest.

She wasn't invited.

__________________________________________________________________

Celine had been right.

Rumi left her room and walked into the living room, where Mira and Zoey were sitting on the couch together in a tangled mess, eating popcorn as they watched a corny drama.

They looked up at her with mild shock, and almost immediately, their eyes darted down to her arms, which she'd covered with a long sleeve shirt. She'd also tried to hide the marks on her face with makeup, though that didn't work very well.

“Hey, girls.” She tried, stiff smile accentuating cracked lips.

“..hey, Rumi.” Zoey responded with an identical smile, fidgeting with her hands. Her voice was pitched up in the way it gets when she's nervous.

Hesitantly, Rumi took a seat on the couch, at the opposite end of her friends. “What're you guys watching?”

“Some random drama we came across. We didn't look for anything specific.” Zoey forced a laugh. Rumi waited a beat, to see if she'd offer to restart it like always.

She didn't.

“Listen, uhm, can we talk?” She finally asked, feeling heavy doubt settling in. The room darkened, the voices from the T.V fading as the faces of her friends came into greater focus.

The lines covering her body almost burned, and she gripped her arm with a vengeance, nails digging into her skin through the sleeve of her shirt. Her chest tightened, and the heavy air caged her on her spot on the couch. The space between her and her friends, her teammates, her family, grew as the seconds ticked by.

“Talk?” Zoey asked, feigning obliviousness, obviously trying to steer Rumi away from the topic she knew she was about to broach. Mira still hadn’t spoken to her. She barely even seemed to want to look at her.

Did her patterns really change that much between them?

Steeling herself, Rumi forced herself to continue. They had to address it eventually. They needed to stop running from it. She wanted to go back to how things used to be. She wanted her friends back.

“Yeah. Talk about my patterns.”

Zoey flinched, Mira’s eyes narrowed as she continued to stare at the television screen. “Why do we need to talk about your—uhm—those?” Her smile stretched thinner, straining more and more. Rumi grabbed her braid, slowly running her hands over it.

“Well, we haven’t talked since we defeated Gwi-Ma, and I wanted to explain.”

“I-I don’t think there’s anything to explain. I mean, we know what those are. Is there anything to explain?”

“It’s just that you guys have been so distant.” Rumi began to feel desperation taking over, unable to stop herself from revealing what she’d been feeling. She wanted to keep a level head when she explained, and now she was becoming emotional. “I want to go back to being good friends with you. I mean, when we were fighting Gwi-Ma, it felt magical! That song was perfect, a-and I thought we’d be okay after talking now, instead of singing. I miss hanging out, and I don’t want you guys to feel like I betrayed you! I wanted to tell you, I really did!”

Mira shot up from the couch, stalking over towards her room before Rumi could say anything. The hope flickering in her stomach went up in smoke, leaving behind a cold, aching chasm.

Zoey jumped to her feet and began to follow after her. “I’m sorry, Rumi.” She began, wringing out her hands. “I just don’t think right now is really a good time.”

Zoey hurried past where she was seated on the couch, and Rumi reached out instinctively, grabbing her hand to stop her. She watched a flicker of disgust cross over her face before it was replaced with shock, and eventually discomfort. Rumi quickly let go of her hand, as if it burned. The memory of them finding out about her patterns flashed across her mind. The memory plagued her nightmares. Running off that stage, hoping to find comfort in her real friends, only to find that they think she’s just another demon. That she was always one of them. Watching them raise their weapons against her, as if she would ever hurt them or anyone else for that matter, and realizing for the first time, that Celine was right.

They did hate her, didn’t they?

“Maybe… we can talk at the bathhouse?” It was the final attempt, her last desperate struggle to repair their fractured relationship and begin rebuilding their trust in her.

Zoey pursed her lips, brows twisting up and nose curling out of what was either disgust or pain. Her lips trembled, and her eyes glistened.

“I think we just need some time, Rumi. It’s… a lot to process. We’ll come to you when we’re ready to talk. Okay?” Her voice cracked at the end.

“O-Okay…” Rumi relented, pulling her feet up onto the couch. “I’ll be waiting then, I guess.”

“Bye, Rumi. We’ll see you later.” Zoey skittered off towards her shared room with Mira, shutting and locking the door behind her. The quiet click of the lock rang in her ears, drowning out the T.V. her friends had left on.

Celine was right. She’d always been right.

Chapter Text

Rumi felt sick. She'd taken to only leaving her room at night, once she was certain Mira and Zoey had fallen asleep.

During the day, she flitted between wakefulness and sleep. Each time she'd find herself drifting off, she'd jolt awake, terrified that she might miss a knock at her door. She had to stay awake, just in case her friends came to see her.

She spent her hours awake pacing the room, slowly feeling herself going insane as she went days with no more than an hour or two of sleep.

She'd walk from one end of the room to the other, stare at her feet, chew her nails, and continue to repeat the cycle. Every so often, when she accidentally caught sight of herself in the mirror, she'd dissolve into tears, falling to her knees and slamming her hands against the floor.

She'd grip her hair in one hand, pulling fistfuls out with each desperate, anxiety-ridden tug, and cover her mouth with the other to stifle her sobs.

She'd suffocate herself to avoid them hearing her cry. How would they look at her then, if they heard? If they suddenly felt guilt forcing them to reconnect? She couldn't take it if they felt forced to forgive her.

Eventually, on the third day, she threw her blanket over the mirror. Even then she couldn't hide from her reflection. It followed her. She could see it through the blanket. Every time she saw her skin, looked in that direction, she felt as though the patterns were getting worse.

It felt like they were digging into her skin—going from markings similar to tattoos to years-old scars. They were embedded within her, forever marring her skin, deciding the life she'd live without any input from her.

Every now and then, she'd summon her weapon for the comfort of holding it in her hands. She'd hold it close, cradling it while sitting on the floor, back to her balcony.

It was a reminder. A reminder that she was not one of them. That she was more hunter than demon. That she was still good. It was all she could do to convince herself that just being able to summon her blade was enough to make her worth loving.

The fifth day passed with Rumi in a trance. The blanket had fallen from the mirror, and she found herself entirely unable to look away. Even as disgust turned her stomach, and her nails bit into the skin of her shoulders, she couldn't avert her eyes.

It was something akin to morbid fascination—like when people are intrigued by things that are considered gross.

The longer she stared, limbs numb from sitting still for hours on end, the more she wondered what was wrong with her.

What exactly was it that disgusted Mira and Zoey so much? Could she change it? Was it more than her patterns? It had to be, didn’t it?

It was too sudden of a change, too unpredictable. The had to have harbored some hatred towards her beforehand.

Was it her voice? Was it too pitchy when she sang? Did they feel upset because she was too loud? Did she consume far too much of the spotlight? Was she being unfair?

Was it her hair? Did it get in the way? Did it take her too long to braid it when she was getting ready? Did it cause them to be late to something before?

What about her face? Did she put on too much makeup? Too little? Did it not look right on stage? Was she doing enough to take care of her skin? Was she unsightly?

Was she too bossy? Was she too energetic? Was she too naive? Was she too pessimistic? How about optimistic? Was she just too much?

Was she too many parts demon?

The sixth day passed with Rumi wrapped under endless nightmares. Unable to stay awake any longer, she fell into a deep sleep. Even the ringing of her phone at full volume—a call from Bobby—couldn't wake her.

The nightmares cycled between each other all night, disjointed and convoluted, only adding to the anxiety and terror each one produced.

The cycle began with Jinu's death. He protected her from Gwi-Ma, and allowed Zoey, Mira, and herself to defeat him and save the people trapped under the Saja Boys’ spell.

Following the destruction of Gwi-Ma, Rumi would turn around to face the other two, grinning and feeling light on her feet, only to see them staring at her with disappointment and resentment.

“I can’t believe we had to work together with a demon to finish off Gwi-Ma.” Mira would cross her arms, spitting venom at Rumi, refusing to lower her weapon against her.

“I thought we were friends.” Zoey would whisper, wringing her hands and side-stepping into Mira’s shadow.

Behind them, Rumi could see the faces of the people in the crowd. Their fans.

They were all staring at her arms. All surprised—digusted—by her arms, her face, her being. Everyone knew what she was, there was no hiding it, nothing she could do.

The scene would switch, and she’d find herself in front of Celine. But that time, as a child. Celine would be braiding her hair as Rumi hummed to herself, idly tapping her hands against the ground.

She’d hear the sharp, piercing shwing of a sword being drawn. Yet, as a child, how was she to recognize the adult she valued as highly as a mother would be drawing a weapon against her?

“Is the braid done?” She’d ask instantly, right as the glint of metal danced into her field of vision, and a blade swung across her neck as the nightmare progressed.

Rumi was no longer a part of her nightmare. Instead, she seemed to be observing from an outsider’s perspective. She watched the world turn, observed Mira and Zoey living a life without her.

Mira and Zoey were as closely knit as ever, even without her there. There was never a need for them to be a trio. They were the first demon hunters that were successful without a third. They were even more popular on their own than all three of them had been together, and were better at fighting off demons and restoring the Honmoon. The Saja Boys hadn’t stood a chance against them.

Voices began to invade her dream. It was her fault that people were suffering. Because she, a half-hunter half-demon monster, was no longer there, the real hunters found it much easier to protect their world from the demon realm.

Rumi finally woke up after a number of cycles through those scenes, each more graphic and painful than the last, and resolved herself to avoid sleep as much as possible from then on. Not only because she wanted to make sure she was awake to talk to her friends, but because she didn’t want to see those things again.

On the eighth day, she was jolted awake from another fitful sleep by a wet piece of paper falling onto her face, and the sharp caw of a bird inside her room.

Chapter Text

Something smacked her in the face, ripping her out of her repeating nightmares and bringing her face to face with the tiger and bird Jinu used to send messages with.

Rumi's head snapped towards the door, double checking that it was locked, before turning back to the tiger.

“Why are you here?!” She hissed, voice straining to remain as quiet as possible. The tiger continued to stare, eyes as wide as always, strange grin as unsettlingly cute as the first time she’d seen it.

Eventually, its eyes slowly lowered to look at the paper she’d slapped off her face. It was another invitation card just like the ones Jinu would send.

Rumi stared at it, hand slowly moving to grab it, heart thrumming in her throat. The card seemed to draw her in. Anticipation and fear twisted into a whirlwind within her. What if it was really from Jinu? Was he… was he okay?

Was he alive?

Her fingertips brushed over the card, when without warning, Mira’s laughter and Zoey’s shrieking indignation sounded from the living room.

Rumi snapped her hand back as though the card had burned her, staring at the door, shrinking back as it loomed above her, foreboding and final.

The room held a chill to it that had only gotten worse over the days she’d locked herself in it. It was something that couldn’t be controlled by the thermostat. It was a chill deep, deep within her bones, infecting the space around her, turning her nails purple and pinkening her nose.

The chill was something lonely.

Rumi fully turned away from the card, twisting around to face the tiger and bird again instead. “Go away.” She ordered, doing her utmost to make it sound sincere and commanding. The tiger simply stared at her, slowly turning its head to the side as the bird blinked from between its ears.

She couldn’t imagine how Zoey and Mira would react if they saw her with demons in her room. She might lose them forever. She couldn’t risk it. If they wanted to come talk to her, and the tiger and bird were there, they might misunderstand her. They might think she was on the demon’s side, and decide then and there that she was a threat, and they needed to be rid of her.

Rumi knew she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to stop them.

She grabbed the invitation on the floor, shaking it slightly to get rid of some of the slobber, and grabbed a lighter from her bedside table. Without hesitation, she flicked on the lighter and held it up the card, watching it go up in smoke.

It didn’t matter what it said. Jinu was dead. At best, the letter was from before they defeated Gwi-Ma. It wouldn’t be worth the risk. She needed to make sure her friends knew where her allegiance lay.

She was more hunter than demon, and she swore to herself that she would make them believe that, too. She summoned her weapon, brandishing it at the tiger, which took a step back to avoid the blade grazing its fur. “I said leave. Before I kill you.” The tiger stood stock still, observing her, cheshire grin as wide as usual, and Rumi continued to stare it down.

Her gaze remained unrelenting, refusing to back down from their standoff, trying her best to convince all three of them that she was truly planning to hurt the two passive demons. With a hesitant flinch, she jabbed the sword forwards, and the tiger dipped down, lowering its head to avoid the blade while the bird took to the air with a squawk.

Once the bird resettled on the tiger’s head, the two seemed to finally believe she meant business, and sank into the floor, slowly disappearing from sight, leaving her alone once again. That time, however, it had been by her own choice that she’d been abandoned. She made the choice to turn her back, in order to remain loyal to her two oldest friends, the ones who had been there for her through everything.

She sank back to the ground, knees digging painfully into the cold, hard floor. She rested her forehead against the hilt of her sword, body trembling as silent tears fell from burning eyes, staining her pants. The markings covering her body felt more present than usual. Larger, darker, painful even.

Why was she forced to carry the weight of being stuck between worlds? Why did her mother betray humanity, betray her fellow hunters, by falling for a demon? How could she ever? It was all her fault. She doomed her own daughter to a life of solitude. A day would’ve come eventually, where the truth would have gotten out. Maybe not so publicly, but Mira and Zoey would have found out at least. This still would’ve been her life: locked away in a room, isolated as if she were infected. As if the blood in her veins was evil incarnate. As if holding her near would cause the infection to spread.

She dropped her weapon, leaning back against the side of her bed as the sword dissipated before hitting the ground. Only half-aware of what she was doing, Rumi stared into the mirror while scratching at her arm, nails biting deeply into the skin, reaching for an itch nestled within the pits of her defective soul.

The face in the mirror was one that couldn’t belong to her. Covered in purple patterns, the signs of a demon, one eye glowing brightly. Almost like a lightbulb.

She chuckled to herself dejectedly, wondering briefly if the last bits of her sanity were finally leaving her.

Her hair was a tangled mess, likely unsalvageable at that point. She hadn’t bothered to brush it in days, and had made a mess of it ages ago by running her hands through her loose hair, digging into it when her fears became too much, and shaking her head back and forth to free herself from the thoughts that plagued her.

Her cheeks were pale, face thinner than it used to be. The bones around her neck were far more pronounced, and her clothes hung off her body, a size and a half too big.

She watched the skin she scratched turn red, raw, and bloody. She continued to scratch, unable to notice any pain, because that creature in the mirror was not her. That bleeding arm was not part of her body, and the fingernails now painted cherry red moved without her approval. She was somewhere else, watching that demon in the mirror sit there, waiting for it to go away.

The demon continued staring back at her, eyes taunting her.

What if the girls walked in when it was there? What if they saw that demon sitting there, staring at her ever so peacefully, and assumed they were on the same side? What if they struck them both down?

Rumi glanced away from the mirror, shutting her eyes and tilting her head back until her neck fell over the edge of her mattress.

How did things end up going so wrong? She’d done everything right. Relentlessly, she’d sliced through hoards of demons, ran her voice hoarse rehearsing to take down the Saja Boys, and never put anything before her duties. She was a hunter before she was a person, because if she allowed herself to act more person than hunter, she was afraid the demon half living in her blood would infect the good in her.

She’d tried, she’d tried so very hard to remain good. She made up for her sinful existence by purging the demons from their lands, sending them down to the depths where they belonged, and only hoped that she’d be spared for her efforts.

Perhaps this was worse than being sent to Gwi-Ma.

She still lived among the humans, still lived with a soul, as a hunter, and yet she was alone. Dragged into deeper depths than the most depraved of the demons, forced to suffer as she fought her own mind, her own inhumanity, her own loneliness.

Zoey laughed loudly from the living room, drowning out Mira’s quieter snickers, voice as crazed as a hyena, and yet as merry as a child during the holidays. Desperation clung to Rumi’s skin like sludge, and she crawled towards the door, pressing her ear to it and forcing out a small chuckle. It was too quiet for those in the living room to hear, too depraved to belong to anyone sane, too dark for it to sound cheerful.

She held her breath, straining to hear from the living room, imagining the faces of her friends, envisioning the living room, and planting herself in the middle of the delusion, alongside her friends, like she’d never left their side.

She wasn’t lonely any longer, not with her friends right there. They smiled at her, laughed with her, leaned against her and allowed her to lean against them. Her skin was clean, and their gaze met her own. Not a trace of disgust or fear lingering in their expressions.

They looked at her, really looked at her, and they didn’t hate what they saw.

Chapter Text

Rumi woke up, a crick in her neck from falling asleep against the door.

Almost immediately, she noticed a strong throbbing in her arm, accompanied by a stinging pain when she moved it. Peeling her eyes open, squinting against the light, she stared down at her arm.

Deep, rough gashes covered her forearm, directly over the patterns covering her skin. She stared at them, at the blood that had dried in rivers down her hand, pooling in her elbow, trailing onto the floor around her.

When—

She glanced at the mirror, a flood of memories from the night before surfacing before she could chase them away.

She'd gotten rid of a few demons. That was it, this was just a wound from fighting.

She pressed herself against the door, listening for any noises coming from the hall or common areas, before she peeled open the door and slipped out, heading directly into the bathroom. She shoved her arm under the water, scrubbing away the dried blood, before finding the disinfectant. She poured some onto the wound, hissing at the sudden burning sensation, and patted it clean before wrapping it in bandages.

Her arm burned, thrumming worse than before. It was fine. It'd settle in a bit, it was just irritated because she'd messed with it.

She heard another door click open just as she began to leave the bathroom, and her stomach dropped.

Frozen in place, she came face to face with Mira. She was half-asleep, still in her pajamas with messy, unbrushed hair. Rumi kept her bandaged arm hidden behind the door, gripping the lightswitch like her life depended on it.

“M-Mira.” Her voice came out smaller than she intended. It was shaky, hoarse, and cracked at the end of Mira’s name. It burned her throat to speak, and she had to suppress a cough.

Mira stared at her for a few moments, expression harsh, gaze unrelenting. Rumi watched her clenched her fists, watched her eyes trace the patterns on her face, neck.

She lifted her attention back to her face and nodded. “Rumi. Been a while.”

Rumi felt like collapsing from relief. She spoke to her, finally. Hearing a human voice, and not through a door, was a miracle. She flinched, having to stop herself from reflexively reaching out and showing her bandaged arm.

She planted her feet firmly on the ground, clenching her jaw and digging her nails into the wall hard enough for her to feel one bending and breaking.

“Yeah, it has been.” She forced out, barely more than a whisper.

If her voice had been any better, she might’ve broken into pleas. She might’ve begged Mira not to abandon her. She might’ve fallen right there in front of her, dropping to her knees and making herself seem like as little of a threat as possible.

Mira turned to face the wall. “Bobby called you.”

Rumi faltered. “He… he did?”

“Yeah. Said he couldn't get in touch with you. Zoey told him you were fine. Still, call him back. Sometime. We've still got jobs to do.” Mira huffed, arms crossed. “See ya later.”

Before Rumi had a chance to respond, Mira strode past her and disappeared around the corner.

Something final broke in Rumi's chest. Her lungs grew heavier, and her breaths more labored. Her neck felt too weak to hold up her head, and her hair dragged her chin down until she was staring at the floor like a heavy chain.

She flicked the light off, and stared at her broken nail. She trembled, unsteady as she dragged herself back to her room.

She shut her door, and stood before it, the soles of her feet stopping in the dried puddles of blood.

Her blood.

Her red, human blood.

She was still human. Her blood confirmed it. She was more human that demon.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent and slow, unlike her previous messy, desperate sobs.

She didn't feel human.

________________________________________________________

Rumi stared at the bandages she'd wrapped her arms in until they began to itch.

It must've been at least a day at that point, if the darkening and brightening of her room was any sort of sign.

Slowly, she peeled away the bandages, revealing new, delicate scabs in patches over the scratches. Some places looked a little more healed than others.

Her eyes had begun growing heavy, vision blurring out every few moments. Once the uncomfortable bandages had been removed, Rumi found herself drifting off. Rather peacefully, at that.

________________________________________________________

That small bit of interaction sustained Rumi for the next few days. Time passed in less of a haze, which was both a blessing and a curse.

She spent her time pacing, scratching idly at her arm, and staring at the wounds healing.

Multiple times, she'd stop, standing still as a deer in headlights, and would take out her phone. She'd ignore the notification about her low battery, and would open her contacts.

Her finger would hover over Bobby's contact, before she'd quickly launch her phone back onto her bed and drop to the ground, shaking and holding her head.

She could almost imagine herself turning into one of those disgusting demons. How could she ever call Bobby? How could she ever dare bring herself to pretend to be like the rest of them? Like her fans, like her friends—the people who were practically her siblings.

Eventually, her eyes would settle on her arm. After that, the pattern would repeat.

That day, however, was different. That day, Rumi’s mind felt slightly clearer than before. Her desperation had grown, and yet she seemed to be able to think clearly.

It was a curse. For her mind to be stable. For her to be able to process coherent thought. For her to be able to make observations.

Time passed normally, for once.

She stared at her arm for seconds. Minutes. An hour.

Her arm was different.

The wound had healed, the old scab having fallen away some time ago.

Her phone buzzed on the bed.

The door to the apartment shut with a loud clack.

The air thickened. Shadows crept towards her, licking at her feet and wrapping around her wrists.

The hair on her neck stood up, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Her shoulders raised, and her body stiffened.

Almost in a trance, Rumi rose to her feet.

A voicemail began to play from her bed. Bobby.

She twisted the door handle. She thought the daylight would've stopped her, enough of a threat of being seen, and yet her feet continued past her open door without hesitation.

She moved steadily towards the bathroom, mind empty. Clear.

She breathed easily.

She crossed into the bathroom, and her sword materialized in her hand without her conscious summoning.

She raised her free arm in front of her. Her scarred arm.

She stopped with her toes against the bath.

She stared at the scarred skin interrupting the patterns.

She held her arm straight.

She held it steady.

She raised her sword. A weapon meant for slaying demons. For purifying the world. For protecting others. For saving lives.

She could slay the demon infecting her.

She pressed the blade to her skin.

She'd remove each of the marks cursing her to live this lonely life.

It was okay to have scars.

It wasn't okay to be a demon.

Rumi would carry out her duty. She'd slay the demon before her.

Chapter Text

The glowing blade sliced neatly through her skin, and Rumi noticed no pain.

The blade was only removing the infected skin—the parts that were no longer her. They weren’t connected to her, she couldn’t feel them.

Rumi, eyes wide and unfocused, vision blurry, placed the sharp side of the blade against her skin, dragged it across her arm and carefully picked out all the skin covered in the disease. Blood beaded up to the surface, blade met with slight resistance, before it suddenly sank into flesh with the power of a dying vampire searching for a meal.

After that, she took the weapon and cut her skin off in mostly thin slices, careful not to dig deeper than the marks went. Her blade, usually clean, since demons didn’t bleed, almost seemed to be permanently stained. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to remove the red from its glow.

Still. Wouldn’t that prove just how far she went? Just how human she was? How could she do this so easily, if she wasn’t entirely human? Once the patterns were gone, her mind and body would finally show the same thing. She was human. Just human.

Slabs of skin fell into the tub with a sickening splat, blood falling in much the same manner. Soon, her right arm became a patchwork of missing skin, bloody pits, and exposed muscle in places she’d dug the blade in too deep.

Even if she wasn’t able to feel the pain when she removed the patterns correctly, the blood loss still began to affect her. When she was about halfway done with her arm, and only had her shoulder left, she dropped to her knees, legs trembling with the effort to keep her standing. Her arm began to feel heavy, and carrying her sword grew difficult.

Her hand shook, and the slices on her shoulder came out sloppier than the rest of them, digging too deep more often than not. And she still had the rest of her body to do.

Her head spun, and her hand slipped on the final strike. Luckily, the sword fell away from her, and she avoided injuring herself from the mistake.

She laid her head on the side of the tub, sword vanishing, and left her bleeding arm in the tub. She’d probably be fine, wouldn’t she? Her breathing slowed, and her eyes closed. No longer did her heart pound in her chest, nor did her head ache, splitting with the force of her thoughts.

No longer did it hurt to live.

Gently, Rumi drifted off to sleep, expression peaceful, smiling freely.

_________________________________________________________________________

Rumi woke to noise in the living room. The voices of Mira and Zoey, laughing, with the television buzzing quietly beneath them.

She glanced towards her arm, to see it had scarred over already, marred and ugly, but natural. They were human marks, not demon patterns. That was all that mattered, really, wasn’t it?

She picked herself off the ground, turning her arm to examine all sides, to see how successful her removal of the patterns had been. She couldn’t find a hint of purple left on that arm. It was perfect. She’d proved to herself that she could become human—she could remove the demonic parts of her, even without the Honmoon.

It hadn’t done anything for her when they’d properly defeated Gwi-Ma and sealed the Honmoon, so wasn’t this her final option? Wasn’t this truly what she was meant to do? A test of strength, of resilience, of her humanity?

She was human enough to do whatever it took to no longer be part demon. She had to have passed, right? She had to be human. She had to be a hunter.

“Hey, that was mine!” Zoey’s shrill voice drifted into the bathroom, soon followed by Mira’s raucous laughter.

That time, Rumi saw no need to hesitate in stepping out into the light. Only demons hid in the shadows. Humans—Hunters—were built to glow.

And she was human.

“Mira? Zoey?” Rumi entered the living room, standing behind the couch, arms at her side. “Can we talk now?”

The two came to a sudden stop. Zoey froze, hand still outstretched towards the cup of ramen Mira held out of her reach, before she quickly climbed off her and stiffly dropped back onto the couch.

Slowly, Mira placed the ramen on the table, eyes frozen on Rumi’s face, as if she was waiting for her to do something.

“Uhm… I-It’s kinda late, Rumi. I-I don’t know if right now is the best time… We should probably sleep before we get into a serious conversation.” Zoey rambled, waving her hands in the air, eyes flitting back and forth between her and Mira, nervously bouncing her knee.

“But we’ve put this off for so long! And–And I finally did what I should’ve long ago.”

Zoey’s voice fizzled out, and she clasped her hands together, shrinking down next to Mira.

“I know demons are evil, I’ve fought them for so long, just like you guys. But… I never really fought hard enough. If I really wanted to protect the world, to defeat all demons, I would’ve made sure to take out the easiest targets as well.” Rumi began, unscarred arm scratching her neck. “I mean, I should’ve dealt with my demon patterns long before we even got close to defeating Gwi-Ma. And yet I never actually did anything to make myself human again.”

“W-What are you–”

“But I finally figured it out! The patterns are like… an infection! If I could get rid of them, I’ll become human again. Just like Celine always said. And I realized…” Rumi couldn’t help smiling. This had to be the most wonderful moment in her life yet. Everything was perfect, she’d finally found a way to be good again, and could finally get her friends back. Zoey shifted, uncomfortable, and Mira pursed her lips, jaw clenching. Once they understood, they’d feel better. It was just all the talk about demons making them uncomfortable. Once she explained everything, they’d never have to talk about those things again.

They might even get to be normal girls. Not hunters.

“Getting rid of the patterns doesn’t hurt. Even if I cut them off, it doesn’t hurt at all, because they aren’t actually a part of my body! They’re a disease, an infection!”

Finally, she stepped around the couch, holding out her arm proudly, and watched as Zoey and Mira’s eyes fell to her bumpy, discolored, scarred skin. Her breath caught in her throat when Zoey clasped a hand over her mouth with a gasp, and Mira’s eyes widened with shock.

Did… did they not understand? Did they not believe her? Did they think it was a ruse?

What if they thought she was tricking them?

The lights around them dimmed, highlighting the three of them like some scene in a drama, and Rumi had the urge to turn and flee right then. But she was frozen in place. No matter how desperately she wanted it, she couldn’t move her feet. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t escape.

She couldn’t take it back.

This could be the last straw. If they didn’t believe Rumi, and they thought the worst of her, she might lose them forever. They might really pull their weapons on her that time, all previous hesitation stamped out. Then what would it have been for? What would her struggle have amounted to?

Dying human was surely better than dying a demon, though.

“Is that… real?” Zoey’s whispered voice cut through Rumi’s rampaging thoughts, and she nodded her head vigorously.

“You…” Mira began, standing from the couch. Before Rumi could find the courage to react, She had grabbed her arm, dragging it this way and that to examine it more closely.

“You actually managed to get rid of them.” Her voice softened, shock turning into light, pleasant surprise, and for the first time in ages, Mira smiled at her.

Zoey squealed, dragging them both into a hug by their necks. “We can be together again! Oh my gosh, you can go to the bathhouse with us now! We need to go as soon as possible!” She laughed, directly into Rumi’s ear. Still, it was welcome. All that previous fear and nervousness had vanished from Zoey’s demeanor, replaced by her usual bubbly personality.

It was exactly what she’d hoped so desperately for.

“But what about the rest of them?” Mira interrupted. Still, she didn’t seem upset by the fact that she was still mostly covered in patterns. If anything, she just seemed concerned.

Zoey let them go, looking Rumi up and down before nodding sagely. “Yeah, we’ve gotta wait until they’re all gone to go to the bathhouse, huh?” She tapped her foot, crossing her arms and jutting out her bottom lip in the way she did when she was thinking. “Oh! I know! We can help you get rid of the rest! That way we can help you get rid of them faster, and it’ll be less dangerous. I mean, I bet you can’t get the ones on your face.” Zoey smiled, beaming with the force of a thousand suns.

Mira placed a hand on her hip. “Yeah, and we can help make sure you don’t get hurt by accidentally cutting out more than just the patterns. Some of those scars look pretty bad, after all.”

Rumi’s expression faltered, and she glanced at her arm again. Most of the excitement had faded by then, and she was able to look at her skin with a clear mind. It did look rather… unsightly. “Oh, yeah. The fans probably won’t like those, will they? I’ll still have to wear things to cover them.”

Zoey and Mira’s hands covered her arm, hiding most of the scars from her view. She glanced back up at them, and finally began to feel warm again while bathing in their smiles.

“We can figure something out.”

“You don’t need to hide from us ever again, no matter what.”

“We can all make it part of our brand to wear longer sleeves and pants.”

“We’re right here with you, Rumi.”

“We always will be.”

_________________________________________________________________________

Rumi woke to the annoying buzz of the bathroom light. Her face was frozen, smashed against the cold side of the bathtub, and her arm ached with a level of pain she’d never felt before. She groaned, peeling her eyes open, blinking back a piercing headache and squinting through blurred, spotty vision.

From what she could tell, the rest of the apartment was dark, cold, and abandoned. She couldn’t hear any signs of Mira or Zoey. Where did they go?

And why was she back in the bathroom? Why did her arm hurt so much? Slowly, she tore her face off the cold tub to look at her arm, still sluggishly bleeding in a few places, although most of the wounds had clotted over by that point. Still, it wasn’t healed like she’d remembered it to be. It was bloody, raw, dirty, and painful.

The tub was full of a mixture of wet and dried spots of blood, as well as layered in chunks of flesh. It was all a mess.

Was waking up before a dream? Did she imagine it all? Did she imagine Mira and Zoey accepting her again?

She tried to get up, forcing herself to move the bloodied, burning arm, and gasped. A full-body flinch caused her to jump violently enough to knock her knee into the side of the tub, and she gagged before throwing up in the tub. She panted, staring in disgust at the contents of the tub, and began to dread cleaning up.

With her arm in the state it was in, she wasn’t going to be able to clean up easily. The blood and puke could probably be washed down the drain, but she’d have to remove the chunks of her arm first.

She caught her breath and decided to try moving her arm again. She started slow, trying to bend her fingers first. She managed to barely cause each of her fingers to twitch, although the effort sent pain shooting up her entire arm. Her vision spun, and she barely held back another wave of vomit by lowering her head onto the edge of the tub.

She shut her eyes, a small whine escaping her, and found herself wondering how she was even alive.

Her arm was free of all her patterns, but it was also almost entirely mutilated in the process. Sure, some parts still looked fine, but her sword wasn’t exactly a precise tool. If she’d had something smaller, maybe she’d have been able to minimize the damage.

She’d lost so much blood in the process, wouldn’t that have been enough to kill a normal human? Shouldn’t she have died?

She didn’t mean to die, but wouldn’t that have been the correct thing to happen? What did it mean, that she was still alive?

A sob tore through her chest, and her breath rattled in her lungs.

The apartment was so cold. So lonely. There was no one to help her, no one to show what she’d done like in her dream. No one to help her like in her dream.

Could she return to that dream? That perfect world, where her arm was all healed already and Mira and Zoey loved her again?

Did she need to wait until her arm was healed to show Mira and Zoey in the real world? She couldn’t imagine they’d accept her looking like she did. She probably looked less human in her current state than before.

Was her dream a sign that once her arm healed, she’d be loved again? Was it telling her not to tell them until it looked human? But how long would that take? How long would it take for her arm to look less monstrous?

She heard the front door open and her leg shot out to slam the door shut instinctively, sudden dread falling over her and replacing the pain.

She couldn’t let them see her yet. They couldn’t see what she’d done. Not until everything was perfect, like in her dream.

Rumi held her breath, biting back small sounds of pain with each slight movement of her arm. Zoey’s excitable voice floated in from the kitchen, while Mira’s voice droned on from the hallway near the bathroom.

Rumi waited for one of them to stop in front of the door, for one of them to acknowledge she was there, and yet it never happened. Neither of them stopped anywhere near her. They settled in their room not long after arriving, and she couldn’t tell whether that was a blessing or a heartbreak.

She felt so weak. So broken. So lonely. Tears joined the rest of the slop in the tub, and Rumi had neither the strength nor the will to stop them.

Quiet hiccups echoed in the bathroom, ricochetting off the walls only to hit her with the force of a hoard of demons. Her body shook with each one, causing small bursts of pain to run up her arm, urging more tears forth.

Something heavy, large, and furry pressed down on her leg, and Rumi sluggishly turned her head to see the tiger staring down at her, expression as unsettling as ever. The bird on its head cawed, blinking its multiple eyes before fluttering down next to her.

She wanted to tell them to go away, truly, she did. They were demons. She shouldn’t allow them to continue showing up, she should kill them. She needed to prove she was human. And humans weren’t supposed to show demons grace—hunters even less so.

And yet… the words wouldn’t leave her mouth. Companionship was the only thing she wanted at that moment, and she wasn’t strong enough to throw away her one chance at it. She couldn’t refuse their warmth.

She whimpered, gripped the edge of the tub with her good arm, and pushed herself towards the tiger, landing with a thump against its legs.

The motion sent an explosion of pain through her mutilated arm, and she bit down on her good hand to muffle a scream, sobs returning with renewed strength as the throbbing settled, worse than it had been when she woke up. She shut her eyes, as if that would make the pain any better, and shoved her head into the fur of the tiger’s chest. She gripped the fur on its paw, and comforted herself with the warmth of another living thing.

Because only living things could be warm. It had to be alright for her to find comfort in the tiger. It was warm, so it was living. It wasn’t like those cold, heartless, evil demons. It didn’t seem to hurt others. It didn’t mean she was evil.

She was still good. She had to still be good.

The tiger sat down with a thump, and Rumi curled further into its fur. The bird flew onto her legs, settling down near her knees.

“Please.” She whispered. She was getting used to her voice sounding scratchy, damaged, and small; it was a stark contrast to how she used to sound, but something she deserved. Until she could be fully human, she didn’t deserve to sound like her usual self. Her hunter self. “Please stay. Just for a bit.”

Please rid her of that lonely cold.

Chapter Text

Rumi continued to lay against the tiger until someone began knocking on the bathroom door.

“Rumi? Are you in there?” Zoey asked, concerned voice coming muffled through the door.

Rumi’s head shot up, and any sort of peace she’d begun to feel vanished, replaced instead with extreme panic.

“Hello?” Zoey asked again, knocking harder.

“Y-Yeah, I’m in here!” Rumi responded, straining to make her voice loud enough.

“Oh, okay. Uhm… are you getting out soon? You’ve been in there since we got back.” How long had that been for them to be asking her? What if they suspected something? What if Zoey opened the door, and saw the two demons she was being friendly with? What if she saw her arm? She wasn’t ready for that yet.

“Oh, yeah! Just give me a minute.” The pain in her arm had dulled considerably, and although she still couldn’t move it very much, she could stand and move without immediately feeling sick.

She scrambled over to the bathtub, only to see all the pieces of her arm had been removed and tossed in the trash. She glanced at the bird, preening its feathers near the tub, and exhaled.

Quickly, she turned on the water, watching as it washed away most of the mess, and began scrubbing the rest of the dried blood down the drain, grimacing at how gross it was.

Once she was content with how the tub looked, she turned to the trashcan and tossed in a few handfuls of toilet paper to hide the contents. She tied it up as well as she could with one hand, and went to reach for the door, before freezing.

The demons and her arm were still fully visible. That would most certainly be a problem. Her shirt was both short-sleeved and bloodied.

“Get out of here!” She whispered, quietly as she could, to the tiger. It blinked at her, licking its teeth. She grimaced and pushed on its head, as if she could will it to disappear like always. “They’ll kill you!” She murmured into its ear.

“Rumi? I-Is someone in there?”

She wasn’t quiet enough, apparently. “No! I-It’s just me!” She responded, following it with a shrill laugh that definitely wasn’t helping her sound convincing.

“Okay…”

Finally, Rumi stumbled forwards, losing her balance for a moment as the tiger dipped into the ground. The bird sat on its head once she removed her hand, and the two disappeared.

But what was she supposed to do about her arm?

She scanned the bathroom, looking for anything that could help her hide the damage. Her eyes landed on the small pile of dirty clothes in the corner almost instantly. All reservations thrown out the window, Rumi dropped to her knees to search through the clothes for anything she could use.

At the bottom was a sweater. Her saving grace. She shoved her head into the sweater, pushed her arm into a sleeve, and prepared herself to put it on over her damaged arm. It was definitely going to hurt. She just hoped it wouldn’t be too bad.

“Ru-” No time for hesitation.

“-mi?” She clamped down on her tongue, scream rattling her teeth as she dropped her arm into the other sleeve, dropping her head against the wall and lurching from the pain.

“Rumi?! W-What was that?” Zoey sounded panicked. It was almost a relief for her to be so concerned. It meant she still cared about her. There was still a chance for them, right? They could still go back to being friends instead of living in this weird enemy-ally state forever.

A minute passed before Rumi could answer. “Nothing! I just dropped something on my foot.” She climbed to her feet shakily, gripping the trashbag in her good hand, using that same hand to open the door awkwardly.

Zoey looked her over, wringing her hands out with worry. “You were in there for hours.” She admitted. “Are you sick? You look kinda… pale.”

Rumi glanced away, shrugging her shoulder. “I think I ate something bad.” It was a way out. An excuse. “I was nauseous for a while but it’s better now. Just accidentally fell asleep in there.” She laughed, trying to sound as normal as possible. “Sorry.”

Zoey shook her head. “No, no it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“Right. Well, I’m gonna take the trash out.” Rumi slipped by Zoey, sucking in a sharp, pained breath when a hand suddenly gripped her arm. Her knees buckled, and her vision went white with pain. It was all she could do to stop herself from collapsing.

“Are you… sure you’re okay?”

Rumi held her breath to keep from sobbing. She pinched her eyes shut and prayed Zoey couldn’t see her face.

“Rumi? I-I mean, I just ask ‘cause Bobby says you still aren’t returning his calls. He said he’s gonna come check on you soon, even though we told him you’re okay.” Bobby was going to come check on her?

She couldn’t let him see her in her current state.

She had to call him, if just to convince him that she was okay.

“And… uhm.. I’m trying to talk to Mira. I-I know you wanna like… talk about things, and we’ve been putting it off. Just… can you give us a little more time? It’s just been… a lot.”

Rumi lowered her head, tears threatening to fall. She began to shake with the effort to stay standing. The hand on her arm hurt more and more as time went on. She couldn’t speak, lest she scream. Then Zoey would know for sure that something else was wrong.

The hand finally left, but it did little to relieve the refreshed pain in her arm.

“I’ll go, then… Uh.. goodnight, Rumi.” Soft feet tapped off towards the room at the end of the hall. A door creaked open before falling shut with a quiet click.

Rumi took a shaky step forward and fell to her knees, wheezing and gripping her hair. The pain bursting in her arm wasn’t even the worst of it at that point. Her chest hurt far, far worse.

They still wanted to be friends. They wanted to talk.

She needed to get the trash downstairs.

_________________________________________________________________________

Rumi held her phone to her ear, breathing in time to the ringing. She glanced at her arm, finally properly bandaged and cleaned, although she’d had to force herself to properly disinfect it. Just thinking about it made her arm burn again.

On the fourth ring, Bobby’s voice came through on the phone. “Rumi?”

Rumi leaned her head against the wall. “Hey Bobby. Sorry I haven’t been picking up your calls.”

“Oh, it’s okay! I was just worried about you after everything that happened. I just wanted to talk to you about some things.” His relief was palpable, even through the phone.

“What things?”

“Well, there’s been some talk on social media about your tattoos.” Rumi’s blood went cold. “Is that why you and Celine always pushed for outfits that covered them?”

How was she supposed to fix that? What if people got suspicious about her hiding those so-called ‘tattoos’ even after they became public knowledge? What if someone tried to force her to show her patterns, only to reveal her scars?

If everyone knew, how was she supposed to shove it all down again? How were things supposed to be normal again?

Was that why Mira and Zoey were still so awkward around her? Did they see what everyone was saying about her patterns? Was the fact that it was being shoved in their faces made their resentment towards her worse?

“Rumi? Are you there?”

“Yeah.” She choked out. “I.. I’m here.” Why did Bobby have to bring them up? How big of a mess were they for him to be so concerned. How much had she ruined? How much of her life did the patterns have to steal from her?

“Okay, well, I only wish you could’ve told me about them. We could’ve prepared better so you could be comfortable and not have to worry about them being revealed, if you didn’t want them to be.”

“Right.” Rumi tried to bend the fingers on her damaged arm. They wouldn’t move how she wanted. They’d be fine again eventually.

“But don’t worry about it, okay? You girls just take a good, long break. I’ll deal with all this and make sure everything is okay when you three come back. That’s my job, after all.” Rumi understood he was trying to be reassuring, but it only made her feel worse. She’d caused him so much trouble, all because she couldn’t be human.

“Putting that aside, I want to know how you’re feeling. Are you okay after your last performance? I’m still not entirely sure what happened on stage with Mira and Zoey, but you looked scared. Are you doing better? Have you girls worked it out? Do you want to share what happened, from your perspective?”

“Oh. Well, we–” Rumi’s throat closed. She swallowed thickly, forcing herself to continue. “We’re fine. I’m okay, too. We can all explain it together later, if you want, but it’s no big deal.” Lie, lie, lie. Very demon of her, wasn’t it?

Her mouth tasted sour.

“Okay, that’s good, that’s good! If you’re more comfortable explaining together, we can do that. I’ll talk to Mira and Zoey to see if they’re in agreement and schedule a time to meet up soon, okay?”

“Okay, Bobby.”

“I’ve gotta go now, but thank you for calling, Rumi. Take care of yourself, okay? And remember to pick up your calls! You worried me for a while there!” Rumi’s lips quivered and her nose burned, tears building up. He didn’t sound angry, upset, tired, or disgusted. He still sounded like his regular, happy, caring self. Even to her. Even when she didn’t deserve it yet. Even when she wasn’t human.

“Got it. I’ll pick up from now on, Bobby. See you later.”

“Bye, Rumi! Say hi to Mira and Zoey for me!” The call ended, and she allowed the phone to drop from her hand, not bothering to look when she heard it thud against the floor. She couldn’t care less whether or not it cracked.

What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to deal with meeting Bobby like she is? How was she supposed to cover all of it up?

She could explain to Mira and Zoey why she'd done what she'd done, but Bobby wouldn't understand. No one else would. None of them were part of their world. None of them knew about demons.

If he wanted to see them… what should she do?

How did things get so big? So out of control? It didn't make sense, she'd been so careful for years, and for all of it to come crashing down suddenly? It didn't make sense.

It wasn’t fair.

Was there really no going back? Was there nothing she could do to reverse it? The fans—the entire public—could've seen her patterns. All of their eyes would be looking for them. During performances, when she was just out and about, in pictures, in videos.

They wouldn't just forget about it if she kept herself covered. They wouldn't move on that easily.

Could she ever show herself again? Could she dare to ever step out into the light again? With what she was constantly following after her? Even if she cut the demon out of her, none of their fans would know, or care. They'd question, whisper, and scan her hoping to see her ‘tattoos.’ She was a public figure, a commodity, an idol.

Panic churned her stomach, the familiar feeling of nausea returning and settling over her like a comforting friend on her shoulder. This wasn't something she could fix.

Even if she was able to get Zoey and Mira to forgive her, even if they no longer hated her or looked at her like a monster, that meant nothing in the real world. She'd never be able to show her face again.

Even in her room, it'd begun to feel like a spotlight was on her, putting her in all her destroyed glory on a pedestal, placing her in a museum for all to see.

Eyes followed her, voices reached her ears from the corners of her room, and it was all she could do not to collapse under the pressure. Not even saving the world felt this imposing.

This was her own personal doomsday.

Chapter Text

Rumi wasn't sure if she was alive anymore.

Time stopped passing after that phone call, and her brain moved sluggishly. It was something she was thankful for. She wasn't able to process much thought anymore, at least not as quickly.

It made it a bit easier to listen to the terror plaguing her. It was slower, less overwhelming. Maybe she'd also given in, just a bit.

Her arm hadn't stopped hurting, either. Cleaning it had been as painful as chopping the whole thing off probably would've been, and putting the bandages on only served to irritate the wounds again.

She didn't move again until breathing stopped hurting, and even then, she only managed to lift herself off the ground before falling back in her bed.

Her arm twitched every now and then, waves of pain coming and going in uneven intervals, but other than that she couldn't really move her arm. At least it wasn't her dominant arm.

She wouldn't be able to remove the other patterns on her own, unless she worked on her legs first. She'd need help from Zoey and Mira once she lost function in her limbs for a little bit.

She was operating under the assumption that she'd eventually be able to use them normally again, that it was temporary because of how much pain she was in.

Even then, did it matter if she lost function permanently? She couldn't allow anyone but Zoey and Mira to see her again anyway, so what would it matter if she spent the rest of her life in bed?

What would it matter, if she could at least be human?

A dull yellow light illuminated her room all of a sudden, and Rumi turned her head to see the Tiger peeking over the edge of her bed, the bird sitting on its head like usual.

It opened its mouth, depositing a gross, slobbery card onto her bed. Of course, on her bad side.

She didn't bother reaching for it. Although, some sick, twisted part of her refused to spurn their company.

The demon in her refused.

A slow trickle of tears dampened her pillow, slipping towards her ears as she lay imobile. “Stop giving me those letters, please. I don’t understand what you want from me.”

She couldn't read it if she wanted to. It'd hurt too much to cross over her arm to reach it.

The tears came faster with no response from either demon. She was stupid to expect comfort from demons with the shapes of animals. They couldn't feel anything. They didn't care for her. They were there on orders. Orders from another demon long since dead.

They didn't even share the warmth of a human. The comfort she'd felt from them in the bathroom had been from her delirium, induced by extreme blood loss.

She was just lonely. With her heartbeat in her ears, she'd managed to convince herself that the demon had one of its own. One that beat just like hers. One that meant she could find comfort in it. One that signified companionship.

“You're hurting me.” Her voice cracked, and she forced herself to swallow in hopes of soothing the pain of her dry throat.

She was probably dehydrating herself with all her crying. Considering she couldn't remember when she'd last had a proper meal or drank more than a small glass of water, that probably wasn't a good thing.

“Won't you just go away?” She pleaded. While having someone–or, something–there was a comfort, it hurt just as much to know it wasn't a human at her side. It wasn't someone she missed each time she closed her eyes.

The pain wasn't worth it. Not right then. Not when her arm already hurt so terribly, and her head pounded from exhaustion and malnutrition.

The tiger just sat there, and the bird blinked two of its eyes.

Rumi closed her eyes and turned her head away, doing her best to ignore the faint glow beneath her eyelids.

They were quiet enough that if she focused, she could almost forget they were there. That was good enough, wasn't it? She could pretend to be sleeping. They'd get bored soon enough and leave. If it was a game of waiting, Rumi would most certainly win.

_________________________________________________________________________

She won. The next time she opened her eyes, the demons were gone. The invitation card was still there, but that was also quite easy to ignore.

The room felt awfully warm. Did Zoey or Mira turn the heat up? She knew Zoey usually ran cold, but she didn't mess with the thermostat unless she was sick. Instead, she preferred to bundle up.

After a few minutes of laying in bed, Rumi grew tired of laying in her own sweat, and began the battle of sitting up.

Her arm still throbbed, but the pain was bearable, so long as she didn't put her weight on it. One arm was enough to get herself out of bed, and she rose to her feet not long after.

She swayed, dizziness forcing her to dig her heels into the ground. Once the feeling subsided, Rumi wobbled towards the balcony. Her steps were heavy, uneven, and slow. Each one took more effort than the last, and her breaths began to come in gasps by the time she stopped in front of her sliding glass door.

She laid her head against the glass, relishing in the cool feeling against her forehead, before slowly sliding it open.

A gust of the cool night air rushed at her and she sneezed, jostling her injured arm and wincing. The pain increased significantly, but it was still nothing compared to earlier.

Whatever. That was mission accomplished, so Rumi returned to bed. She shivered, now much colder than before, and quickly flipped her pillow over before sliding back beneath the covers.

She huddled below the blanket, face pinched in discomfort from the feeling of her sweat sticking her shirt to her skin. If she was a little more desperate, she might’ve tried to change into something clean.

Her head pulsed, and she glanced towards her bedside table, arm reaching towards her water bottle before she realized it was empty. Great.

Rumi groaned, closing her eyes and accepting her fate of dehydration for the foreseeable future. Walking all the way to the kitchen was a death sentence, surely.

She focused on her arm, slight nervousness forcing her to put the pain aside and make sure she could move her arm at least a bit.

She tried to clench her hand, hissing as the old bandages squeezed around her palm and rubbed against each other. Glancing down at her hand, her anxiety was quelled with the fact that she was able to almost entirely close her fist. Albeit with incredible difficulty.

Now that she was focused on her arm, though, she noticed just how poor the bandages looked. She'd wrapped her arm when she was still nearly blind from the pain, and hadn't tried to redo them since. Her wounds would probably get infected if she didn't take care of that soon.

“Oh my gosh!” Zoey’s shocked voice sent a wave of energy through Rumi and she sprang upright before folding forwards in pain, hand hovering over her wounded arm.

The pain passed quickly, and Rumi got to her feet, dragging herself to her door as quickly as possible.

“Sh! You'll wake Rumi!” Came Mira’s poor attempt at a whisper. She also seemed distressed for some reason.

What was going on? What didn't they want her to see, or hear? Why were they being secretive?

As quietly as she could, Rumi cracked open the door, peeking out into the dark and listening for what was going on.

With her ears straining, she managed to hear the T.V. from the living room.

“...revelations, Huntrix fans have much to say.”

“I had no idea she'd gotten all those tattoos! Is that why she always wore sleeves?”

“Why would she choose to make herself look like that? I mean, doesn't she feel any responsibility as an idol?”

“I hope this doesn't affect Zoey. Rumi's poor choices shouldn't damage her career.”

“I wonder if they're still going to have her perform. Isn't it enough that she was always stealing the spotlight by having so many lines in all of their songs? Why-”

Rumi shut her door, hand shaking.

She knew. She had always known that it was going to end up like this no matter what. They'd never understand, because they'd never understand what demons were. It wasn't like she could explain them away as birthmarks. They covered her whole body, and looked anything but natural.

The whole world thought she'd chosen to look like that. They thought she wanted the patterns.

They couldn't be further from the truth.

What was she supposed to do? Was there a way to fix it? A way to make it all better?

Celine. What would Celine think? How was she going to react to Rumi's patterns being revealed so publicly?

How disappointed would she be?

Rumi dragged herself back to bed, willing herself not to cry again. Her throat already ached from sobbing, she was definitely dehydrated, and it'd serve no purpose but to worsen her headache.

She dropped back into bed, flinching as the sheets rubbed against her bandages, and positioned her healing arm over her stomach.

She could wiggle her fingers a bit more. That was good. Maybe soon she'd get to show Zoey and Mira.

But…

Would it be too late if she waited? Should she just get it over with? If the media and their fans are already talking about it negatively, won't that only influence them to think even worse about her patterns?

What if she just did what she could, and then showed them? She didn't need to wait for them to heal, all she needed to show them was her commitment to making herself human.

She flexed her ankle.

She'd still be able to fix her legs. Her sword arm was perfectly untouched, and she could remove the patterns while sitting down.

She forced herself into a seated position, head thrumming as her pulse quickened. Adrenaline flooded her veins, and her vision swam.

She held out her hand, trying to summon her blade. It began materializing in her hands, the Honmoon shimmering all around her, before fizzling out.

Nausea had Rumi gagging soon after, and she dropped her head against her bed frame. She must be too tired to summon it.

A few minutes of careful breathing cleared her head, and Rumi decided it was for the best that she couldn't summon her weapon. She'd lost a lot of blood when she removed the marks from her arm, it would likely be dangerous — if not fatal — to cut them out of her legs.

She needed to give her body some time to recover. Just a few days should do. So long as she couldn't summon her weapon, she wasn't healthy enough to take the next step.

It was still so, so hot. Yet she couldn't stop shivering. She pushed herself back beneath her blankets and closed her eyes.

She'd feel better after a bit of rest.

_________________________________________________________________________

Rumi staggered out of her room, out of breath and drenched in sweat. Her one goal was to reach the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.

Zoey obsessed over keeping it stocked, since Mira could be pretty reckless at times, so they should have something for fever.

Hopefully.

She leaned against the wall as she walked, entirely ignoring the fact that her arm was starting to look less than great. The bandages had come undone a day or two ago. It was some time after the T.V incident that they'd started loosening before fully falling away.

It wasn't worth it to replace them to her. Not when she could barely sit up long enough to get a drink of water.

She made it to the bathroom, only to notice the door was shut and the lights were on. She leaned against the wall entirely, a childish whine escaping her before she could control herself. Not that she had much self-control at the moment anyway. Not with how sick she felt.

The tapping of feet came from the living room, and Zoey’s head poked out from around the corner. “Rumi?” She tilted her head, eyes wide with worry.

She peered at her, brows furrowing, before she gasped and hurried over. Instinctively, Rumi pulled her sleeve down further. She couldn't show them yet.

She had to be healthy. She didn't want to guilt them into accepting her.

“Are you okay? Gosh, you look so sick, what happened?!” Zoey rushed towards her, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. “You’re burning up! How'd you get so sick?”

The door to the bathroom opened and Mira stepped out. “What happened? Rumi's sick?”

They both sounded so normal, it was like a dream come true. Mira didn't sound guarded, she looked Rumi in the eyes, and her face showed genuine concern.

It almost made her wonder if she really was dreaming. Or maybe hallucinating. Mira wouldn't be so kind otherwise, right?

If it was all just a dream… she could indulge herself, couldn’t she?

Rumi leaned into Zoey’s hand, closing her eyes and soaking in the feeling of human contact. It'd been so long, she'd thought she'd forgotten what it felt like.

“R-Rumi?”

“I-” Rumi coughed, turning away and shielding her face with her arm.

She felt a hand on her back, steady and comforting.

Once her coughing fit was over, she looked up again to see Mira holding out a water bottle to her and Zoey holding out a bottle cap with a few pills. “Here, fever reducers. If these don't help, you might wanna go to a hospital. You don't look very good at all.” She rambled, almost speaking too quickly for Rumi to keep up.

Rumi nodded, taking the pills, then grabbing the water bottle. She hoped the two didn't notice her not using her arm.

“How did you end up this sick? This isn't like a normal cold or fever, is it?”

Rumi flinched, her muddled mind desperately searching for an excuse. She needed to come up with something quick. Something to stop them from digging. Something to make them trust her.

A pit formed in her stomach. She was lying again. Was she incapable of telling the truth? Was she just a demon, through and through? Would she really get better after getting rid of her patterns?

“Rumi?”

“I haven't… been eating well.” She rasped. Zoey frowned, and Mira furrowed her brows, dubious.

“Is that it?” She asked, hand pulling away from her back. Zoey’s hand had long since left her forehead, and once she'd lost their warmth entirely, the last of her resolve vanished with it.

She crumpled to her knees, both Mira and Zoey too late to stop her from falling. Pathetically, she grabbed Zoey’s leg, head falling near her feet.

Her damaged arm twitched and trembled uselessly at her side.

“Please.” Her throat burned. “Stay.” She coughed, tears beading up in her eyes from the pain. Her voice was only getting weaker, it felt. Would she ever get it back? After abusing it for so long? Had she permanently damaged her voice? Had her patterns ruined it?

The two didn't respond, their apartment silent and still, as if she was the only one there. “It's so cold, Zoey. I'm scared, Mira. I don’t wanna be alone.” She gagged, spitting blood as she coughed again.

“Just for a little bit, just stay for a little.”

“Rumi I-”

“Let's get you to your room.” Mira hooked her arms beneath her armpits and hoisted her up. Rumi's vision went dark as pain shot through her arm, returning a moment later.

She swayed on her feet, spots dancing across her eyes. Mira continued helping her to her room, having draped her injured arm over her shoulders. Every step caused white hot pain to rip through her body, leading to Rumi blacking out over and over again. It was a constant cycle of passing out and regaining consciousness from the shock of the pain until they finally made it to her room.

Mira finally sat her down at her desk while she and Zoey fixed Rumi's bed, changing out her sheets and bringing in a new blanket. They shut the balcony door and Zoey began picking up old ramen cups before sweeping.

Mira finished her bed and helped her lay down, covering her with the significantly lighter blanket before turning to help Zoey with the rest of the room.

Rumi could feel something dripping down her arm from her shoulder. Blood. It had to be blood. All that movement must've torn open some of the scabs on her arms.

As long as the blood didn't soak through the blanket, they shouldn't notice. Somehow, she'd gotten away with them not noticing the entire way back. She could manage a little longer.

“I wish you told us you weren't feeling well.” Rumi opened her eyes to see Zoey sitting at the end of her bed. When had she closed her eyes? How long had it been? Had she fallen asleep?

She glanced at the alarm clock at her bedside. No, it'd only been a few minutes. She must've just dozed off without noticing.

She could feel her shirt sticking to her skin where the blood had soaked through.

“I… I know things have been weird, but we still would’ve helped if we knew you were sick.”

Rumi remained silent. Not that she could speak, anyway. Even thinking about it made her throat throb.

“You know, Mira and I have just been having a hard time wrapping our heads around all this. We still… um… I-I mean we've been friends for years now!” She waved her hands in the air, speaking as if she was trying to justify herself.

Rumi wanted to tell her that there was no need to explain herself, that she understood.

“You know how Mira is with trust and honesty, so she's still a little upset, but I promise she still cares! I-I do too, y'know? I-It’s just… hard. Our job has always been to send demons back to Gwi-Ma, afterall. But we aren't going to do that to you, promise!”

Oh. So. They didn't see her as human at all?

Not… Not at all?

After everything, they thought she was fully demon?

They thought she expected them to send her ‘back to Gwi-Ma?’ They thought she came from there?

She felt the blood soaking into the sheets and pulled the blanket up a little further.

She dug her nails into her thigh. She couldn't wait any longer.

She'd show them just how resolute she was to be human.

She didn't want them to call her a demon.

Chapter Text

Zoey checked on her every few hours for the next two days, bringing her food, water, and meds on a very strict schedule. It allowed Rumi to change into a clean shirt and change the bedsheets again before Zoey noticed the blood.

She increased her efforts to keep her arm clean, and found some Neosporin she desperately applied over her arm, hoping it'd be enough to stop any infection that might’ve started to spread.

Once she was feeling better, Zoey showed up with Mira.

“Rumi? Do you… do you want to talk now?”

Rumi smiled, finally able to think clearly. Earlier that day, after Zoey had brought her breakfast and a final dose of flu medicine, she'd checked if she was able to summon her sword.

She could speak with them tomorrow.

“Can we talk tomorrow? I still feel a bit sick, and I want to be completely clear headed when we talk. This is… really important, afterall.” She felt guilt festering in her chest at lying to them, but it was necessary. They'd forgive her once she showed them her surprise.

She'd managed to keep her arm secret for those few days, she didn't want to ruin it until everything was right.

Speaking with Zoey — and even Mira on occasion — for the past few days hardened her resolve. She wanted to be friends with them again. She wanted to be human to them again.

She wasn't afraid anymore, even if she could never show her face to anyone else again. Even if she had to disappear from the world forever. Through all that, she'd still have Mira and Zoey. If they could continue to look at her like they used to, without the hesitation, without the confusion, without the disgust, she'd tear away any piece of herself.

She'd rip the demon out of herself with her teeth if she had to.

“Oh! Uhm, okay! Yeah, that sounds good. We can talk tomorrow then. Just… uhm… let us know when you're ready.” Zoey scratched the back of her head awkwardly, taking Mira by the arm and slinking out of the room.

Rumi waited a good few hours after that before getting out of bed and locking the door.

She glanced at her healing arm, closing and opening her fist. It was still quite the struggle, and her arm trembled with the effort, but it had to be a sign that she could get better. That this was okay.

Looking at the way it was healing, though, and the beginnings of the scars, made her deeply uncomfortable.

She tried not to think about it.

Rumi grabbed a number of old towels she'd stolen from the bathroom — all ones they were planning to throw out — and laid them out across the floor. With Zoey and Mira in the house, she couldn't hide in the bathroom to keep the mess minimal. She placed the towels over each other, hoping it would keep her from having to clean up too much afterwards. Especially seeing as how she wouldn't be in a state to clean well.

The good thing about her current state, though, was that she was clear headed enough to prep. It wouldn't be like before, when she dug into her arm without caution and without worrying about the consequences.

She'd be careful that time. She'd only cut away what had been infected by the patterns, and she’d make sure not to cut too deep.

She already had bandages, cloth, water, salt water, and Neosporin. She knew scars, no matter how they looked, would be better than the patterns, but she still wanted to keep them as minimal and small as possible. Maybe if she took care of the rest of her wounds, she'd heal better than her arm did.

She took one final look at her set-up, and noticed she'd forgotten to grab another trashbag after Zoey had emptied it.

She regularly forgot to put the bag back in, so Mira or Rumi usually took care of the trash while Zoey handled other chores, but it seemed she and Mira had switched for once. Oh, well. It was sort of endearing, usually. It was only a little annoying at the moment.

The other two should be asleep at that point, so it shouldn't cause so much trouble to go out and grab one.

Rumi opened the door slowly, just in case, and saw the light in the kitchen was still on.

She hesitated for a moment before walking closer. She needed to stop being afraid of walking near them, right? They still wanted to accept her, so it would be okay to just grab a bag and go. They wouldn't be upset at her for that, would they?

“It just wasn't ever the right time to tell you, girls.”

Rumi’s blood ran cold. She froze in her tracks, hand instinctively moving towards her injured arm, towards the exact spot the first patterns had come from.

Her fingers grazed her sleeve.

“Were you ever going to tell us, or were you going to hide it until something like this happened?” Mira was there too? Why was—why was she—

“I-I mean, we understand! But… it's just…” Zoey stuttered, pitch raising with each word.

Why were all three of them together?

Why was Celine in their home?

“I understand how you feel. And the world hasn't reacted well to this for their own reasons, either. That’s why it was supposed to be kept a secret.”

“What if she'd destroyed the Honmoon?” Mira whispered, as if speaking the words was sinful.

Destroyed….

They weren't talking about her, were they?

“We-we're gonna talk to her tomorrow, and clear up all the misunderstandings! We'll fix all of this, Celine. Don't you worry!”

“I know you girls can fix this. Just… be careful. Now that the patterns have spread over her body, she seems to have changed.”

“W-what do you mean? I-I mean she's been a bit sick, and stressed, but I think that’s just cause of everything that happened with the Saja Boys and Gwi-Ma. She'll be okay soon!”

“Perhaps. But you two should know before you speak with her. That night, before you three vanquished Gwi-Ma, she came to me. We had a fight. She was desperate, and during that fight, she got angry. She shouted, and it caused a disruption in the Honmoon.”

“It… It what?”

Rumi wanted to stop her. She wanted to tell her not to say it. She wanted to make her leave them alone. She'd make it worse again. She'd make them leave her alone again.

But her feet wouldn't move.

“Yes, she damaged it.”

“But… only a demon could do that. Isn't she also a hunter? Why would she…”

“I'm not sure myself what happened.”

Rumi stepped back, slowly inching towards her room again, trashbag forgotten.

“But after that, she vanished. She teleported.”

Silence fell, and Rumi stopped moving, afraid of making a sound. Afraid of letting them know she heard.

“Her eyes… well, one of them was yellow, too, at the show. When we first saw her like that. It was glowing.”

“I just thought it would be good for you two to have the full picture before talking to her. She might be giving in to the demon side of herself. In order to–”

Rumi shut the door to her room with a soft click, all rationality suddenly thrown to the wayside.

Celine was telling them she was dangerous. That she was becoming more and more like a demon. That she had powers only demons should have.

But…

But Zoey and Mira still wanted to talk to her, right? They were still going to talk tomorrow, everything would be okay then. She could explain her side of the story, and tell them just how human she wanted to be. They’d understand she was still a human — still a hunter — after that.

Rumi locked her door again, unable to remove her hand from the doorknob. Her body trembled. With fear instead of pain. They wouldn’t leave her again. They’d made plenty of progress when she was sick. They were understanding her again, they were looking at her again. Not once did Rumi see a look of disgust in their eyes when they were helping her. Zoey always looked so worried, and spoke so kindly. Mira’s voice was flat as could be, but she came in at least once every two hours to fix her blankets, and lingered in her room when she thought she was asleep.

They couldn’t leave her alone again.

Rumi glanced at her bedside table, a spike of dread pushing her towards it. She ripped the drawer open, grabbed the invitation card she’d hid, and tore it once, twice, thrice, four times. She ripped the small card until it fell to the ground in pieces small enough that she couldn’t even read the contents.

It was the first step. She couldn’t keep anything demonic if she wanted to prove her humanity.

If that tiger and bird pair showed up again, she’d have to kill them, too.

It was what any human hunter would do. It was what she should do. How could she possibly proclaim her humanity to Zoey and Mira if she couldn’t do something as simple as vanquish two simple-minded demons?

Her chest tightened at the thought.

It was simply her resolve.

“Rumi?” Zoey’s meek, hesitant voice followed a gentle knock to her door. “Are–Are you still awake?”

“Yeah, why?” She responded, almost too quickly. Her heart hammered against her ribs, anticipating what she’d say. Would she mention Celine’s visit? Would she push to speak right away, to address what they were told?

“Uhm… So– so uh…” She strained, voice stalling every few seconds as she’d begin her sentence over again.

“We’re gonna be busy tomorrow.” Mira spoke up, right near where Zoey’s voice was. “Let’s talk another time.”

“Sorry, Rumi… It was… well we forgot…”

“We’re gonna go to bed now. You should do the same.” Mira interrupted Zoey’s awkward stammering, and her statement, which sounded like the final toll of a church bell, was followed by two steps of footsteps fading down the hallway.

That wasn’t at all what she’d thought would happen.

Weren’t they getting better? Weren’t they doing okay?

What did Celine say when she left? Had they changed their minds about her that quickly?

Rumi stared down at her feet, at her arm, dragged her fingers over her neck.

She only planned to do one of her legs, then show Mira and Zoey. They might be able to help her get the rest of them off, or at least could help her while she recovered. And Zoey’s small blades would’ve been helpful for precision when cutting out the lines on her face and throat.

But she couldn’t do that, could she.

Her body. It was becoming more infected. It was almost like her body wasn’t a part of her, wherever the lines touched. The arm she’d fixed was the only thing that truly felt like a part of her.

Zoey and Mira wouldn’t accept her unless she proved she was human without hesitation. She couldn’t rely on them. No, that would only show that she couldn’t find the strength to go through with it herself. That would only prove their fears, that she was a demon. If she really was human, she’d find the strength and the resolve to get rid of the demon infecting her all on her own.

She had to do it. She would do it. Without fail. She’d make sure every part of her that was even remotely demonic would be removed in time to speak with them.

She glanced at the mirror, uncovered during Zoey and Mira’s cleaning spree in her room. She stared into her reflection, brought a hand up to her left eye.

“Her eyes… well, one of them was yellow, too, at the show. When we first saw her like that. It was glowing.”

Every part.

Rumi lowered herself onto the towels she’d laid out, examining her legs stretched out before her. She supposed her feet would be the best to start with. It’d likely get harder to focus the longer she worked, so she’d work from the furthest point in. That should make it easier, since she could start to relax once she got past her knees, and wouldn’t have to stretch as far.

Rumi summoned her weapon, holding it in her hand, staring at the way it shimmered, before she pressed the sharp side against her skin. She flexed her foot, positioning the blade so it would hopefully cut just below the skin, and no deeper. She used the tip of the blade, aiming to secure the thinnest cut and trying to only cut out the patterns while leaving the surrounding skin alone.

She could still think. Still focus.

Even after Zoey and Mira told her they didn’t want to talk tomorrow anymore. Even after she heard Celine. Even after she said she was turning into a real—

Rumi clamped down on her tongue, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth accompanying a muffled screech. Her arm jerked and her sword went flying, a chunk of her flesh flying straight into the wall with the force of her swing.

She dropped the sword, arm reaching towards her foot as tears clouded her vision and ragged breaths turned into screams of continued pain.

Her hand curled around her foot, digging into the skin around the wound, almost willing it to stop hurting. As if that would help. She’d lost focus after getting lost in her thoughts, and had cleaved through a large part of her foot.

At least all the lines on the top of her foot were gone, she supposed.

She folded forwards, head dropping between her calves. Blood drenched the towels beneath her foot, pouring out of her wound faster than a broken dam lost water.

Her injured arm shuddered at her side, instinctively trying to reach the painstricken area.

Slowly, the pain faded to a tolerable amount, and Rumi centered herself before reaching for her sword again. She wouldn’t mess up again. She’d do it right.

Carefully, slowly, Rumi worked through the rest of her foot. Each slight amount of pressure caused a wave of stinging pain from the first cut, and each subsequent slice sent white hot pain searing through her body.

Still, it didn’t take long until she was moving up her ankle, carefully maneuvering her screaming leg to remove each and every line.

After two lines were removed from her ankle, Rumi finally rolled up one of the rags she’d brought for clean up and shoved it in her mouth, biting down on that instead of her tongue, which she was almost certain she was going to lose if things kept up.

She managed to get halfway up her calf before her vision began to get spotty. That first slice had ruined her. She wouldn’t be able to get as far as she wanted, all because she’d lost focused and messed up the removal. She’d already lost too much blood, and the first wound barely seemed to be slowing down.

She probably needed to pay attention to it first, unless she wanted to die from blood loss. At the very least, she needed to make it until she was human again. She couldn’t die a demon. She wouldn’t.

Quick and violent, Rumi shoved a few handfuls of gauze into the wound, screaming into the rag in her mouth, and wrapped it tightly in gauze. That should help staunch the bleeding, yes?

She laid her head back against her bed, breaths coming in short, labored gasps. Her entire body trembled, and her head spun every few seconds.

She needed to get to her knee. She’d stop at her knee, and she’d work on her other foot. Once she finished both legs up to the knees, everything would be much, much easier. She’d be more careful. She’d be precise.

She was going to prove herself. She had to.

There was nothing left for her otherwise. Zoey and Mira would both leave her, or kill her, and Rumi would’ve died as nothing more than a disgrace, lonely and cold.

She had a heart, she was human. She got sick, she hurt, she cried, she just wanted to be human. She wanted Zoey and Mira to call her human.

She wanted to look human to them.

Even if she was entirely mutilated, and covered in ugly, raised white scars, at the very least Mira and Zoey might call her human. They’d be scars that belonged to a human, that one could expect to see on a human. They wouldn’t be like the patterns that ruined her humanity.

They’d prove her humanity.

Once again finding resolution through her thoughts, Rumi placed her blade at the bottom of one of the lines and pushed into the skin, head burning as she cleaved through flesh and ripped her blade away.

She’d made it up to her knee. She did it. She was able to do it. She really did have the strength.

Zoey and Mira had to accept it. They had to. She’d proven herself — she was proving herself. No matter what Celine said, she was human. They’d see her as human, too. Just like they had in her dream. Just like they had before they knew.

She’d get to go to the bathhouse with them.

Rumi sliced away one of the smaller lines on her foot, following it up by tracing the line that led up to her ankle, removing a large part of the patterns left on her foot. Only a few strokes left, and she could move on to her ankle.

Pain doubled her vision, and Rumi’s hand slipped. Partially from the blood coating both her palm and the weapon, and partially from the weakness beginning to seep into her body. It was inescapable, and final.

Desperately, she grasped for her blade again, tears dripping down her cheeks as her hand wrapped around it before dropping it, again and again.

She was too weak to pick it back up.

Dim yellow light filled the room, and she recognized where it came from before looking.

That damn tiger.

A caw followed the light.

That damn bird.

Blearily, she turned her head towards the light, weak breaths and blurry vision making it hard to make out the shapes for a moment. Pain flooded her senses, making it hard to focus on anything else.

Even the promise she’d made to herself earlier seemed pointless in the moment. How was she even supposed to dream of killing those two demons in her current state? She couldn’t even grab her weapon, let alone lift and swing it.

A blurry shape appeared outside. Something small, slowly lifting itself up, clawing its way onto the floor of her balcony. An animal? A squirrel? What could climb all the way up their tower?

It was much too big for a squirrel.

But what else—

“Rumi? Are you okay? I thought I heard some noises coming from your room. You’re not feeling sick again, are you?”

The voice came from her door, and belonged to one of her two only friends, but Rumi wasn’t paying attention.

Because the shape on her balcony had pulled itself up.

Had hunched over on itself, huffing and puffing with the effort of pulling itself up a tower.

Had straightened, turned to face her balcony door.

Had caught itself in the light of the tiger’s eyes.

Had stopped, one hand on the door handle, staring at Rumi with a look so full of horror she had to look over her shoulder to see if something was there.

The shape on her balcony was no squirrel. Was no animal at all.

The shape on her balcony was distinctly human, and yet could not be further from it.

The shape on her balcony belonged to a man she was so certain she would never meet again, she couldn’t help but speak his name.

“Jinu?”

Chapter Text

“J-Jinu? Rumi, who are you talking to? Jinu, as in Saja Boys demon Jinu?” Rumi whipped her head towards the door, caught distinctly between two horrible choices, and scrambled to try and push herself up.

Weight fell onto her damaged legs and she let out a violent cry, falling onto her arms. That wrenched another scream from her chest, and her healing arm gave out beneath her, causing her to hit her chin against the bloody towels.

“Rumi! Rumi what's happening?! Why is — How is Jinu there?!”

A pitiful whine escaped her lips, and Rumi reached towards the door, silently begging her to ask again if she was alright. To ask if she needed help. Not to ask if she was colluding with a demon.

The doorknob rattled, and the balcony door slid open. Her attention once again diverted, Rumi turned her body towards Jinu and the other two demons.

He approached slowly, hands reaching towards her like she imagined a zookeeper would approach a wounded animal.

He looked scared. Rumi couldn't understand why.

She should be the one afraid. She was human, afterall, and he was a demon.

“Rumi… What — Why do you — Who — What happened?” His eyes panned across her body, lingering on her poorly wrapped and still bleeding foot, before returning to her face.

The sounds of Zoey pounding on her door faded into the distance, and Rumi forced herself to keep her hand at her side. She would not reach for a demon.

Tears burned beneath her eyes and tickled her nose.

“What happened?”

His hand was on her shoulder, and as pitifully as she'd broken when Mira’s hands left her back all those nights ago, her collapse in front of Jinu was worse. If that was possible.

He looked so terribly human, felt so terribly human, and Rumi had deluded herself for so long. What was once more?

She dissolved into sobs, each hitched breath backed by a thud against her locked door. Each accentuated by Jinu flinching.

“I want to be human!” She pleaded, to no one in particular. Certainly not to the demon before her. Certainly not to the thing she wanted to rid herself of so desperately and entirely.

“I don't want these patterns anymore, I want my friends back! I wanna go back to before! I want to be part of Huntrix again!”

“Rumi what's happening!? Open the door, p-please!”

“Celine mentioned she was losing herself, she must've let Jinu go that day!”

“Please just let us in!”

Each of Zoey and Mira’s words dropped unavoidable weights onto her shoulders, and Rumi sagged beneath the pressure.

“We have to stop her!”

Jinu looked away from her, hand still pressed firmly on her shoulder, and focused his attention on the door. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, and his breaths came out hissing through his teeth.

Zoey and Mira wouldn’t stop, now frantic, angry, and scared all at once. She couldn’t tell anymore if what they were saying was in her defense or not. She couldn’t tell whether they were on her side or not. She couldn’t tell if they still loved her or not.

“Jinu!” Her arm snapped up to grab his collar, dragging his gaze back to her. He looked at her with mild shock, eyes flitting across her face as he opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. “Jinu, please! You have to help me! Help me turn human, please!” She begged, dropping her chin, eyes on the floor. Jinu’s free hand trembled violently near her knees.

Rumi continued pleading, vigor renewed with each shout and bang from the hallway. “Please I’m so close! I only need a little more, and I’ll be human again! Please, you can use my sword just please help me! I need to do this! I need to do it before Mira and Zoey see. They can’t see that I gave up! I need them to know that I wanna be human!” She pulled on Jinu’s collar, practically shaking him back and forth as she did so.

“Is that what you think you’re doing?” Jinu asked, voice nothing more than a whisper. If the situation were a bit more humorous, Rumi might’ve mentioned that he sounded sicker than her.

“What I think — no it is what I’m doing! I’m almost there please, we don’t have much time!”

“Rumi, I’m breaking down the door if you don’t open up!” Mira roared, fists slamming against her wall, shaking it on its hinges.

Jinu raised his other hand to grab Rumi’s fist. He pried it off his shirt and unfolded her fingers, staring at her palm. Rumi followed his line of sight and noticed a few small cuts where her nails had dug into her skin.

She hadn’t even noticed. The pain in her legs was far, far worse after all.

“Did they make you do this?”

“What? No! No this is my surprise for them! I’m gonna show them just how human I am! I’ll convince them I’m not a demon like this!” She retorted, shaking her head and pulling her hand away. She missed the careful touch of his fingers tracing the nail marks with the urgency one would give grave injuries immediately.

That was just the demon left inside her.

“What did they do to you to convince you you needed to do this?”

Rumi jumped at an especially loud bang and turned to see the door shaking. Mira must be fully launching herself at the door. “We don’t have time for this!” Rumi twisted her body around to reach her sword, which luckily hadn’t disappeared yet. Jinu yanked her hand away and shoved the weapon out of reach.

“No, stop! That isn’t going to solve anything.” He paused to look at the door, just barely hanging on. “We’re getting out of here.”

Rumi froze, a spike of fear traveling down her spine. “What?! No! No, I won't let you take me anywhere!” Her voice grew shrill. Blood accompanied each word and coughs interrupted her sentences. “They’ll never look at me again! They’ll never call me human again! They’ll think of me as just another demon! I can’t — I don’t want that!” Weakly, she tried to push Jinu away, ripping her shoulder away from him and lurching backwards, balance failing her.

“I won’t survive it if they call me a demon to my face.” She whimpered, body racked with painful sobs.

Jinu looked between her and the door, growing increasingly more nervous and twitchy. He pursed his lips, grinded his teeth, closed his hands into fists. His hands hovered near her, but he no longer tried to touch her.

Suddenly, a crash from behind them announced the collapse of the door, and Mira stumbled into the room, hair a mess, huffing and puffing, arm scraped up from ramming into the door. Before she recovered, she’d already summoned her weapon, venom in her eyes, and raised it above her head. Zoey skittered in behind her, knives held in hesitant hands, but she seemed determined to support Mira.

“You!” Mira hissed, and Rumi couldn’t tell whether she was speaking to her or Jinu.

Jinu suddenly grabbed her before beginning a careful retreat, the two other demons already waiting on the balcony.

Rumi went to shove herself out of his grasp, when Mira’s voice caused her to pause. “Did you seriously lie to us about his ‘sacrifice?’ Was that your way of letting your demon boyfriend get away? How could—”

Twin looks of horror fell over Mira and Zoey’s faces, pinning their jaws to the floor and their eyebrows to the ceiling. Their lips curled, and Rumi was almost certain it had to be disgust. What else would it be? Even after seeing her efforts, Mira still didn’t believe her. Was it impossible to convince them? Would they never believe her, unless she died? Would they even believe her then?

She’d done so much, and yet they still thought she was working with Jinu as a demon?

How was that fair? How far did she have to go in order to win their trust back?

“Rumi you—” Zoey squeaked, interrupted by Mira charging forwards, swinging at Rumi's head.

He jumped backwards, hopping all the way out to the balcony while Mira and Zoey yelled over each other, creating a barrage of noises Rumi wasn’t able to decipher. She did catch one of them mentioning Celine, at the least.

They must be cursing her.

Condemning her.

Solidifying their opinions of her.

Deeming her demon.

“Stop running!” Mira ran at Jinu one last time, and suddenly, he and Rumi were off the balcony and in free fall. Jinu held her tighter, and Rumi stopped fighting him.

They were going to die. Brutally, messy, and in front of the whole world to see.

Rumi would die. Brutally, messy, and in front of the whole world to see.

Because that was what humans did. When their deaths were brutal, they were messy. And Rumi’s would be messy.

At least Zoey and Mira might call her body human, if she was lucky. That really was all she could ask for. It was selfish to want more at that point. She’d ruined her chances by going with Jinu, ruined her chances by not fighting hard enough to stay with her friends.

Zoey and Mira were going to give her a chance to explain. They still cared about her — still wanted to care about her. But it was too late.

Rumi closed her eyes, and hoped for a human death.

The wind stopped whistling in her ears, and her tangled, loose hair hung heavy towards the ground, no longer whipping across her cheeks.

They were no longer falling.

She opened her eyes to see they were in a house. One she didn’t recognize. Outside the window, she saw the city in the distance. They were outside, far, far away from her home.

Jinu hurried down a short hallway, stepping into a small bathroom and carefully placing Rumi on a few fluffy towels he threw down. He began rifling through the cabinets, running in and out to grab items from other rooms, before finally settling at her feet with a horde of supplies behind him.

Her adrenaline had worn off while he was busy running around, and her exhaustion had begun to set in. The pain was back as well, and her vision was blurry, fading in and out as she struggled to stay conscious. Her lightheadedness was worse than she’d expected, and all that movement had increased the blood seeping out of the wound in her foot.

He shook a few pills out of a bottle and dropped them into Rumi’s hand. “Here, these’ll help with the pain.” Rumi did not move to take them.

Jinu stared, face pinched as if he were the one in pain. “I’m going to fix up your legs. You’re going to want those painkillers.”

“I don’t want you to fix my legs.” Rumi retorted, vaguely noting her slurred speech. Jinu frowned, eyes narrowing and expression hardening. All traces of fear and anguish disappeared, replaced by unrelenting determination and fury.

“Well I’m going to. I don’t care if you don’t want me to. You’ll die otherwise.”

“Let me die then. I’ll die a human, won’t I? Demons don’t die of blood loss.”

“You’re more delirious than I thought if you think I’m going to let you die.”

“Why do you care, anyway? You just kidnapped me from my home.”

“Take the pills, Rumi. Otherwise, I’ll just start now. I can’t wait longer.”

“Take me to a hospital if you’re so desperate to save me.”

“You really want me to do that? You know it’ll get out to the media, don’t you?”

Rumi’s head rolled back. She felt heavy. Her neck felt so weak. Was she made of lead? “So what? My life’s already ruined anyway.” She coughed, gagged, and spat out the blood clogging her throat. She needed to stop talking. Maybe Jinu would give up if she just shut up.

“Fine. I’m unwrapping your foot.” She felt the bandages come loose, and the hastily packed rags fell right out of the gaping wound in her foot.

“What the fuck, Rumi? How did you…” Jinu’s voice almost sounded offended. What did he have to be offended for? “Okay I — augh — this is so much worse than I expected. Why would you do this?” She didn’t mean to cause that, actually. She only meant to make a shallow cut to get rid of the patterns. Not half her foot.

All of a sudden, a ragged shriek tore through her. The pain of a thousand knives stabbed through her foot, convincing her Jinu must be severing the rest of it. Her body jerked upright and she instinctively tried to pull her leg towards her, which only caused more pain. The pills flew out of her hand and scattered away. Jinu grit his teeth, wet rag in one hand, bowl of water at his hip. “Told you.”

Rumi reached forwards and knocked the bowl of water over, glaring daggers at Jinu. This wasn’t at all what she wanted.

She just wanted to go home, or at least make him drop her off at the foot of the tower again. It wasn’t fair that he was forcing her to be treated by a demon. Even if she were to get better and eventually find her way back, she’d forever be plagued with the guilt that she was okay only because a demon helped her.

Demons weren’t kind. They didn’t do things for others, and Rumi did not want to know what she was supposed to offer in return for his help. Did he want his soul back along with hers, or something?

Speaking of, how was he even alive? Was it all some kind of tri—

Pain seized her body and she went rigid, falling back stiffly against the bath once more, biting down harshly on her tongue, before the light of the bathroom faded away and she lost consciousness.

_________________________________________________________________________

The first thing Rumi noticed was the surprisingly dull pain in her leg.

The second thing she noticed was the yellow-eyed tiger parked right in front of the door, and the fact that the room she was in was windowless.

The third thing that she noticed was her arm. It looked far better than before, and no longer seemed infected. Some of the scabs had started to fall away, replaced with large scars that covered her skin in strange splotches. She’d honestly started expecting her arm to just never heal.

She tried to stretch it, and noticed she’d regained a large amount of her mobility. Although, the scars stretched against her and made her arm feel stiff and tighter than before. A few still healing scabs split open again, but it was nothing major. She still couldn’t lift her arm very high, and her shoulder hurt almost as much as it had before, surprisingly, but she could close her fist and could slightly bend her arm at the elbow.

While she was testing out her arm, the tiger moved away from the door. Rumi froze, body tensing as she instinctively tried to summon her weapon, expecting the worst.

It wouldn’t appear.

The door creaked open, allowing Jinu into the room with a tray of medical supplies. He stepped backwards into the room, pushing the door out further with his back, before swinging around to face her as the door thudded shut behind him.

Jinu stared for a moment too long, blinking silently, before finally looking away and setting the tray down next to her feet. Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor. Just as he sat back on his knees, Rumi lurched forwards, biting back the pain from the action, and swung her good arm at the tray with wild desperation. She wouldn’t accept help from a demon, even if it killed her.

She was not one of them.

She managed to knock over the tray just as Jinu grabbed her arm to stop her. A second too late, he then tried to grab the bowl of water he’d brought as it tipped over and spilled onto the rest of the supplies.

Rumi stared at the soaked bandages and gauze with a sick satisfaction, pleased to see her reckless, weak attempt at rebelling had worked. There wasn’t anything else she could do at the moment, so small actions would have to suffice. Eventually, she’d find a moment she could escape. She’d get free and get back to Zoey and Mira. She’d deal with Jinu. Truly deal with him. She couldn’t let Zoey and Mira think she’d sided with the demons.

She was trying so, so hard to be human again. She wouldn’t allow Jinu, a heartless, brutal demon, to get in the way of that.

She ripped away her hand, rocking back and hitting her head against the wall from the force she used. She winced, quickly hiding it with a scowl when she noticed Jinu watching her, blank stare hiding whatever he might be feeling.

Rumi hated it. Hated him.

How selfish of him to take her from her home, to kidnap her. How demon-like of him to want to fulfill his own desires, even if he pulled others into the dirt in the process.

She stared right back at him, refusing to relent in their silent battle of wills. Even with her head throbbing, she glared with anger she’d never have expected from herself.

Jinu gave in first. It didn’t feel like a win, for some reason.

He looked away, gathered the ruined bandages into the bowl, and tried to clean up the water with a bloodied towel from the corner. He collected his things and left without a word. Still, the tiger did not move back into place. She waited for the door to open again, expecting him to reappear at any moment. Hopefully, that dull animal guarding the door would end up being a good alert system. If it only moved from the door for Jinu, she’d have a warning before he showed up, and she’d know to expect him. She could prepare herself.

As she anticipated, less than a minute later the door opened again. Once again, Jinu walked in with a tray, and dry bandages. He sat down, and made sure to place the supplies far out of Rumi’s reach. She tried to move her legs, flinching sharply from the sudden spike in pain. The previous dull ache quickly grew into a powerful throb, forcing her to lay back against the wall, putting all her energy into not succumbing to the sudden change.

“Your legs will get infected if they aren’t cleaned.” He said, grabbing her leg and moving closer so her heel rested on his knees. The sudden movement had Rumi curling in on herself in pain, hand hovering over her leg as she bit back a scream.

Disgust brewed in the pit of her stomach at the thought of allowing Jinu to help her, and shame hung her head when she realized she couldn’t move her leg away even if she wanted to. He was too far away for her to reach, and she wouldn’t be able to stand shoving her leg away.

She’d thought everything was fine with how dull the pain was just a bit ago. Was that only because she’d just woken up?

“You were feverish for the past few days. I would’ve taken you to the hospital had it been any worse.” Jinu undid the bandages over her legs, reaching for the bowl and dipping a rag in it.

“Past few days? What are you talking about?” The room seemed to loom over her, becoming more threatening, more all-consuming, and more certainly inescapable. Was he watching her in the tower? But that wouldn’t make sense, would it?

“It’s been three days since we left the tower.” We? How could he say ‘we’ so casually? There was no joint decision in that action. She didn’t want to leave the tower. “Weren’t you wondering why your arm looked so healed? I guess you were delirious enough to not remember. You mostly just slept.” He dabbed at the wounds covering Rumi’s legs, frowning at a few of the parts that had begun to bleed again. Likely because of excessive movement on Rumi’s part.

Not that she’d admit that to him.

“You never responded to my cards. I was worried.” He continued. She bit down on her tongue to avoid crying out as the slightly soapy water burned her open wounds. He must’ve thought she was fine with him continuing to talk. She would’ve told him to shut up if she thought she could open her mouth without screaming.

Already the pain was making her lightheaded. She had to remain conscious and focused. She couldn’t pass out again.

“Even if you were pissed about it, you always showed up before. I thought you might’ve come to see me again if I sent you a card. I mean, you’re the one who said I could still make a different — a better — choice. I wanted to tell you that I was going to try to make better choices.”

He placed her leg on a clean towel and moved on to the leg she’d messed up on. It was the one she’d nearly cleaved through with her sword on accident. When Jinu undid the bandages, crude, messy stitches were revealed, covering the sides and top of her foot. He was especially careful and thorough when cleaning around the stitches, and Rumi suppressed a gag as well as she could from the agony it sent rocketing through her very bones.

“Your foot was in really bad shape. I don’t know how well it’ll heal.” Rumi rammed her head back against the wall, tears threatening to fall from eyes pressed firmly shut. It would’ve been fine with Zoey and Mira. They would’ve made sure everything would be okay. If Jinu hadn’t shown up, everything would’ve gone just like it should’ve.

The continuous throbbing in her foot kept her from being able to pay attention to Jinu, and he was reapplying the gauze and bandages before the ache had let up. “I’ll bring in some painkillers in an hour. For now, I’ve brought you a change of clothes, if you want.”

Rumi didn’t move until the door clicked shut and her heartbeat slowed to a steady thrum, no longer blocking her airways. Slowly, she straightened and opened her eyes, met with nothing but blank, empty walls. Even the tiger was gone.

She glanced at the clothes next to her feet, pulling on the hem of her shirt. She didn’t want to give in to anything voluntarily, even if it was something as small as accepting a new change of clothes. That would mean Jinu won.

But her clothes smelled awful, and felt even worse on her skin. The stink was probably permanent at that point, considering how many days she’d worn the same thing while horribly sick. Her sweat was probably part of the threads at that point.

What could she relent on before losing her resolve?

Chapter Text

It wasn't that big of a deal.

It wasn't. It just wasn't.

Rumi flexed her arm, noticing her feeling in it was reduced, even though most of the scabs had already healed into scars. She had most of her mobility back, and could almost raise her arm to be level with her shoulder. Even though it hurt.

She bent her arm at the elbow, dropping it onto her leg and wincing at the sting from the action.

It wasn't that big of a deal. It wasn't.

Rumi reached into the air, desperately trying to summon her sword to no avail. She still wasn't strong enough to summon it.

It wasn't—

Distracting herself could only work for so long.

What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to get out of there?

She stared down at her legs, covered in bandages, some spots pinker than others. It was nothing like her arm. While her arm had been wrapped haphazardly, either too loose or too tight, her legs had been carefully bandaged, slowly and meticulously to ensure no wounds were left uncovered, and it was as comfortable as it could be.

It made Rumi’s head spin. Her mind was pulling her in a million different directions, and it was impossible to focus her thoughts.

Demon. I’m still a demon.

Finish it! Finish it!

Monster, I’m accepting Jinu’s help. I’ll never be human again.

If I could summon my sword. If I could just summon it once more.

He’s the only one who’s helped.

I can’t even trust him.

I want to go home. I want to be home again.

Only a little more left. I can finish it, I can be human again.

Would Mira help like this? Would Zoey? Would they throw me out with the trash?

Monster. Monster. There’s still so much demon left in you.

Will it be enough to get rid of the marks? How far do I need to go to get rid of the demon parts of me?

Bleed. Bleed more. My blood is that of a demon’s. I need to purge it all.

I want a hug. I want a hug. I want to go home.

Jinu, where’s Jinu?

Mira, Zoey, why did they try to kill me? Why?

Will Jinu be here again soon?

I don’t want to die alone. Please don’t let me die alone.

Will Zoey and Mira find me? Will they even look for me?

Why did Jinu come for me? Does he care? Does he really care?

My eye. My glowing eye. Is it still glowing? I need to get rid of it. Cut it out.

I’m scared. I’m in pain. It hurts, please.

Jinu. Please, I want to see Jinu.

Anyone, anyone please.

Rumi slammed her head back against the wall, tears brimming in her eyes. The tiger watching her next to the door tilted its head, and Rumi shut her eyes to avoid seeing it. She just couldn’t. Disgust turned her stomach and crawled along her skin like fire ants. She gripped her hair, quietly sobbing as she tried to distract herself by yanking at her hair, hoping the pain would replace the anguish in her heart.

What was she supposed to do? Was there a way for her to come back from this? She never wanted this. She wanted to be human, she wanted to talk with Zoey and Mira again. She thought they’d started to care for her again, if only out of obligation. They’d taken care of her while she was sick. They’d been there for her, the whole time.

Then… their faces.

Rumi wailed, pressing the bottom of her hands into her eyes. Their faces plagued her. The last images she had of them were awful. She’d tried so hard, so, so hard, not to remember the way they looked at her when they first found out. She tried to remember the moment they smiled at her like they loved her when they were defeating the Saja Boys and Gwi-Ma.

But their faces, when they entered her room to see Jinu with her… She’d never be able to forget their faces then. They looked at her with so much horror, like they were staring at some kind of monster. And when they got over their horror, they stared with so much contempt, resentment, and burning hatred. How was she ever supposed to overcome that? How was she ever supposed to get them to love her again? Would it be enough to get rid of her patterns? What else was demonic of her?

Nausea had her throat closing. Was she past the point of no return?

Rumi opened her eyes and stared at the tiger. The tiger she’d briefly started to consider a comfort. The tiger she’d refused to kill, again and again. She stared at her legs. The bandages wrapped up past her knee on one, and tightly wound around just her foot and ankle on the other. She recalled the brief yearning for Jinu. The brief relief she’d found in him at the tower.

Her demonic nature ran deeper than just the markings on her skin, didn’t they?

A chill settled over her body, and slowly, her nerves calmed. Her breathing relaxed, and her mind felt clear again. A realization that had been taunting her, just out of reach these past weeks, finally pushed it’s way into the forefront of her mind.

A blanket of peace wrapped itself around her cold body.

She raised her gaze to the tiger. “One last time.” She murmured, answered with nothing but its unchanging gaze and a tilt of its head.

___________________________________________________________________

Rumi didn’t understand why the marks had to be covered, at first. She didn’t recognize their evil nature.

But Celine didn’t like them, that much she’d gathered. And for Celine, who loved her so dearly, she’d cover anything she deemed unworthy. If only she could keep hold of that love.

Celine was her idol. She was strong, unwavering, and righteous. When she fought, she fought for the souls of the innocent. Even after spending a lifetime fighting evil, she refused to bow her head with fatigue. Even when her battle ended with her fighting and surviving alone, she remained steadfast. Rumi had always wondered if she’d be able to muster up even a fraction of her strength in a moment of great distress. If she’d succumb to pain, unable to live up to Celine’s greatness.

Her strength as a valiant fighter didn’t mean she was a cruel parent. Sometimes, Rumi wondered what would’ve been if she’d been born her true daughter. If maybe Celine would’ve loved her more. If she’d look at her with kindness, and care, and wouldn’t urge her to hide her skin.

Still, Rumi would take what she would get. Her hands were gentle in her hair, and she relished in the quiet moments Celine’s attention to her braid would buy her. Her fingertips would brush against her scalp, nails gently scratching it, as she gathered hair to pull back and away, securing it tightly away from her face. The touch brought warmth to her body, and it was in these moments that she wished to use the word ‘mother.’

She’d close her eyes, and imagine herself laying in Celine’s lap while she read her a children’s story book. She’d brush hair back from her face, place a warm hand on her shoulder, and hold her as dearly as mothers in movies. She’d allow Rumi to call her mother, and she’d call her daughter in return.

And in her eyes, even if her sleeves were to roll far past her elbows, and purple was placed on full display, there would be nothing but care and warmth. Her eyes wouldn’t harden, and her touch wouldn’t vanish.

She’d stare at Rumi with the unconditional love she’d dreamed of for years. And Rumi would fall asleep to her soft voice, her caring hold, and warm eyes. She’d fall asleep, and Celine would stay with her. Celine would take her to bed, tuck her in, and her love for Rumi’s whole being would ward off any bad dreams that might want to steal her happiness away.

Chapter Text

Rumi was as good as dead.

She held her sword tightly in both hands, staring at the sharp point, like staring down the barrel of a gun. Her arms trembled, and the injured one burned from the effort. Her breathing was heavy, and every breath hurt her stomach. Despair clung to her throat, and she could almost feel hands closing around it.

There’d be nothing left of her.

Her legs twitched, useless. She could barely move one of them, and the other couldn’t handle any weight. She was stuck sitting right there, at the mercy of a demon. If only he hadn’t taken her from the tower. If only he’d truly tried to help her, instead of stealing her last chance at humanity from her.

She wasn’t human enough for there to be something substantial left behind.

Slowly, she brought the large blade closer to her face. There were no mirrors. She couldn’t cut out the marks carefully. She did want to be careful, she did. But… But she didn’t want to be too slow. Mira and Zoey would find her soon, and when they did, she only wanted the human parts to remain. They couldn’t see the demon parts of her. It’d ruin everything.

She didn’t want to be human desperately enough. She failed.

Her breaths quickened, and her heart hammered against her collar once she’d brought the blade right in front of her eye. Everything else would take too long, and this… Well, it had to prove her willingness, right? Cutting out her own eye had to show Mira and Zoey that she was serious. That she wasn’t a demon, that she really, really wanted to be human.

She hesitated, unable to bring herself to make the final move. Terror froze her limbs, froze her mind. The door creaked open, and Rumi snapped her gaze towards it. She expected Jinu, and only managed to stop herself from scowling at the last moment when she saw Mira and Zoey standing there.

Relief and shame flooded her at the same moment, tearing her desires in two. On the one hand, she longed to reach towards the two of them, to be their family again. She wanted to be accepted again, spoken to again. She didn’t want to be alone anymore.

The other half of her urged her to apologize. She wasn’t done yet, she still had work to do. How were they to know that she was serious about being human? That she wasn’t on Gwi-Ma’s side?

Without a word, the two of them walked towards her, kneeled down on either side of her, and stared.

Rumi waited, trembling. She couldn’t find the strength to say a single thing. Their faces, their expressions, couldn’t be real.

They didn’t stare at her with hatred. They didn’t stare with disgust. They looked at her kindly. They stared with worry. Mira’s eyebrows were pinched with worry, lips pulled into a deep frown. A fiery concern raged right alongside deep anger that she knew was not directed at her. Zoey’s eyes flitted across her wounds anxiously, mimicking Mira’s frown, but it was accompanied with a softer look of concern, sadness mixing together with it instead of rage.

“Say something.” Rumi whispered, voice cracking. How she longed to hear their voices. From how little she’d heard them speak recently, they’d started fading from memory. Won’t they talk to her? She had yet to put her sword down. She had yet to take the final step. “I–I’m trying. I promise, I want to be human with you guys. I didn’t—You’re not upset, are you? I–I promise-”

Her rambling was cut off by Mira, who carefully peeled Rumi’s hands from her sword and laid it beside her. Rumi watched with anxiety as it disappeared, not understanding why Mira would take it from her. Why would she steal her chance at humanity? Did she not want her to be human again? Did they think it was pointless?

She wasn’t able to spiral for long, because immediately after her sword disappeared, Zoey dragged her into a hug which Mira joined moments after. Rumi was frozen once again. Why would they hug her as she was? Why would they ever want to hold her?

The hug was cold. She must not be able to feel warmth as a demon. Tears surfaced in her eyes yet again. She’d hoped for this hug for so long, and yet she wasn’t even able to find the comfort she’d wanted in it. There was no warmth left in the world for her.

But she could pretend. She was an expert at pretending.

Zoey and Mira were hugging her. And although they weren’t speaking, Rumi could almost hear what they were feeling in her head.

They still loved her. They believed in her. They trusted her. They missed her. They were worried about her.

Rumi went slack in Zoey’s arms, quiet, slow tears turning into messy, streaming wails. She cried loud enough for the world to hear, comforted in the fact that her two closest—her two only—freinds, were finally back with her. They’d accepted her attempts to get rid of her demon side, and they still loved her. There was a family for her to return to.

She committed their touch to memory. The careful, light but secure way Zoey’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close, like she could disappear at any moment. The slow, heavy circles Mira pressed into her back. The feather-soft feeling of Zoey’s hand carefully undoing the knots in her hair, smoothing out strands. The grounding reminder of Mira’s hand stiffly holding her own.

“I knew you’d come save me!” Rumi cried between sobs. “Thank you, thank you!” She allowed herself to melt into the comfort of her two friends, any previous stress washed away by their silent reassurances.

“I want to go home, I want to go home!”

The door opened again to reveal Jinu. Mira and Zoey stepped away calmly, pulling themselves away from Rumi, who in her shock, launched herself to sit upright, back slamming against the wall. She went to summon her sword again to defend herself, when she discovered once more that she didn’t have the strength to do so.

She turned to Zoey and Mira, twisting frantically between the two, waiting for either of them to react. They didn’t. They didn’t look away from her, and that look on their faces had yet to change. She’d never known them to be so stagnant.

“What is–Zoey, Mira? Jinu is–I can’t summon my sword!” Panic had her hands curling into fists. She tried, fruitlessly, to push herself away. Any previous rage, stubbornness, and strength, left her with the arrival of her two friends, who were supposed to fight with her. Why weren’t they doing anything about Jinu?

“Who are you talking to?” Jinu set a tray of food and medical supplies down. More bandages, pills, cloths, and water. He sounded skeptical, confused.

Rumi wanted to throw up. “I–Zoey! Mira! What have you done, why are they reacting like this? What have you done to them?”

Jinu looked up from the tray, staring at her with confusion and what—disgustingly—seemed to be concern. “Rumi, what are you talking about? There’s no one here. Are you– Is your fever back? Are you sick? Let me–”

Jinu reached towards her face and Rumi flinched back hard enough to hear her neck pop. Her head ricocheted off the wall from the force she’d thrown herself back with, and Zoey and Mira stood up suddenly. “What have you done?!” She flailed, desperately trying to get away from Jinu. From the monster that had done something to her friends.

“I haven’t—ugh—Rumi no one’s there!”

Rumi pushed herself towards Mira, crawling with all the urgency she could muster. Once she’d reached her feet, she looked up to see her staring down at her with the disgust one would show a nest of roaches.

Dread fell over Rumi’s shoulders.

The room darkened. Jinu faded from view, and Rumi was plunged into an isolated, dark, empty room with her two friends. The comfort she’d found in them quickly turned into unease and fear, yet Rumi couldn’t find the courage to move away.

Zoey approached them, and staring at the two of them together, looking at her with so much disgust, made her wish she’d succeeded in taking out both her eyes.

Mira and Zoey began to change, warping into grotesque, nightmare inducing creatures. Their cheeks split to allow them to frown at her further, their eyes grew distorted: red, angry, too big for their faces. They grew taller, taller, taller than the room should’ve been.

They summoned their weapons, and Rumi could only scream as Zoey plunged her knives into her eyes, and Mira cleaved through her neck.