From the trees, silhouettes sway back and forth, their feet kicking through the air in a grisly dance. There is no mass to them, no more than to a shadow, but Asahi avoids watching them anyway.
Midnight in the hanging gardens is an eerie time. The grass looks black, slick with droplets of blood instead of dew, and it is utterly silent.
All the sounds of night time that go unnoticed are conspicuous by their absence; Asahi’s breaths are the loudest thing there and each time he inhales the dry, cool air of the garden, the noise is like a blaring alarm that he should not be there.
He has no choice. There is no other place that moonflowers grow except here.
The fountain in the center of the garden spits black liquid from the mouths of skeletons; Asahi has heard that to sip of its waters, even one drop, grants an absence of memory if taken by night. If the water is tasted during the day, it grants an absence of life.
If the moonflowers haven’t bloomed by the time by the time the sun rises, perhaps he will return the next night and try the fountain’s waters instead.
The second hand on his watch is ticking close to half-past; Asahi kneels and slides a silver blade over his lifeline, dripping the blood onto the dirt in a rough circle.
White blades of glass push their way through the earth and then grow upwards, straining to reach the moon. The flowers that unfurl delicately are likewise also grass and for a second, Asahi rethinks the next step.
No. The flowers bloomed as they were promised to. Asahi will not lose faith now.
He breaks off a flower, puts it into his mouth and bites down. Glass shatters under the pressure of his teeth, little shards explosively embedding themselves into the tender inside of his mouth and tongue.
He swallows and feels long thin wounds open along his throat.
When he speaks, the words issue painfully into the air, crimson in a world of black and white. “Nishinoya Yuu, return to me..”
One of the hanging shadows falls free from its branch. Asahi remains kneeling and waits for his lover to return to him.
When Nishinoya comes closer, Asahi smiles, blood dripping down his lips and blooming in bubbles at the corners of his mouth.
Nishinoya’s hand touches his cheek and Asahi does not feel its cold.
FILL: Team The Prince of Tennis, T
Fandom: Haikyuu
Major Tags: tags omitted
Other Tags: tags omitted
Word Count: 409 words
Sliiiiiight creepy horror elements, mythical misuse, blood, ritual magic, character death, angst.
***
From the trees, silhouettes sway back and forth, their feet kicking through the air in a grisly dance. There is no mass to them, no more than to a shadow, but Asahi avoids watching them anyway.
Midnight in the hanging gardens is an eerie time. The grass looks black, slick with droplets of blood instead of dew, and it is utterly silent.
All the sounds of night time that go unnoticed are conspicuous by their absence; Asahi’s breaths are the loudest thing there and each time he inhales the dry, cool air of the garden, the noise is like a blaring alarm that he should not be there.
He has no choice. There is no other place that moonflowers grow except here.
The fountain in the center of the garden spits black liquid from the mouths of skeletons; Asahi has heard that to sip of its waters, even one drop, grants an absence of memory if taken by night. If the water is tasted during the day, it grants an absence of life.
If the moonflowers haven’t bloomed by the time by the time the sun rises, perhaps he will return the next night and try the fountain’s waters instead.
The second hand on his watch is ticking close to half-past; Asahi kneels and slides a silver blade over his lifeline, dripping the blood onto the dirt in a rough circle.
White blades of glass push their way through the earth and then grow upwards, straining to reach the moon. The flowers that unfurl delicately are likewise also grass and for a second, Asahi rethinks the next step.
No. The flowers bloomed as they were promised to. Asahi will not lose faith now.
He breaks off a flower, puts it into his mouth and bites down. Glass shatters under the pressure of his teeth, little shards explosively embedding themselves into the tender inside of his mouth and tongue.
He swallows and feels long thin wounds open along his throat.
When he speaks, the words issue painfully into the air, crimson in a world of black and white. “Nishinoya Yuu, return to me..”
One of the hanging shadows falls free from its branch. Asahi remains kneeling and waits for his lover to return to him.
When Nishinoya comes closer, Asahi smiles, blood dripping down his lips and blooming in bubbles at the corners of his mouth.
Nishinoya’s hand touches his cheek and Asahi does not feel its cold.